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Honestly?
Helen was still completely bewildered. She had no idea whether what she'd just experienced was real or some kind of hallucination.
But getting shot had felt real.
Even now, just thinking about it made her heart involuntarily clench.
And the bullet hole in her clothes, along with the actual bullet that had fallen out when she'd undressed—both seemed to confirm one thing.
Everything she'd experienced was real.
She had died.
But she also hadn't died.
After coming back from that strange resurrection, Helen had initially been worried about George. Then, realizing George had something important to tell her, she'd gone to check on Officer Mahoney's surgery. When she finally returned to the room, she had a moment to sit down and process everything that had happened to her.
She remembered where she'd gone after being shot.
That place had a ceiling unlike anything on Earth. There was a field blooming with countless exotic flowers and plants that didn't exist in the mortal world. And towering in the distance was a palace of unimaginable grandeur.
Most importantly, that girl...
The one who reminded her somehow of her son-in-law, with similar features in her eyes and brow.
Right.
That girl had also said something about her "brother," hadn't she?
Helen's mind conjured up an image of Anya. Her eyes snapped into focus, locking onto Hawk with sudden intensity.
Hawk noticed Helen's stare, and something clicked. He looked back at her.
Helen frowned.
"I think... I saw your sister Anya, Hawk."
"What?" George, standing nearby, blinked in confusion.
Gwen's eyes widened. "Mom, you're saying you saw Anya?"
Hawk, however, remained calm.
The Underworld existed within his Cosmo. He was aware of every breeze, every ripple within it. Naturally, he knew that Anya had indeed met Helen.
Though Helen hadn't had time to say much before entering the Phoenix Rebirth sequence.
"Yes."
"That must have been your sister Anya."
"That place... I think it was Heaven."
"I think I went to Heaven for a little while, and I saw your sister Anya there. She looks a lot like you—same eyes. I don't think I was mistaken."
Helen's brow had been furrowed, but as she spoke, her expression gradually relaxed. She turned to George. "I died, George. But then I came back."
Their eyes met.
George didn't hesitate. Filled with emotion but carefully controlling his strength, he gently pulled Helen into his arms and let out a heartfelt exclamation.
"Thank God!"
"..."
George's heart swelled with gratitude as he attributed the miracle entirely to God.
But God—namely, Hawk—wasn't happy about that.
Hawk watched as George gave credit to that old fraud in the sky for what was clearly his own doing. He raised an eyebrow.
"Actually, that was—"
"That's wonderful, Hawk!"
Gwen, who had been watching Hawk like a hawk herself, saw him about to claim credit for his work. She immediately let out an excited cheer, threw her arms around him, and whispered rapidly in his ear: "Doctor costume."
Hawk, who had been fully prepared to take back what was rightfully his, raised an eyebrow. His gaze met Gwen's as she looked up at him from within his embrace.
In that split second, Hawk made his decision.
"You're on."
"You—"
Gwen's eyebrow twitched as she looked at her opportunistic fiancé. She was about to say something when she saw Hawk's mouth opening again, his gaze shifting past her. She caught on immediately and bit down on her words.
"Fine!"
"Deal."
Hawk's smile was radiant.
Whatever.
Let George thank God. It's not like George specified which God he was thanking.
Besides—
It was just a title. Meaningless. Watching Gwen in a doctor costume was far more meaningful than any credit.
Hawk was practically glowing with satisfaction.
Gwen, having successfully redirected Hawk, breathed an internal sigh of relief. But there was still one more thing to handle. She released Hawk, turned toward her parents—who were having their own tender moment—and quickly interjected. "Dad, Mom's dead!"
Helen immediately bristled.
She looked at her daughter Gwen, who was clearly cursing her despite the fact that she was very much alive, and her expression darkened. She was about to say something when—
George had already caught on. He nodded, his expression turning serious as he looked at Helen.
"Yes. You're dead, Helen."
"..."
I'm dead?
When? Wait—am I actually dead? Is all of this just some kind of post-death dream?
Helen was lost.
But George quickly explained everything.
Of course, he left out the part about having become a vampire.
His mind was still in chaos, and he hadn't figured out how to tell Helen about that particular development yet.
But one thing was certain.
If the vampires found out Helen wasn't dead, they'd know something was wrong. They might go into hiding, but they'd definitely come after Helen again.
So—
Until they caught the vampires, Helen had to remain in a "deceased" state.
Helen understood.
She could accept the logic.
But—
Helen looked at her husband George, then at her daughter Gwen, her expression unreadable. "So I'm definitely dead, then?"
George and Gwen exchanged a glance.
"Helen."
"Mom."
"..."
Hawk stood off to the side, quietly observing without getting involved. In fact, he used the Reality Stone to reduce his presence, then silently turned, opened the door, and left the hospital room.
He had zero interest in participating in this tedious charade.
If Gwen had let him handle it, this would already be over. Hell, if she'd given him the green light, every vampire in New York would have already delivered the so-called "Crimson Apocalypse" organization and its mastermind to his doorstep on a silver platter.
