Jeremy walks away from Chatravati’s office, turning right to detour through the hallway where the red painting used to hang. There is now a section of empty wall marked by wallpaper more lightly coloured than the rest of the walls in the hall, but Chatravati hasn’t yet mentioned anything about the painting being missing.
Jeremy feels better knowing that the painting is gone—him and Sarra had built a bonfire for it a few months ago and had stood together while they watched the canvas splutter and burn. Jeremy never wanted to see the Crimson Court again, or have any reminder of it.
Sarra had been the only one that understood and Jeremy knew that she was the only one that would have have helped him destroy the painting. Everyone else at Westcrest would have had some sort of “reasonable explanation” about why they should leave it hanging on the wall, especially Chatravati whose ability to be reasonable often bordered on infuriating.
But Sarra understood… really understood. Jeremy was beginning to think that she was the only one at the mansion that knew how he really felt about anything.
Marcus was supportive, of course, afterall he had been the one responsible for bringing Jeremy to the island in the first place. But Marcus seldom emotion, something that probably had to do with his military training. Jeremy didn’t even know what army Marcus had trained with—or when—the so-called “Future Human” was forthcoming about most things, but said precious little about his own personal history.
Then there was Helena. If looking like a supermodel wasn’t enough to intimidate you, then being the human incarnation of Goddess surely would. Helena seemed nice, but she never gave much of herself away. Sometimes when the rest of Westcrest were sharing a joke, Helena just sort of sat there silently. Sarra said that was because she never let anyone get too close to her, for fear that she would hurt them—or that the Goddess trapped inside her would.
In his way, Conor was the most mysterious of them all. He spent most of his time cloistered away in Westcrest’s laboratory, studying data sets and cataloguing artifacts. Whenever Jeremy spoke to Conor it always seemed like he was thinking about something else… like he was always distracted.
And Chatravati, Westcrest’s fatherly silver-bearded leader. Much like Marcus, Chatravati seldom spoke about his past. The old man always seemed somehow displaced amongst them, as though he were uncomfortable in his own skin. And he was always one step ahead of whatever you were doing or thinking. It was as though it was pointless talking to him at all, because he already knew exactly what you were going to say.
That left Sarra, precious Sarra who had introduced Jeremy to Westcret’s resident lake monster on one of the first nights he had arrived on the island. It was Sarra more than any of the others who had persuaded him to stay; persuaded him to become a part of this rag-tag group of superheroes. But even though that was sometimes how they seemed, Jeremy was becoming less and less convinced that they were any sort of “heroes” at all.
The events at Club Mojo had ended in a massacre and the streets of Genoa City were still overrun with zombies as a result. Jeremy hadn’t even managed to take out a troll without causing half of the city to lose power.
These thoughts circle in his head as Jeremy makes his way through the front foyer of the mansion and down the stairs towards the garage, the very first place he had seen when Marcus had brought him to Westcrest.
“Jeremy!” says Sarra excitedly when she sees him.
“How’d your meeting with the boss go?” asks Conor, who is tinkering with something on a bench at the rear of the garage.
“Yeah,” says Sarra, crossing her arms. “Did you get a detention?”
“It went okay,” says Jeremy, slipping his hands into the pockets of his oversized canary-yellow jacket. Usually he’d have attempted a witty comeback. Sarra frowns.
“Next time I tell you to use the amethapeel canister…” begins Marcus, but Jeremy interrupts before he can finish.
“I know, Marcus. I’ll listen to you next time,” Jeremy slouches down on an overturned crate and glances around the garage.
“Good,” says Marcus.
“I heard you had something you wanted me to do?” Jeremy asks and Sarra hops in front of Jeremy with her arms crossed over her chest.
“Well, you know how egg-head over there ruined the bike,”
“Hey!” chimes Conor. Jeremy nods.
“Well, Marcus and I were wondering if you’d help us fix it.”
“That’s quite the honour,” says Helena from atop her well-lit platform.
“Yeah, they never let me anyone else near it,” says Conor.
I wonder why!” says Sarra.
“So,” says Marcus, moving to stand beside Sarra. He holds out a wrench to Jeremy. “Will you help us fix it?”
Jeremy nods, just once.