The Perfect Soldier

by B D Grant

  “At any time did you see the people shooting?” Her knuckles have gone white around the tissue she’s still holding.

  “No ma’am.” She relaxes her grip on the tissue, her shoulders slouching. “But it had to be the Seraphim who worked in the building. That place was like a fortress. That room that I saw those Dyna getting geared up in, they were prepared for something like this.”

  She gives me a small shake of her head. “There are a lot of people living and working those buildings. We need positive ids in order to bring anyone in front of the council. Did you see any of the officers or the detectives after that?”

  It takes one word, “no,” to see Susan zone out.

  The cubicles must be decently soundproofed, because at some point I can make out crying from another cubicle, but it is really muffled. I hear vibrations from Susan’s side of the table as I’m getting to the part where we’ve made it to the other hallway thanks to Baudin and Mick, and the hand holding a gun is about to pop out from a room and fire blindly in our direction. Susan squirms as the vibrations continue.

  “Hold it right there,” she says, pulling her cellphone out of her blazer pocket with one hand, pausing the recording screen on the laptop with the other.

  Her shoulders slump as she looks at the tiny screen. She drops the phone in her lap as she pulls another tissue from the box still holding the old one. She looks like she’s about to sneeze as she pinches her eyes shut pressing the fresh tissue into the end of her nose. She sits like this for a second. When she opens her eyes, blowing lightly into the tissue before balling it up like the other one tucked in her palm, she’s looking at me. Without glancing at the laptop, she turns the recording screen back on. “I’m going to have to end your statement there.”

  I blink at her. “Really?”

  She turns off the recording, and the pointer on the screen turns into a small loading circle. I was thinking this was going to be me giving my statement and then having questions to answer afterwards. I’m not even getting to finish my statement. A few moments more, and the detective closes the laptop. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I know this is a lot, and what you went through is terrible.” She leans across the small desk. “You were very fortunate to have gotten out of there okay,” her eyes dart to the tissue box, but she doesn’t take another one as her voice drops an octave, “but not everyone did. If you would like to wait I can let my staff know that your statement isn’t complete. They can get another detective in here to finish taking your statement as soon as someone becomes available.”

  I sit back thinking about her offer for another detective to come in and finish hearing me out, but what else do I really have to tell them? I hadn’t thought about what her people must be going through. Even the ones who have been here taking statements nonstop must be going dealing with their own emotional issues if they knew the detective I saw who got shot. Even if they didn’t, anyone with a shred of empathy would be struggling with a compassion overload.

  “No,” I say quietly, “I think I’m good.”

  “If you change your mind, we’ll be here,” she says on her way to the door. She holds it open for me.

  I walk out to a heavyset woman who’s waiting outside of the cubicle. She steps out of the way so that I can leave. As Detective Susan walks out after me the woman stops her. “I needed to know whose family you wanted to contact first?” she asks her. “I wrote a condolence outline for you to go by. It covers the basics.” The woman hands Susan a folded sheet of paper.

  The muscle on the sides of Susan’s jaw bulge as she glances at the paper. She unfolds it, reads no more than the first sentence, and then hands it back. “I’ll figure out who’s first when we get upstairs. I won’t be needing that.”

  Mom is sniffling hard when she rejoins Dad, Jake, and myself in the waiting area. I tell them about my statement being cut off and the detective taking my statement being offered a condolence letter to read from as I was leaving. Mom thoughts are immediately of Sidney. “Sidney was shot during our escape,” she tells Dad and Jake. “She wasn’t looking good when we left her. I need to know how she’s doing.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out,” Dad says, stepping away from our little group.

  “Who’s Sidney,” Jake asks as Dad walks over to the nearest door in the waiting room. He knocks on the door. I don’t have an answer that doesn’t sound crazy, so I look to Mom for an answer.

  “When I was a child she helped me. She didn’t have to, but she did and it changed my life,” Mom tells him. The door cracks open and Dad leans in. We can’t see who he’s talking to but he doesn’t talk for long before nodding, and then the door shuts.

  “Selma will be along shortly,” he says, rejoining us.

  Jake looks at all of us. “Who’s Selma?” Mom and I shrug.

  “That attorney,” Dad says, giving him a confused look. “You know Selma. She’s the assistant attorney to Kauffman,” Jake still doesn’t appear to know who he’s talking about. “William McBride’s attorneys.”

  “Oh, gotcha,” Jake turns, and then stops when we don’t follow him. “Are we not going to wait for Selma by the stairs?”

  “Sure,” Dad says, looking from Jake to Mom and I. “Will’s attorneys are working out of an office on the second floor.”

