him.
The ring cut into his clenched fist. It hurt,
but not as much as watching her walk out that door. The look in her
eyes, disappointment and betrayal, hurt most of all.
What sort of idiot burns spaghetti
sauce? Oh, Tabitha, love. That wasn’t even the
important question. What sort of idiot can’t make his wife love
him?
Somehow he’d known all along she didn’t really
love him. Oh, there had been lust at first. An initial spark of
interest that made everything the Morality Machine did possible.
But he’d known in his heart-of-hearts that a woman like her could
never love a man like him. He could have her body, but he could
never have her admiration. Women like her wanted perfect men. Super
men. Heroes, not villains.
It didn’t matter.
He pulled on a clean shirt. Today he’d fix the
Morality Machine, and tracking down Tabitha would be a simple
matter of watching the news. He’d find her, turn on the machine,
and fix this mess.
When Election Day rolled around, it wouldn’t
matter that he couldn’t cook. He’d be president of the United
States. If a computer geek who worked freelance out of his basement
wasn’t good enough for her, the president and de facto leader of
the free world would be.
He pulled on his jacket out of habit and froze,
captivated by his reflection in the mirror. The jacket,
custom-tailored black Dior, had been off-limits since the wedding.
It always hung in the closet, a laughable reminder of life before
her. The jacket radiated warmth, like a favorite blanket. It hugged
him, promised him security.
“Daddy!” The scream at the door was accompanied
by a ruckus that would make a zombie horde proud.
Toddlers and Dior didn’t mix. The jacket went
back in the closet. Today was a grease and gears day. The jacket
could wait.
“You girls ready?” he asked with a big, fake
smile as he opened the door.
Chapter Ten
I can count on one hand the number of
times I have cried in my life. I cried when the doctors told us
Blessing would live. I cried when we buried my parents after a
drunk crossed the yellow line. Then Tabitha left me, and I learned
what true sorrow was. There is no pain like losing the woman you
love.
***
“Master?” Hert sidled up to the worktable
cautiously.
Evan’s gaze slid sideways to the paper Hert
held, probably another calendar revision reminding him of the week
he’d lost to the depression. “What?”
“We found her, Master.” The minion held a paper
out, quivering in terror.
“Give me that.” Evan snatched it away. “I am not
that scary,” he shouted as Hert flinched.
The minions all ducked.
From across the room, Angela frowned at him from
her throne of stuffed animals. He’d spent sleepless nights waiting
for Tabitha to come home, clearing part of the lab and turning it
into a kid-safe play area complete with ratty couch, old TV, and
movies on VHS. The girls were fascinated by the ancient technology.
Black ribbons of cassette tape hung from the ceiling like paper
chains designed by Death.
He glowered back, and his daughter’s eyes
narrowed, making her look painfully like her mother.
A wave of happiness hit him. The gears spread
out on the table looked like dancing daisies. Pink clouds floated
past. Evan shook his head, but the pink clouds persisted. A small
rainbow burst in front of him. “Angela?”
“Yes, Daddy?” she asked in a smug tone that was
an exact replica of Tabby’s when she’d just won a fight.
“Stop it, or you’re grounded.”
The pink clouds vanished, melting into the
dungeon gray of the basement. His own dark feelings of self-hate
and fear returned. “You should never manipulate people’s emotions,
Angela. That’s what super villains do.”
She unwound her blanket and walked over to his
workbench. “Is that what you do?”
“What?” He looked up in alarm, then picked up a
gear and made a show of studying it.
“You’re a villain aren’t you, Daddy?”
He tapped the gear slowly on the tabletop.
The ring cut into his clenched fist. It hurt,
but not as much as watching her walk out that door. The look in her
eyes, disappointment and betrayal, hurt most of all.
What sort of idiot burns spaghetti
sauce? Oh, Tabitha, love. That wasn’t even the
important question. What sort of idiot can’t make his wife love
him?
Somehow he’d known all along she didn’t really
love him. Oh, there had been lust at first. An initial spark of
interest that made everything the Morality Machine did possible.
But he’d known in his heart-of-hearts that a woman like her could
never love a man like him. He could have her body, but he could
never have her admiration. Women like her wanted perfect men. Super
men. Heroes, not villains.
It didn’t matter.
He pulled on a clean shirt. Today he’d fix the
Morality Machine, and tracking down Tabitha would be a simple
matter of watching the news. He’d find her, turn on the machine,
and fix this mess.
When Election Day rolled around, it wouldn’t
matter that he couldn’t cook. He’d be president of the United
States. If a computer geek who worked freelance out of his basement
wasn’t good enough for her, the president and de facto leader of
the free world would be.
He pulled on his jacket out of habit and froze,
captivated by his reflection in the mirror. The jacket,
custom-tailored black Dior, had been off-limits since the wedding.
It always hung in the closet, a laughable reminder of life before
her. The jacket radiated warmth, like a favorite blanket. It hugged
him, promised him security.
“Daddy!” The scream at the door was accompanied
by a ruckus that would make a zombie horde proud.
Toddlers and Dior didn’t mix. The jacket went
back in the closet. Today was a grease and gears day. The jacket
could wait.
“You girls ready?” he asked with a big, fake
smile as he opened the door.
Chapter Ten
I can count on one hand the number of
times I have cried in my life. I cried when the doctors told us
Blessing would live. I cried when we buried my parents after a
drunk crossed the yellow line. Then Tabitha left me, and I learned
what true sorrow was. There is no pain like losing the woman you
love.
***
“Master?” Hert sidled up to the worktable
cautiously.
Evan’s gaze slid sideways to the paper Hert
held, probably another calendar revision reminding him of the week
he’d lost to the depression. “What?”
“We found her, Master.” The minion held a paper
out, quivering in terror.
“Give me that.” Evan snatched it away. “I am not
that scary,” he shouted as Hert flinched.
The minions all ducked.
From across the room, Angela frowned at him from
her throne of stuffed animals. He’d spent sleepless nights waiting
for Tabitha to come home, clearing part of the lab and turning it
into a kid-safe play area complete with ratty couch, old TV, and
movies on VHS. The girls were fascinated by the ancient technology.
Black ribbons of cassette tape hung from the ceiling like paper
chains designed by Death.
He glowered back, and his daughter’s eyes
narrowed, making her look painfully like her mother.
A wave of happiness hit him. The gears spread
out on the table looked like dancing daisies. Pink clouds floated
past. Evan shook his head, but the pink clouds persisted. A small
rainbow burst in front of him. “Angela?”
“Yes, Daddy?” she asked in a smug tone that was
an exact replica of Tabby’s when she’d just won a fight.
“Stop it, or you’re grounded.”
The pink clouds vanished, melting into the
dungeon gray of the basement. His own dark feelings of self-hate
and fear returned. “You should never manipulate people’s emotions,
Angela. That’s what super villains do.”
She unwound her blanket and walked over to his
workbench. “Is that what you do?”
“What?” He looked up in alarm, then picked up a
gear and made a show of studying it.
“You’re a villain aren’t you, Daddy?”
He tapped the gear slowly on the tabletop.
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