Sometimes, all a girl wants is a little peace and quiet. I had not received much of that in the last month. Someone snitched to my mother, Elle, and Nyleena, about them putting a hole in my skull. Xavier swears it was me. I don’t believe him, but I had no evidence to the contrary, I had been on really good drugs immediately following the cranium cracking. Ativan for the panic I had experienced during surgery and then Demerol for the pain. Combined, the two drugs had removed the filter between my brain and mouth and made me forget most of it.
Thankfully, no one was holding it against me. I had said some things I would not have normally said, like telling Trevor he reminded me of a more flamboyant Elton John, or even thought of telling Xavier that he needed to find a nice guy to settle down with. I remembered these things only after being reminded of them, as the gang had joked about them.
It turns out that my blood disorder is great at healing wounds of the flesh. They heal a little faster than average, but not as wonderful at healing wounds in the bone, they heal a little slower. The remodeling on the circle cut in my skull was about a week behind.
“How was your visit with your grandfather?” My mother asked as she scurried about the kitchen, cooking lunch. My unit was out on a hunt, tracking down a serial killer in New Jersey. I felt this was more of a lost cause than tracking down serial killers in Detroit, but that was just me. I didn’t like Jersey. I’d been stuck in their airport overnight on one too many occasions.
“It was a meeting of psychopaths, the entertainment flowed like wine,” I told her.
“Aislinn Cain, don’t sass me.”
“It’s true. He told me a bullshit story about a lion. I told him I was returning to active duty as soon as possible. Psychopaths lie, that’s kind of their thing. Even if you ignore my predisposition to psychopathic tendencies, I am still a sociopath and they lie. It’s kind of their thing too. So, we lied to each other and managed to fill the hour and then I came home. I considered plotting world domination, but the guards were there and they would have heard.”
“You are impossible.” My mother threw her hands into the air. “However, he wasn’t lying about the lion.” She giggled at the word play. “He has the scar from it. It was during the war.”
“I’m sure he lied about other stuff.”
“I hope you are giving him a chance. He’s not a terrible person.”
“He’s a serial killer.”
“Well, there is that. He wouldn’t win any humanitarian awards, but he’s always been good to us.”
“Please tell me that you have not been taking money from Patterson.”
“Okay,” my mother shrugged.
“Sometimes, it was tight after your father died. Patterson wrote me a check every month. One of the many times he used his powers for good.” She put her hand on her hip and pushed it out. I knew that stance. “You and he have that in common too. You use your powers for good.”