Ashley Jason

7. CHAPTER FOUR

About an hour later, Omega Man, Triplet, and I sat in the living room of my parents’ house. Barrett was not with us because, just as Triplet said, an ambulance had shown up five minutes later to load him up and take him to the hospital. Although I was worried that Parasite or Gentleman might try to attack Barrett while he was resting in the hospital, Triplet assured me that he had sent his Thirds to act as Barrett’s bodyguards. As well, the SCPD would place a few officers outside of Barrett’s hospital room to make sure no one attacked him while he recovered.

That comforted me a little, but not by much. Two of Triplet’s clones and a handful of normal police officers probably wouldn’t even slow Parasite and Gentleman down. I could only hope that Parasite was so afraid of fighting Omega Man again that he would lay low for a while, if not outright leave Silvers for good. Perhaps Gentleman’s stomach injury would cause Parasite to seek medical attention elsewhere, though I wasn’t sure where Parasite could possibly find a hospital willing to serve him.

Then again, the problem wasn’t whether a hospital would be willing to treat Gentleman, but whether it would be worth the risk of getting reported to the police. Maybe Parasite had some hitherto unknown surgical or healing skills, though that didn’t seem likely to me.

In any case, I sat on the family sofa, while Triplet sat in what was normally Mom’s recliner and Omega Man sat in Dad’s recliner. We had decided to go to my house because the matter that Triplet wanted to interview me about was apparently very private. Plus, the doctors needed time to fix up Barrett’s wounds and we wouldn’t be able to see him for a few more hours at least, meaning that my house was pretty much the only private place where I could speak to Omega Man and Triplet about whatever they wanted to talk about.

With a warm cup of coffee in my hands, I said, “All right, Triplet. You told me that you were investigating Parasite’s family background on behalf of the Academy. Right?”

Triplet nodded. “That’s a good way to sum up this case, yes. Although, as I’ve discovered, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

I tilted my head to the side. “What do you mean?”

Triplet gestured at Omega Man. “When I say ‘complicated,’ I mean Omega Man. I didn’t just bring him along for his muscle.”

Omega Man also nodded. He sipped his own coffee, which was completely black. “I’m good for breaking things—especially bad guys—but yes, apparently I am in some way connected to this case. Me and my missing memories.”

I brushed back my hair. Omega Man had been missing for about a decade until we discovered him underneath the Academy, where he had been found in hibernation in a mysterious pod. When he woke up, Omega Man claimed that he remembered nothing from the time between his self-imposed isolation from the Neo-Plague and the time he woke up. Last time I saw Omega Man had been nearly two years ago, in which Omega Man had said that the NHA and G-Men were working on restoring his missing memories.

“Okay,” I said, scratching my chin. “Can you start at the beginning? Like how you know my dad?”

“Sure,” said Triplet. “My name is Mieko Hiro, but I’m better known as Triplet. I am the owner of Triple Eye Detective Agency, a private detective agency I run out of New York City, though my work takes me across the US regularly. Your dad and I have worked together on a lot of cases, but I also knew your grandfather, Genius, when we were younger.”

I looked at Triplet in surprise. “So that makes you a First Generation superhero, too? You don’t look that old.”

“Trust me, Parasite was definitely not wrong when he called me an old man,” said Triplet. “Not that I mind it. I’ve always felt older than my peers. Now I actually look it.”

“He’s still younger than me,” Omega Man added. He frowned. “I think. I’m not sure my body aged very much while I was in hibernation.”

I frowned. “Now that you mention it, I think Dad did tell me about a New York detective who he was friends with when he was younger. I didn’t know it was you, though.”

Triplet shrugged. “I don’t make social visits that often. Indeed, I think the last time I saw your dad in person was seven years ago.”

“What case were you investigating then?” I asked curiously.

Triplet took a long sip from his coffee before answering. “The Academy Murders.”

My eyes widened. “Wait, were you the detective who found out that Parasite was the one who murdered those students?”

Triplet nodded again. “Yep. When the Murders started, Night Soldier hired me to investigate the cause. Although I take cases from normals and supers alike, most of my cases do involve the superhuman community in some way. Probably because I’m the most well-known superhuman detective in the country. Keeps me busy.”

