Chapter 3
“You’re not a little girl anymore Jocelyn.” I said, letting my hands fall to my sides. “I’m asking you now to come back with me. Peacefully.”
She pouted, and even covered in someone else’s blood it was hard not to look at her and see the little girl I had helped raise. But that was years and years ago. Before her mom was gunned down right before her eyes. Triggering her powers to manifest for the first time.”
“Why so quiet Uncle Charlie? Does the kitty have your tongue?” She asked, still forcing her voice several pitches above what I knew it should be.
“Don’t call me that.” I growled. My hand unconsciously drifting to my neck. There was no scar there, but I remembered.
In the air before me, Jocelyn was hugging her knees to her chest. Slowly spinning in circles until she was upside down looking at me.
“Aww, you’re not still made about that little boo-boo are you? I said I was sorry.”
I reigned in my emotions before responding, she was just trying to bait me. A cold, calculating woman was behind that facade. No doubt waiting for my guard to drop. “Yes. I’m still mad Jocelyn. You tried to rip my head off. Sorry doesn’t quite cut it.”
“Well then tell me how to make it up to you silly!”
“You want to make it up to me?” I said, going for a gentle approach. She nodded her head vigorously, hair flying around her face. “Then come home.”
Immediately I realized I had said the wrong thing. The playful smile vanished, wiped away like it had never been. “Home?” She hissed, any trace of the little girl gone. “I have no home! Just a cage that you and that coward would keep me in!” I wondered if she realized she was clawing at the air with her hands.
“Your father is not a coward Jocelyn. He-”
“But he is!!!” She screamed, voice shrill. “You didn’t see the look on his face when I came home, covered in the blood of the men who killed mommy. He was afraid! Of me!”
“Daddy didn’t have what it would take to stop those men. So I did it for him. Then for the city. Then the country. Then the world.” Her eyes shown with an awful light, dashing any hope I still held that she would come back from this. But I still had to try.
“There are rules Jocelyn. We are not judge, jury and executioner.”
Her hands relaxed, features softening. I braced myself, I knew what came next. “But we should be.” She whispered. And then she was crashing into me with crushing force. A crack louder than any gunshot splitting the air as we collided.