  The female attorney Mom and I met earlier outside of Uncle Will’s trial room, Selma, greets us at the bottom of the pretty staircase behind the main entrance. She gives all of us the same unwavering smile as she hands Dad keys and a sticky note. “The address to the hospital,” she tells him. “And the council’s shuttle bus will take you.”

  “What’s the shuttle bus for?” Mom asks, looking between Selma and my dad. “I drove here. We can take my car.”

  Selma’s smile drops. “About that,” she says, suddenly unable to look my mom in the eyes. She walks around us toward the metal detectors. The guards wave us through. “Your car came back stolen,” she says as we walk outside. She stops on the top step and points at the tow truck loading Mom’s car up on the back of it. “The council is having it brought to the tow truck lot. The tow truck company will contact the owner. The paperwork is going to show that it was found abandoned on the side of the interstate. But,” she says, her smile returning. “The council has been nice enough to allow Seraphim use of their shuttle-bus. The driver is a professional.” A white shuttle bus is idling to the right of the front steps.

  “But, we drove too though. Why don’t we just take our car?” Jake asks, looking at my dad. Selma’s smile grows tight. Dad reads her face. “The council’s insisting we take the shuttle bus, aren’t they?”

  “It’s just a safety precaution,” Selma says. “They don’t want Mrs. Jameson taking off again.” Everyone looks at Mom, but she’s still watching the tow truck where the flat bed has slid back and tilted down toward the front of Mom’s car.

  “Maybe you should tell them that there’s weapons in the trunk of the car,” Mom says as the tow truck driver pulls a metal cable that has a thick metal chain on the end down the flat bed and to the front of the car.

  Selma spins around and hurries inside. A guard appears outside following behind her. “Do you have the keys?” she asks my mom. Mom’s hand disappears under the bottom of her oversized shirt and reappears with the keys, handing them to Selma. Selma snatches them from her. “In the trunk,” she says to the guard, handing him the keys. The guard takes off in a jog toward the tow truck driver. “Hold it!” he calls. Selma starts after him at a casual pace. Looking back at us she says, “You can go ahead and go.”

  The driver, sitting patiently in the shuttle bus, doesn’t need the address to hospital. “Been driving there all week,” he says. “You ain’t the first.” It’s just the four of us in the otherwise-empty shuttle; I get the window seat. Jake sits silently in the row behind me. Hand in hand, Mom and Dad take the first row behind the driver. I stare out at the graying sky for the next fifteen minutes.

  The hospital isn’t nearly as big as the one Dad
and I were in after the raid, but it’s much more heavily guarded. Their attire doesn’t coordinate like the guards at the old insurance building. They’re wearing regular street clothes. It’s the clear coiled cord swirling up the back of their necks, over the top of the ear, and into their right ear. I’m not sure if they all have them. The first two men I passed who I felt the Sensaa reaction from I hadn’t noticed their ears. One had been wearing coveralls and the other was in khaki cargo shorts, so I had initially assumed they were visitors like us, but based on how they seemed to intentionally not make eye contact with me and how they were just meandering about like the others we passed after that, once I’d noticed the earpieces, I’d bet they were all council security.

  “The council has divided their security between watching over them and making sure the Seraphim here are safe,” Dad tells Mom and me.

  “Better late than never,” I grumble. Mom takes my hand in hers and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

  As we walk through the hospital on our way to the second floor, there I get the distinct feeling that this place has more security officers than the White House.

  Mitchell Lanton is waiting outside of Sidney’s room when we walk up. A guard strolls past us, same clear cord winding up his neck, as we congregate outside of her door, catching Mitchell’s eye. “He’s still in there,” Mitchell tells him. The guard nods and keeps going.

  “Glad to see you’re still alive,” he says to my mom.

  Mom lifts her chin but her eyes are downcast when she speaks. “Glad to still be alive,” she counters, not apologizing for running out on him the morning of the raid.

  Mitchell nods, as if knowing better than to ask for an explanation. He tells us that the council is waiting to talk with Kelly. “He’s in there with Sidney,” he says.

  “How long’s he been in there?” Mom asks.

  “Better question is ‘When’s the last time he left?’” Mitch says. “I think a restraining order may be the only thing that will get him out of her hair.”

  “We’re here to see her,” Mom tells him. “She won’t be alone.” Mom looks over at Mitch who has turned away from us to watch two women wearing matching green scrubs walk past us. Mom looks to Dad next.

  Dad clears his throat to get Mitchell’s attention. “Do you think you could uh,” he says.

  “Oh,” he tucks his head looking embarrassed, “sure. I’ll go collect him.” Mitchell checks out the two women one last time before walking into the room.

