Than Meets the Meets

By Remi17

A black hole, rimmed with a thin ring that glinted dully in the light, looming before him, somehow growing bigger and bigger before his eyes.

A sound, loud and destructive, tearing through the air, making him jerk to the left.

Blackness everywhere…oppressive, holding him down…robbing him of thought…Nothing but pain…so much that even he could not endure it lightly…

The stench of blood pouring down his face…the sting of betrayal…

“Sir?”

Slade’s eye blinked, and he raised his masked head from where it was resting on his gloved fist. He turned to the tall, white-suited manservant that was standing beside his throne-like chair, holding a small tray upon which rested a saucer and teacup. Both dishes were made of the finest china, and gleamed white in the darkness of Slade’s subterranean lair.

“Your tea, sir,” Wintergreen told him. There was a slightly concerned look to the butler’s old face—Slade realized that Wintergreen had been calling for his attention for several seconds.

Not missing a beat, acting smooth and cool as ever, Slade reached for the saucer and its cup and lifted it off the tray. “Thank you, Wintergreen,” he said. He studied the tea emotionlessly, and added firmly, “You may go.”

The “you may go” was a commanded Slade rarely used. Unless Wintergreen thought his employer and friend needed company, he usually left Slade of his own accord. But when Slade was particularly busy, or deep in thought, or just troubled, he fell back on that command. And Wintergreen would know that he should not just leave, but also not return any time soon.

“As you wish, sir.” The butler gave a slight bow of the head and left Slade’s side. The criminal mastermind barely acknowledged his presence.

When the butler was gone, Slade’s hand went up to his mask, and he slowly removed it. Though it was an illogical notion, he sometimes wished that he could drink and eat without taking his mask off. Slowly, his face simmering as hot as the tea, Slade raised the cup to his lips and tasted the special blend Wintergreen always prepared for him at night.

Her name had been Adeline Kane. Black hair, perfect face, a not-so-shaped but still lovely body that a man could admire for hours and never grow bored—and that was with the clothes still on.

It was hard to believe now, but at one time in his life, when he had been younger and admittedly more foolish, Slade had been married to her. For two years, he had had a woman by his side, one who admired him and loved him. One who wrapped her arms around him, or snuggled closely to his chest at night, or slipped her hand beneath his shirt to feel the hard muscles beneath his skin.

He had never liked being touched, but she was different, and he had warmed up to her patient love with time.

Slade had also rarely talked about his past with her. But she did not insist that he be fully open on that issue, sensing pain there, and let the memories many couples share stay locked away in the infinity of the past.

Of course, there had been other things he hadn’t been honest about besides his early life—other things that he had kept from her.

His plans concerning the lovely planet Earth, for instance.

He remembered the day everything changed between Adeline and himself. He had been at “work” until late at night. Wintergreen had been there as well, and the two had talked the way trusted friends do for a few hours. When Slade returned home, it was dark. He had expected to sleep alone in their large bed, as Adeline was away visiting her sister for a few days. (I suppose I’ll have to keep that shrew safe when the time comes, as well.) He opened the door, and there was Adeline, sitting at the dining table. Her hands were on the tabletop’s smooth surface, clutching a white, used tissue. Her nose and eyes were red, and her dark hair didn’t have its usual shine.

When she heard him enter, she looked up, and her sad eyes connected with his own.

Inside his chest, Slade felt a strange, sudden, urging sense of foreboding.

“Adeline,” he said. “What are you doing home so early? You weren’t supposed to be back until—”

“Don’t,” she said, holding out her hand. “Don’t talk, Slade—please.” She gave him a long, puffy-eyed look, then reached under the table, lifting up a black box carefully stacked with papers and dropping it down on the table with a heavy thud. “What…what is this?” But he could tell she already knew precisely what it was—what it meant.

I shouldn’t have left those in the house, Slade thought. The supposed four days of no Adeline had left him overconfident with his activities. And of all the boxes she could have found, it had to be that one—he couldn’t think of one more inopportune. It would turn any wife’s stomach, the content of those files. Schematics, payoffs, a certain...elimination…

“What are they, Slade?” Adeline repeated harshly. “Answer me!”

Slade forced himself to remain calm. “I think you already know,” he said.

Adeline produced something that could have been a sob. She stood up from her seat, and Slade’s eyes fell to the slight bulge in her belly—the child they had conceived four months ago on a rainy night. His heir or heiress.

“What else have you been holding out on me?” she demanded. “What…what are you, exactly?”

”Adeline—” he sighed.

“Who do you think you are, Slade? Mussolini? Napoleon?”

“Hardly,” he answered, crossing his thick arms over his chest.

This was not how he had wanted her to find out. Slade had planned to slowly, carefully win her over to the idea. In the beginning, she hadn’t been part of the equation, but he’d taken great pains to factor her in, and Slade had found she fit beautifully. He wanted her forever by her side.

“I...I feel like I don’t know you at all,” Adeline told him. “All this time…you’ve been a completely different person—”

“You’re my wife, Adeline,” he told her calmly. “I was going to tell you eventually—when the time was right.”

Adeline shook her head, stepping a ways back. The chair behind her squeaked across the floor, and her hand went to her belly protectively. “Did you want to bring a child into this madness you’ve created, Slade? Or was the baby not part of your master plan?”

“No,” Slade said. “That’s not true. I want the child—just like I want you.”

“I want you to stay away from the baby!”

The fierce comment drew a mixture of emotions: shock and hurt, fear and anger. Slade’s expression darkened, finding anger the easiest to express. “You can’t keep me from my own child,” he told her. “It’s mine as much as yours.”

“Not when I convince the courts that you’re unfit to be its father!”

“You will do no such thing!”

Adeline balked at the tone in his voice, and Slade regretted it immediately.

“Just…sit down,” he said more gently. “I’ll get you some water—” He turned toward the kitchen, and as he started walking he heard an almost inaudible sound—a soft scrape, a slight click.

The sound was alien to him, yet familiar. It didn’t belong here in this house. Slowly, Slade turned. “Addie…?”

He saw her, saw the barrel of the black gun that had somehow found its way into her hand—where had she gotten a—

The barrel erupted. He fell to the floor as his face exploded with pain.

Above him, he could hear crying. Words. She had to, it was for their child, she had no choice…something heavy dropped to the floor…the crying faded away...

He never saw her again. A few papers came to him weeks later, and he signed them. Not long afterwards, a short message signed by a doctor arrived. With the message were photocopied hospital files about a stress-induced miscarriage.

Despite this, Slade hadn’t deterred his plans. In fact, they seemed even more important now. He had nothing else left to him. And in time, he…mostly…got over that night.

Setting down the teacup, Slade touched the right side of his face. His ex-wife had left her mark, all right. In a way, he had come to hate her. To him, betrayal was an unforgivable sin.

Sighing, he caressed the eye-patch he always wore beneath his steel mask. It was almost ridiculous to wear it—but he preferred strapping it on every morning. If nothing else, he could take his mask off in front of Wintergreen, the only one who saw his face anymore.

Marriage, he thought derisively.

It’s all fun and games until somebody loses an eye.

-THE END-