“So that’s why Parasite acted like he knew you,” I said. “And why you knew who he was.”

“Precisely,” said Triplet. “I was with the teachers when they confronted Parasite the first time. Of course, Parasite managed to escape and disappeared for three years straight until you started attending the Academy. And he’s as crazy as ever, it seems.”

“Then I guess you already know Parasite’s background,” I said.

“What he says is his background,” Triplet said. “As I said, Parasite is most definitely not the son of Robert Candle. And I didn’t just say that to upset him. I mean that it literally can’t have happened. The facts don’t add up.”

I tilted my head to the side. “What do you mean?”

Triplet popped open a sugar packet and poured it into his coffee, which he then began stirring contemplatively. “Robert Candle died when he was about seventeen-years-old. He did not have a girlfriend at the time, or ever, according to his peers, who I interviewed shortly after Parasite left the Academy. There are no birth certificates of a ‘Rodrigo Mesa’ born in Silvers, Texas, or anywhere else in Texas, nor do any Texas hospitals have records on a Hispanic woman giving birth to a boy with that name in that time.”

“So you think Parasite is lying,” I said.

“He probably believes it,” said Triplet, “but just because you believe something doesn’t make it true. I don’t even know where he got that idea from.”

“Dragon King told it to him,” I said. “When Parasite fled the Academy, Dragon King approached him with an offer to work for him in exchange for safety from the law. That’s where Parasite learned who his parents were.”

“Really?” said Triplet in an interested voice. “Interesting, but not convincing. Dragon King would have no way of knowing who Parasite’s parents were. I imagine that was probably a lie he told Parasite to manipulate him into working for him. Seems like the sort of thing Dragon King would do.”

“I agree, but you sound like you’ve met Dragon King before,” I said.

Triplet shook his head. “Nope. Never have. I just know his kind well.”

I frowned deeply. “His kind? You mean Superbians?”

Triplet sipped his coffee. “Worse. Politicians.”

“Oh,” I said. “I—”

“Politicians, as a general rule,” Triplet began, “are lying, dishonest, two-faced, corrupt, immoral, vile, power-hungry egomaniacs who believe they are above the law. They are more of a drain on society than any number of welfare recipients and I often think the world would be a better place if more politicians got the rope for their crimes than a slap on the wrist.”

I stared at Triplet, slightly stunned by his blunt description of politicians. Omega Man, however, glanced at his watch, as if he already knew Triplet’s opinion on politicians and didn’t think it was noteworthy.

“Do you really think that?” I said.

Triplet nodded firmly. “I do. On the other hand, they also pay well, so can’t complain there.”

I blinked. “So you’re willing to take money from these same sleazeball politicians if they pay you.”

“A man’s gotta make a living somehow, Ashley,” Triplet replied. “Between you and me, though, I always jack up my rates whenever politicians come knocking. Taking their money so it goes somewhere good is one of the many ways I contribute to society in a positive, constructive way.”

That was such an alien way of thinking to me that I really didn’t know what to say.

But I also found it easy to believe that Dad and Triplet were friends. Dad, although not as vehement as Triplet, nonetheless had a very low opinion of politicians in general. I could see the two of them getting along great.

Then Triplet shook his head again. “But politics is irrelevant to my current case, which involves uncovering Parasite’s true ancestry.”

“Yes,” I said, nodding eagerly, glad that we were back on topic again. “You said the Academy hired you. Why?”

Triplet glanced at Omega Man. “That is a little difficult to explain. John, would you be willing to explain? I think you understand the situation slightly better than me.”

Omega Man sipped his coffee again, a troubled look crossing his middle-aged features. “All right. Ashley, you recall that several mental-oriented superheroes have been trying to help me regain my lost memories, right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Have they had any luck so far?”

Omega Man’s troubled expression became even more troubled. “Mixed. Brains has helped me uncover some of my memories, but they’re … fragments. Bits and pieces of things that happened a long time ago. To tell you the truth, I don’t even know if they are real memories or I just made them up. Verifying memories is not as easy as you would think.”

“I honestly wouldn’t think it was easy at all,” I said, “but go on.”

Omega Man fingered his coffee cup uncertainly. “The memory that started the investigation—and drew me into this—was one about me and Parasite.”

