“You were expecting me,” I noted as I stopped and hovered in the air a few feet away from him.
“Naturally. Nice to know you’re willing to seek me out whenever we need to talk, instead of the ball always being in my court.”
“You think I’m here to talk?” I growled angrily, letting my arms hang loosely at my side.
“Well, I was hoping you’d give me a chance to explain what happened this morning.”
“Aren’t you curious as to how I tracked you down?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I assume it was the homing beacon.”
I raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You know about that?”
“Of course,” he said, laughing, as he reached into a pocket. “Here it is.”
He held his palm out towards me. On it was a small circular object about the size of a watch battery.
“I know that people are tracking me, so I usually have it on my person,” he explained, “although occasionally I leave it somewhere random if I don’t want my movements known.”
Moving closer as I looked at the homing device, I asked, “Why’s it in your hand?”
“Huh?” Jack murmured, frowning. “Oh! You thought it was…” He trailed off, pointing at his neck. “No, no, no. I took it out a while back. Teleported it out, actually.”
“How’d you even know it was there?” I queried, sidling closer with my arms still dangling freely.
“Oh, this isn’t the original,” he explained. “The first one went on the fritz, so they replaced it. I woke up on the operating table during the middle of the procedure.” He then whispered conspiratorially, “My handlers were bush league when it came to anesthetics.”
Giving me a wink, he then went on, saying, “Anyhoo, I shut down my pain receptors and just listened for the rest of the operation and learned all kinds of interesting things. For the record, though, surgery without anesthesia? I wouldn’t recommend – Ooof!”
Jack’s words were cut off as he went sailing backwards through the air, bent over at the midsection, while I stood there watching, my hands gripping what most people would think was an imaginary bat.
The bat wasn’t imaginary, however – just invisible, thanks to my power. I had worked hard to keep my arms positioned in what seemed a natural manner while gripping the unseen metal bat by the knob in one hand. Using the pretext of examining the homing beacon to get closer to Jack, I had then shifted into super speed, gotten a grip on the bat with both hands, and then swung at his torso for all I was worth.
The bat had struck around his stomach. Frankly speaking, given his precognitive abilities, I was actually surprised that the blow had connected, and the force of it sent Jack smashing through several cubicles before smacking soundly against the far wall and falling to the floor. However, he recovered quickly, and was already coming to his feet as I dashed towards him.
“Okay, that’s your freebie,” he announced.
“What?” I asked, stopping a few feet from him, still gripping the bat. (However, no longer having the element of surprise, I allowed the bat to become visible.)
“That’s your free shot,” he said. “I owed you that for what I did earlier.”
Now I understood; my swing with the invisible bat hadn’t caught Jack unaware. He’d let me hit him.
“For what it’s worth, it was an accident,” he insisted. “I’d never intentionally hurt Gramps.”
“Don’t call him that!” I hissed. “He’s not your grandfather. You almost killed him.”
“Almost?” Jack repeated, sounding incredulous. “You mean he’s alive?”
He seemed elated by the news, which was infuriating since he was the one who had caved my grandfather’s head in. And then, rather than teleport Gramps to a hospital (which you’d expect had it actually been an accident), he had fled, leaving my grandfather to die. Just the thought of what he’d done set my teeth on edge. A moment later, boundless rage abruptly exploded in me, and I went on the attack.
Shifting into super speed, I charged, swinging wildly with the bat. On his part, Jack brought up his arms, obviously to protect his head, but it left a lot of target areas open: legs, sides, back, as well as the arms themselves.
I swung at him with abandon, with every blow connecting solidly as I dashed around him lightning-quick. Remarkably, he held his ground this time, absorbing the blows that rained down on him from all sides. As I continued pummeling him, I heard him muttering something.
“Enough,” he uttered as the bat continued striking. “Enough. Enough! ENOUGH!!!”
His last utterance came out as a bellow, forceful and deafening in the office space. At the same time, he reached out amazingly fast and snatched the bat from my hands. Gripping it by the handle and the barrel, he then brought the bat down angrily as he jerked a knee into the air. The bat struck the raised knee and bent in half.
I stared in shock at what I was seeing. In addition to the Bolt Blast, Jack also had super strength.
“I said that’s enough,” he stated as he flung the bat away. (Oddly enough, bent as it was, it actually looked like a boomerang and I half-expected it to come back at him.) Then, seemingly noticing something on the back of his hand, he wiped it against his pants leg.
“Now, I understand you’re upset,” Jack said, “and again, I apologize. But this continued assault on me isn’t healthy for either of us. We need to find a way to move past it. With that in mind, I suggest…I suggest…I, uh…I…”
As he began stammering, Jack’s eyes started to blink almost spasmodically and his skin took on an unhealthy pallor. He shuddered once, like he’d taken a sudden chill, and then a second time. Without warning, he turned to the side and, bending over, abruptly spat up what looked like black blood. (Except he didn’t so much spit it up as send it spewing out, like projectile vomit, all over a nearby cubicle.) Eyes almost glowing