So instead of wasting time with internal conflict, why not make life difficult for someone else? Who cared who was actually behind it? Just kill vampires until you got it right. If you happened to get the right one, perfect. If you got the wrong one, no big deal—the "innocent" vampires you killed would be even more motivated to find the real Crimson Apocalypse than you were.
So—
Why go through all this trouble with a fake death? Was it really necessary?
Hawk didn't get it. But he could respect it. And since Gwen had asked him not to intervene, he absolutely wouldn't.
Besides, he didn't really want to intervene anyway.
After all, his only publicly known weakness—the only person he genuinely cared about—was Gwen.
Who knew if stepping in this time would give the opportunistic vultures lurking in the shadows the bright idea to target Helen, George, Howard, or Simon as a way to get to him?
He wasn't about to give potential enemies that kind of opening.
So—
If Gwen didn't ask, he wouldn't act.
Once again—if they died, they died. At least they'd end up in the Elysian Fields of his Underworld. Going there was basically the same as going home.
Just like he'd told Gwen earlier—there was no way he'd throw Helen and George into one of the Eight Prisons if they died.
That would never happen.
Just then—
Detective Hale stepped out of the elevator.
Hawk greeted him.
"How's Officer Mahoney?"
"The surgery went well. Doctor said he'll be fine. The bullet didn't pierce his heart."
"That's good to hear."
"Is the captain awake?"
"Yeah."
"I'll head in, then."
"Go ahead."
Detective Hale, who had just come from Mahoney's room, exchanged a few words with Hawk standing by the door, then pushed it open and walked inside. The sight that greeted him was nothing short of shocking.
The captain—who just this morning had taken three bullets, been rushed to the hospital barely breathing—was now standing upright. His face was a bit pale, but his energy was surprisingly strong.
More shocking still was his arm, which the doctor had diagnosed as having multiple fractures. It was moving with perfect flexibility.
Hale was stunned.
"Jesus, Captain, how are you—"
"Hale, get in here. Close the door."
"..."
Hale barely had time to process what was happening before Gwen pulled him inside.
An hour later—
Hale and a female officer with her head down hurried out of the hospital, got into a police car, and drove away with sirens wailing.
Hawk and Gwen, meanwhile, returned to the Stacy apartment.
Gwen flopped directly onto the bed and stretched. "God, I'm exhausted."
Hawk smiled faintly. "Stop saying 'God.' God's our enemy now. Wait until I've stormed Heaven, then you can say it all you want."
Gwen blinked, and something seemed to occur to her. She sat up suddenly and looked at Hawk.
"When Mom left with Hale for the safe house, there weren't any vampires following them, right?"
"None."
"Good."
Gwen let out a breath of relief.
Hawk's expression turned helpless. He hadn't planned on asking, but he couldn't help shaking his head. "Why make it this complicated? Just say the word, and I can wipe out every vampire in New York."
Gwen immediately shook her head.
"No!"
"Why not?"
"This is Dad's fight. And besides..."
Gwen looked at Hawk. "You not getting involved is also protecting Dad, Mom, Howard, and Simon."
After all, it had been her idea to ask Hawk not to intervene in Stacy family matters.
Because Hawk's weakness should be one person.
More than one wasn't a weakness.
It was a liability.
Most importantly—
Gwen smiled at Hawk. "If I called you, you'd help, right?"
Hawk smiled back.
"Of course."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"Oh, right."
Gwen's smile brightened, and she smoothly changed the subject, looking at Hawk—who had moved closer to hug her, his hands starting to wander. "What you said earlier, about not marrying me if Dad died—was that real?"
Hawk's body went rigid. He met Gwen's half-amused, half-serious gaze.
"That was reverse psychology. Couldn't you tell?"
"Was it?" Gwen stared at Hawk, her hand slowly moving downward. Her smile grew wider and wider until she suddenly grabbed hold. "Like this kind of reverse psychology?"
Hawk sucked in a sharp breath, his mouth twitching.
"Careful. Break it, and you're the one who'll regret it."
"Who says?"
"Whoever uses it will regret it."
Hawk looked at Gwen's tightening grip, his smile growing wider.
Gwen watched Hawk's increasingly smug expression—and felt little Hawk growing increasingly bold in her hand. She took a deep breath and immediately let go.
"Sleep. We've got more acting to do tomorrow."
"..."
Yes.
Acting.
A performance for the vampires.
After all, Helen was "dead."
Even though Helen wasn't actually dead, she was dead as far as the vampires were concerned. If George wanted to catch the vampires hiding in the shadows without flipping the table like Hawk would, he had to play along with this charade.
George and Gwen knew it was an act.
But Howard and Simon didn't.
...
The two kids were genuinely crying.
Heart-wrenching, soul-crushing tears.
Standing in the morgue, Hawk watched as George and Gwen held back Howard and Simon—who were screaming and trying to see their mother's body, crying even harder because they were being restrained. Hawk kept his eyes down, trying very hard not to laugh.
