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Agnes Monroe’s autopsy was never released to her family. Her cause of death, time, and location, all unknown. The clothes they took from her body, unrelated to the scene at hand. Her plain jewelry that rested upon her fingers and neck; now tucked away in a cardboard box, sealed with police evidence tape--missing nothing but one sole rose-colored ring.
Agnes Monroe’s will, on the other hand, released much. Her house (clean and sparsely furnished, as though she hadn't been there often enough to live in it.), her clothes (some worn, older, but others bought only for show. To wear as a disguise, as armor), and her prized possessions. Her jewelry. Elaborate rings, sparkling necklaces. Shining gold, and deep silver. Emeralds, sapphires, rubies. (These luxury, and cared for. These weren’t armor, those were her. She loved them.
She loved them because she could never wear them in the field.)
(Don’t ask how Guy knows, he just does. Somewhere deep down when he had gained the ring, he had also gained her . And everyone before her. Though, those details aren’t as sharp as his late aunt’s)
Agnes Monroe now rests, the details of her death covered up, in a urn not her choosing. Drab, matte black, sealed tight as is the procedure.
The basement, unlike the rest of the home, was, was--beaten, for lack of a better word. The wallpaper was shredded, the concrete cracked in some places, stained with dark red blotches in others. In the past, if he cared enough in that moment, Guy might have pondered if she had murdered someone down there. But, he knows better now.
Agnes Monroe lived a life of solitude, secluded from her family. She stitched her wounds by herself, spit up blood on her own carpet--had to take jobs that were in every way the opposite of her dream, all because she had rules that demanded she always be there to save the day.
Guy only wishes he had thrown the damn ring in the lake. So it would’ve never been destined for Kelly, and Agnes before her. So he could take a damn break. So Megadale could crash and burn, and crooks and villains could take over the city, but at least his family would be happy, god damn it.
Nobody would be stuck , stitching a bullet wound, by themselves, in their own supercar, because the damn ring and its rules demand he be there for every little thing. Nobody should be here, on the verge of tears, near dusk, because their own dad shot them through the side. It was an accident, sure, Guy had been too close to Tara in that moment, but come on.
Now Tara got away, and he’s still here.
“Take a deep breath, darling.” Shelia reminds, her voice soothing. The car’s engine whirrs faintly in the background. Guy pulls at his choker, feeling it wrap too tightly around his neck. Then, he just pulls the damn thing over his head. “You keep working on that cut, and I’ll get us back where it’s safe, okay?”
Guy doesn’t respond, rubbing a shaking hand over his eyes. He must be smearing his makeup, but he doesn’t care anymore. If it doesn’t affect his powers, he can do whatever he wants.
“I need you to breath , Guy.” Shelia insists, switching the car to autopilot and pulling out of the alleyway. The night air stings against his face unpleasantly. He gives up on stitching the wound close and just presses a tightly wadded ball of his cape against it. Then, does he breathe.
“Why?” He asks the stars, but also Shelia.
“Why what, darling?” Shelia responds.
“Why did Agnes even want to have successors? She knew how terrible it was, didn’t she?” Guy whimpers, “To hold up the entire world by yourself? Why would she put her ring where we would find it?”
“Guy…” Shelia sounds far away, almost sad; but that might be the blood loss.
“I mean, she had Tara--” He groans, the reminder burning in his side. He blames the blonde for this, no one else. “--for, for, support, but Tara could never be everywhere at once like I have to be. Like she had to.”
“Agnes Monroe was…strong. So strong.” Shelia assures, “The role of Shezow demanded she be, as it demands of you. However, she fought the expectations, driven to just ignore the ring no matter how much it burned, no matter how many sparkles waited beyond the door of her lair.”
“But she didn’t manage it.” Guy slumps against the pink leather seats, as the wind blows his hair back.
“Yes. You know better than any how impossible it is to resist.” Shelia says like her words don’t hurt his heart. “She had to. But, she made it her own. Changed the costume her grandmother had worn into something more her style. You may think it as an eyesore, but I assure you; it was much worse when she was younger.” Shelia laughs, somber and old. “It was a fight to get the leg warmers off the boots.”
“She was happy? Even despite it all?” Guy whispers. The warm lights of his neighborhood grow closer.
“I thought so.” Shelia responds, “...But you are not.”
“No.” Guy chuckles, trying hard to not taste the sharp twang of blood that builds in the back of his throat, lest he gets nauseous. “I don’t think what I’m going through, I would ever want to subject someone else to. Never mind the good parts.” His house comes into view; all the lights on, all kitchen chairs are filled except one. It doesn’t hurt, he reassures himself, that his parents just accept the ‘staying over at Maz’s’ text with hardly a ‘ok’, then start dinner without him.“Megadale doesn’t need Shezow, the way our family needs us , you know? I know my mom was sad for a long time because of Agnes.”
“I don’t know if I can agree with you, darling,” Shelia starts, which is what Guy had expected.
Guy coughs, “It’s selfish, I know, but I can dream, can’t I?”
(He can’t)
Shelia is silent. Her image goes still on the screen. The basement door lifts open.
“So, she gave up her ring anyway,” Guy closes his eyes as they pull into the basement, and the doors shut behind them with a silent thud. “Way to perpetuate the cycle, Monroe.”
There’s a beat of silence, before:
“I apologize if this information hurts you but--Agnes had no part to play in choosing a successor,” Shelia says, and Guy snaps his eyes open. He stares at the display, where pink cartoonish lips frown at him.
“Then who did?” Guy pleads the answer isn’t what he thinks. They had never gotten back Agnes’ things from where ever she died, but who’s to say nobody got a hold of them? His dad had said back then, that families get back the belongings of their deceased loved ones, should the family choose. Even victims of a crime, even if it’s covered in dried blood. But they didn’t.
“I did, darling,” Shelia confirms, hushing him as he tries to rise from the vehicle, letting a soft mist rise from the air vents of the car. He staggers, then slumps back into his seat, face pinched.
“You set us up?” Guy squeezes his eyes shut as a wave of tiredness settles over him. He frowns, and those tears dried by the wind flood over again. “You wanted, no, needed us to fill the mantle again. You would’ve taken Kelly. ”
Something grabs his arms, lifting the balled up cape from his side. The cloth sticks a bit and rips skin on its way out. The wound left out in the open air burns .
“--stole Kelly from us, ruined her.” She would have never gotten anywhere in school if she had the schedule Guy does. Her grades would be tarnished just as easily as his; her future nothing but dust. He’s never been so glad he got the burden instead, even if she doesn’t think the same.
What she doesn’t realize is that she’s worth more than he’ll ever work up to. Their family's pride and joy. And he’s glad. He’ll save the day, but she’ll do something more important in the long run.
“--but you ruined me instead.”
Keep them alive. Keep them thriving. Without her, the family won’t grow.
Because the life of Shezow is to stay the same, to stay alone, to stay beautiful.
To die alone; your ring passed on to the family you only have because of your sacrifices.
Guy sleeps.