“You have a memory of Parasite?” I said. “But didn’t you say in the park back there that this was the first time you saw him in person?”

“Yes, but …” Omega Man shook his head. “Let me start at the beginning. About a month ago, Brains uncovered one of my missing memories. In the memory—I don’t know how long ago the memory took place—I was walking in an unfamiliar office building and entered a room where I found a woman I didn’t recognize working at a computer. I don’t know who the woman was, what she looked like, her name … anything. But I do remember what was on the computer monitor: An image of Parasite.”

“An image of Parasite?” I repeated. “But if this was ten years ago, then Parasite would have been, like, a really little kid, right?”

Omega Man held up a hand. “My memory isn’t over yet. It was a full-sized image of Parasite’s costume. It looked like the woman was designing it. It had even been named Parasite. I asked the woman who the costume was for, but the memory ends when the woman turns around to face me. I do recall her answer, though.”

“What was it?” I said.

Omega Man looked into his coffee. “My son.”

My eyes widened even more. “Hold on a second … are you telling me that you met Parasite’s mom? But I thought she died in childbirth and Parasite grew up in an orphanage.”

“That’s the story Parasite gave the orphanage and the Academy,” said Triplet, “but like I said, there is no evidence of a Rodrigo Mesa being born when he says he was born. No medical records, no birth certificates … nothing. It’s like Parasite doesn’t even exist.”

“He definitely exists,” I said bitterly. “The families of his victims can tell you all about that.”

“I’m just speaking in hyperbole,” said Triplet. He leaned forward. “Whoever Parasite is, we can conclude that he isn’t the grandson of Master Chaos or the biological son of Robert Candle. His real name might not even be Rodrigo Mesa.”

“And I’m not sure if that woman was actually Parasite’s mom or not,” Omega Man admitted. “As I said, the memory ends before I can see her face. I don’t remember her name, either.”

“Could it be Maria?” I suggested. “Wasn’t that the only name you remembered when you woke up from hibernation?”

Omega Man pursed his lips. “Maybe, but that doesn’t feel right to me. I feel like Maria and this woman are two different people, but it might just be my mind playing tricks on me. Memory is a fuzzy thing, easily manipulated, as I’ve discovered over the last couple of years.”

“The Academy is interested in Parasite’s background precisely because of Omega Man’s memory,” said Triplet. “They think that this woman—who we are calling Parasite’s mom until we get contradicting information—used the Underground Academy’s resources to design Parasite’s costume. They want me to find her and confirm Parasite’s true parentage.”

I tilted my head to the side. “Okay, but where do I come into this? I’m as ignorant about Parasite’s true parentage as you are. Heck, I used to believe he was Master Chaos’ grandson just like everyone else. I’m not sure how much help I can be in this investigation.”

Triplet rested his coffee cup on the table next to the recliner. He then pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. “The reason I wanted to talk to you is because of this interesting little tidbit that came up in the early stages of the investigation. It’s hard to describe, so let me pull it up … ah, here it is.”

Triplet turned his phone around so I could get a good look at it.

The phone displayed an image showing what looked like an outdoor birthday party for a six-year-old girl. A glance at the banner over the picnic table revealed that it was actually my sixth birthday because the banner read ‘HAPPY SIXTH BIRTHDAY, ASHLEY!’

It looked like six-year-old me wasn’t eating cake yet, though. Instead, six-year-old me was playing with several other kids—including a six-year-old Cora Bistro, my best friend—in the backyard of my house, laughing and joking around with each other.

I frowned. “It’s just an image from my sixth birthday party. It’s cute, I guess, but Mom and Dad took a million pictures of me growing up.”

“Look in the background there,” said Triplet. “Tell me what you see.”

Still unsure how this was relevant to Triplet’s case, I leaned in more closely, my eyes fixed on the picnic table in the background.

I saw a young Hispanic kid—who couldn’t have been older than nine or ten—sitting by himself at the picnic table. He was watching us play with a clear look of disdain on his features, though he also looked a little wistful as if he felt left out.

“Who is that Hispanic kid?” I said, scratching my head. “I don’t remember him.”

“That Hispanic kid,” said Triplet, lowering the phone so he could lock eyes with mine, “is a ten-year-old Rodrigo Mesa … from before he went to the Academy.”