Categories > Original > Drama > Separation
April 25, 1979
Dr. Karl Straussen shook his head; almost an entire year’s progress gone in ten minutes. Ray had only recently left the crutches behind, the slight drag to his gait gradually becoming less and less obvious. Now with two of the Rainbows broken and the third badly squashed, he’d have to start all over again. The poor boy just couldn’t seem to win for losing.
Because he’d been a gibbering mess after regaining consciousness, he’d been moved to what was commonly known to lawyers as “a secure psychiatric facility”; in this case, Swallowhaven. While no longer a super, he had been one once, and many of the physical quirks still applied. A regular psych ward wouldn’t really know what to do with him, but Dr. Karl and Eddy- God bless him- did. Physically, anyway. In all honesty, Ray wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Much of his Swallowhaven stay would be remembered only as a blank and empty haze. What he did remember was mostly second-hand relations from Eddy and the others.
He had Leah to thank for everything. It had been Leah who had dialed Dr. Straussen and Rick before the paramedics, Leah who invented the cover story, Leah who appropriately burst into tears on their father’s shoulder and bawled that she owed her life to her brother. Once safely in NSA custody, it was easy to convince Ray’s parents that he was in need of medical attention not available on the East Coast; not that it wasn’t untrue. No one wanted to take any chances, and so for the second time, Ray was cut off from his immediate family.
All things considered, it had ended well. The charges Derrick had filed against him had been dropped entirely, the scuffle ruled an act of self-defense since Leah and Sophie both bore some light defensive marks and Ray had clearly fared the worst out of any of them. No lasting damage had been done to either property or persons, aside from a divorce suite currently pending against Derrick. While it had caused a minor family scandal, nobody could honestly say they weren’t on some level glad to be rid of him. For once in his life Ray had the unwavering support and heart-felt sympathy of his family. The irony was he didn’t want it.
The front yard throw-down had started as an honest act of gallantry, an instinctive attempt to protect his youngest sister and her children. However, it hadn’t ended that way. He didn’t feel overly guilty about bloodying Derrick’s nose, that had been a long time in coming, and he felt little remorse about running him out of neighborhood, house, and family. What disturbed Ray was the way he himself had acted, what he’d almost done before the terror in Derrick’s eyes had shocked him back into reality.
There was a format one followed when thwarting evil; one always asked and offered the opportunity to surrender. From purse-snatcher to would-be world dictators, everyone had to be given the chance to come along quietly. If that didn’t work, well, they’d had their chance, the gloves came off, and they got what they gave. Supers, like soldiers, were killers. Death, obviously, was not the preferred outcome, but it did happen. Too often it happened to innocent bystanders, people caught in the crossfire and not just the Bad Guy of the week. Ray had cried the first time there’d been collateral damage, been sick the first time he’d bloodied his hands. The responsibility of a life taken was not an easy thing to live with. The one thing that made those deaths by either accident or intent easier to give up to God was the fact that he hadn’t wanted anyone, not even the villains, to be seriously hurt. The motivation behind attacking Derrick, however, had been less altruistic.
The vague bitter flavor of Derrick’s energy still lingered in the back of his throat like the stinging nausea of acid reflux. It made him want to spit, to vomit, to brush his teeth and guzzle mouth wash until the antiseptic mint cleansed his mouth and throat and nose of him. If only he really could rinse away the guilt crawling in his stomach. He had wanted to pound Derrick into the turf, wanted to put the fear of God into him, to make him experience in ten minutes all the years of unwarranted torture he himself had suffered. And while he’d dimly wished for all that in the back of his head, what really scared him was that this time he’d acted on it.
He had tried to drain Derrick of any and all power he had in him, to suck him down to the dregs and further still, to drink him dry until he had no hope of ever tearing into another undeserving soul ever again. He had intentionally tried to do to Derrick what had accidentally happened to him: he had tried to make him burn out. In taking judgment into his own hands, Ray had crossed a line himself, and while the state had nothing against him, he lay trembling, wondering what the super community might decide.
It had been over a year now since the accident, just as long since he’d had a vision, or even an unusual dream. He was one of them again, just a common man. Dr. Karl and the Professor had both ruled him a Burn-Out. His power was gone and it would not grow back. That alone had been hard enough to swallow, but Ray had done his best to hold his nose and drain his cup of wormwood and gall without complaint. Training Sophie had allowed him a much-needed outlet in several ways, but he should have known his good deed wouldn’t go either unnoticed or unpunished. The law ruled him a hero; but would the real heroes now brand him a villain? There was only one small consolation to be had: his power was already gone. There was nothing more they could do to him.