Especially at the funeral a week later.
Hawk had bought himself a pair of sunglasses specifically for the occasion. He put them on, hiding his eyes, sank his consciousness into his Cosmo, and maintained a completely emotionless expression as he stared blankly at the fresh headstone before him.
The name on the stone was clear.
Helen Stacy.
Behind it, a freshly dug grave awaited the casket that symbolized Helen Stacy's final resting place, slowly being lowered into the ground.
George held a sobbing Howard, his own expression filled with sorrow.
Gwen restrained Simon, who kept trying to run toward the casket, her face equally grief-stricken.
As a professional detective who regularly had to intimidate suspects, George's acting had always been flawless. No one could find fault with it.
Gwen was beautiful.
And as they said: the prettier the woman, the better the liar.
So, Gwen's performance was equally impeccable.
Howard and Simon, however, were completely in the dark. Their emotions were raw and real. The poor kids had cried so much over the past week that their voices were nearly gone.
So whether George could use this performance to lure out the vampires behind everything, Hawk didn't know.
But he was absolutely certain of one thing.
Once this was over, George and Gwen were going to pay for it.
Gwen still had an out, though.
She could avoid the apartment and stay at 521A Bleecker Street until the heat died down before going back home.
But George? He was screwed. After this was over, he'd probably be sleeping on the couch for at least a month. Maybe three.
Hawk watched as dirt was shoveled into the grave, observing the father-daughter duo putting on their Oscar-worthy performances. He felt a certain schadenfreude as he looked at George—who was also wearing sunglasses but couldn't hide the "grief" on his face, the ring on his finger glinting in the light.
The ring on George's finger wasn't the daylight ring Hawk had sent via Katherine.
But it was still a daylight ring.
It had appeared on George's bedside table when they'd returned to the hospital room from the morgue. Along with it was a cell phone and a note.
The note explained the ring's function and the phone's purpose.
But the phone hadn't rung once.
Until now.
The moment Helen's casket was fully lowered into the ground, George felt the phone vibrate in his pocket. A flash of fury crossed his face before he handed Howard to Gwen and walked off to answer the call.
Katherine, who had also attended the funeral as a guest, moved to Hawk's side.
"Sir, do you need me to capture that vampire?"
"No."
Hawk shook his head. "They like to play games. Let them play. We'll just watch."
Katherine nodded and fell silent.
Through his sunglasses, Hawk's eyes tracked beyond the cemetery grounds to a figure standing on a rooftop overlooking the service—a man dressed entirely in black, also holding a phone.
His Sixth Sense spread out, and he clearly heard both sides of the conversation. The black-clad figure's voice, and George's voice on the other end.
"Captain Stacy. My condolences."
"Murderer!"
"Soon, Captain Stacy. The killer will turn himself in soon. By the way, Captain—now that you're one of us, have you felt that extraordinary power?"
"..."
George said nothing.
But—
He had felt it.
His strength, his speed, even his stamina—all of it was skyrocketing at a visible rate.
There was just one downside.
He needed blood.
The vampire on the rooftop smiled with a twisted expression. "However, Captain Stacy, you have quite the appetite. Most newborn vampires only need one blood bag a day. But you? You've purchased quite a lot of blood bags this week."
In the land of the free, everything was for sale.
Blood included. It had a price tag. As long as you had the money, you could buy a truckload of blood and use it to water your garden if you wanted.
George's face remained expressionless.
"Isn't that what you wanted to see?"
"Yes. Exactly."
The rooftop vampire nodded without hesitation, then changed the subject. "But only drinking blood bags isn't good for you. That's frozen blood, Captain Stacy. You should try something fresh. Trust me—you'll like it."
As he spoke—
The vampire pulled the phone away from his ear, typed out a text message, and sent it.
George looked at the incoming message.
He opened it.
His brow furrowed.
"Hudson Meatpacking..."
"Yes."
The vampire's smile widened. "Tonight at eleven, Captain Stacy. Go there. Tell the guard you're a guest of Cole. I've arranged a gift for you. Once you accept it, I think we can finally meet face to face."
George frowned. "What gift? What are you planning?"
The vampire's smile turned mysterious. "A welcoming gift. You'll like it, I promise, Captain Stacy. After all, if you don't like our gift, then our meeting might be postponed indefinitely. And your friend Ben? He might not be coming back. Eleven o'clock tonight, Captain Stacy!"
With that—
The rooftop vampire hung up, turned, and leaped off the edge. In a flash, he vanished.
George, still on the phone, frowned deeply.
Hudson Meatpacking.
Hawk raised an eyebrow and glanced at Katherine beside him.
Katherine understood immediately.
"It's one of the vampires' party spots in New York. A place where younger vampires gather to enjoy... festivities and fresh blood."
"Like the Crimson Apocalypse? Run by that Deacon Frost guy?"
"Yes."
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