Dr. Karl Straussen shook his head; almost an entire year’s progress gone in ten minutes. Ray had only recently left the crutches behind, the slight drag to his gait gradually becoming less and less obvious. Now with two of the Rainbows broken and the third badly squashed, he’d have to start all over again. The poor boy just couldn’t seem to win for losing.
Because he’d been a gibbering mess after regaining consciousness, he’d been moved to what was commonly known to lawyers as “a secure psychiatric facility”; in this case, Swallowhaven. While no longer a super, he had been one once, and many of the physical quirks still applied. A regular psych ward wouldn’t really know what to do with him, but Dr. Karl and Eddy- God bless him- did. Physically, anyway. In all honesty, Ray wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Much of his Swallowhaven stay would be remembered only as a blank and empty haze. What he did remember was mostly second-hand relations from Eddy and the others.
He had Leah to thank for everything. It had been Leah who had dialed Dr. Straussen and Rick before the paramedics, Leah who invented the cover story, Leah who appropriately burst into tears on their father’s shoulder and bawled that she owed her life to her brother. Once safely in NSA custody, it was easy to convince Ray’s parents that he was in need of medical attention not available on the East Coast; not that it wasn’t untrue. No one wanted to take any chances, and so for the second time, Ray was cut off from his immediate family.
All things considered, it had ended well. The charges Derrick had filed against him had been dropped entirely, the scuffle ruled an act of self-defense since Leah and Sophie both bore some light defensive marks and Ray had clearly fared the worst out of any of them. No lasting damage had been done to either property or persons, aside from a divorce suite currently pending against Derrick. While it had caused a minor family scandal, nobody could honestly say they weren’t on some level glad to be rid of him. For once in his life Ray had the unwavering support and heart-felt sympathy of his family. The irony was he didn’t want it.
The front yard throw-down had started as an honest act of gallantry, an instinctive attempt to protect his youngest sister and her children. However, it hadn’t ended that way. He didn’t feel overly guilty about bloodying Derrick’s nose, that had been a long time in coming, and he felt little remorse about running him out of neighborhood, house, and family. What disturbed Ray was the way he himself had acted, what he’d almost done before the terror in Derrick’s eyes had shocked him back into reality.
There was a format one followed when thwarting evil; one always asked and offered the opportunity to surrender. From purse-snatcher to would-be world dictators, everyone had to be given the chance to come along quietly. If that didn’t work, well, they’d had their chance, the gloves came off, and they got what they gave. Supers, like soldiers, were killers. Death, obviously, was not the preferred outcome, but it did happen. Too often it happened to innocent bystanders, people caught in the crossfire and not just the Bad Guy of the week. Ray had cried the first time there’d been collateral damage, been sick the first time he’d bloodied his hands. The responsibility of a life taken was not an easy thing to live with. The one thing that made those deaths by either accident or intent easier to give up to God was the fact that he hadn’t wanted anyone, not even the villains, to be seriously hurt. The motivation behind attacking Derrick, however, had been less altruistic.
The vague bitter flavor of Derrick’s energy still lingered in the back of his throat like the stinging nausea of acid reflux. It made him want to spit, to vomit, to brush his teeth and guzzle mouth wash until the antiseptic mint cleansed his mouth and throat and nose of him. If only he really could rinse away the guilt crawling in his stomach. He had wanted to pound Derrick into the turf, wanted to put the fear of God into him, to make him experience in ten minutes all the years of unwarranted torture he himself had suffered. And while he’d dimly wished for all that in the back of his head, what really scared him was that this time he’d acted on it.
He had tried to drain Derrick of any and all power he had in him, to suck him down to the dregs and further still, to drink him dry until he had no hope of ever tearing into another undeserving soul ever again. He had intentionally tried to do to Derrick what had accidentally happened to him: he had tried to make him burn out. In taking judgment into his own hands, Ray had crossed a line himself, and while the state had nothing against him, he lay trembling, wondering what the super community might decide.
It had been over a year now since the accident, just as long since he’d had a vision, or even an unusual dream. He was one of them again, just a common man. Dr. Karl and the Professor had both ruled him a Burn-Out. His power was gone and it would not grow back. That alone had been hard enough to swallow, but Ray had done his best to hold his nose and drain his cup of wormwood and gall without complaint. Training Sophie had allowed him a much-needed outlet in several ways, but he should have known his good deed wouldn’t go either unnoticed or unpunished. The law ruled him a hero; but would the real heroes now brand him a villain? There was only one small consolation to be had: his power was already gone. There was nothing more they could do to him.
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