  We follow him inside to find both Kelly and Sidney asleep.

  Kelly has pulled the only chair in the room up to the side of Sidney’s bed. His face is buried in his arms. Sidney’s hand is resting just by his nearest elbow. She’s the first one to stir when Mitchell lightly nudges Kelly’s shoulder.

  “There you are,” she says as she blinks awake, noticing Mom and me first.

  Kelly shifts groggily next to her. Sidney runs her hand over the short hairs that peak out of his scalp, stirring him awake even more. I can’t help but smile as I watch Kelly wake up. He looks like a little kid, rubbing his eyes and yawning deeply.

  Sidney carefully crosses her hands over her lap as she beams at Kelly. “I couldn’t have asked for a nicer young man to keep me company.” Someone who didn’t know the situation would like she was the grandmother singing the praise of her grandson, and not a gunshot victim praising her shooter.

  “We’ll see if the council feels the same way after they hear what I did,” Kelly says.

  “None of that,” Sidney insists, almost before he’s finished. “You’ll be fine.”

  “Let’s give them some privacy,” Mitchell tells Kelly. Kelly looks to Sidney. She nods, giving him a wink as he stands. He rubs his eyes some more as he and Mitchell head for the door, leaving the four of us standing around Sidney’s bed. Dad must have some idea who Sidney is since he hasn’t asked who she is like Jake has, but he doesn’t get close to her like Mom and I do. She and I move to stand on either side of her bed. Dad stays by the door with Jake. Both of them appear like they’re trying not to stare at Sidney, glancing around the room, at Mom and me, and then just barely looking over Sidney before looking back around the room. Mom could have already told him about Sidney long before I even knew anything about her.

  “They did a number on that one,” Sidney tells Mom once Kelly is out of the room. Sidney looks at Jake and my dad, and then past them toward the door. “Is this all of you?” she asks, seemingly expectant.

  “William’s on trial for the raid. It started this morning,” Mom says.

  Sidney looks somewhat disappointed. “Oh,” she says, “His girlfriend finally got him into trouble?”

  “You know Cassidy?” I ask.

  “Some. I know she’s trouble, always was.”

  She’s not wrong. Cassidy has always scared me a little more than I’d like to admit.

  “It’s not about her. His trial is to examine how he handled the raid,” Mom tells her.

  “He didn’t reach out to the council before initiating the raid,” Dad says, looking at Mom. “That’s the real reason he’s on trial.” Mom gives him a weak smile before looking down at Sidney.

  Sidney lifts her left hand weakly keeping her right arm nestled over her stomach. “Have a seat, all of you,” she says, batting at the air in front of her face as if there was a bug buzzing around her. “You’re staring at me like a zoo animal.”

  I take Kelly’s recently-vacated chair while Mom sits on the bed opposite me by Sidney’s feet. Jake goes to the window on the far side of the room leaning against the windowsill as Dad sits down on the stiff little couch next to him. Jake fiddles with the blinds that are partially closed. Unable to open them any further, he soon gives up. Dad grabs the remote for the tiny television mounted on the wall, and hands it to Jake. Jake flips through the channels. He stops on a play-by-play of a boxing match from last night.

  Sidney pauses for a minute, her left hand now fiddling with the sheets. Finally, she asks, “Have any of you had any dealings with the Supreme Council before?”

  Everyone glances around, but no—it’s the first time for us all.

  “I’ve always heard that their headquarters is fairly nearby, but it’s supposed to be a secret,” Mom says.

  “It is,” Sidney agrees, “but back when Aurora was still a functioning community, we never needed them to step in.”

  “We?” I ask. From what I’ve seen of her past, she’s always stayed away from Seraphim, and for good reason.

  She flattens a crinkle in the sheets with her fingertips, taking her time. “My husband and I lived in Aurora, a long time ago.”

  “Is that the man…” my voice fades. I don’t know what I’m allowed to say in front of Dad and Jake about the man she’s shown me, the one in the body bag.

  “You don’t have to talk about it,” Mom says to Sidney, aware of my hesitation.

  “I want to,” Sidney says. “When you’re able to see the end creeping in your direction, you tend to reflect,” she chuckles. “In my case, it’s barreling towards me like a freight train.”

  A voice from the doorway catches us off guard. “I hope that doctor I’m paying for didn’t give you that prognosis.”

  Mom and Sidney perk up. “William!” Mom shrills.

  “There he is,” Sidney beams.

  Dad stands to greet him. “Did you break out?”

  Jake and I stay where we are. I’m worried, like I had been with my dad, that Uncle Will is going to chastise me for running off from Clairabelle’s.

  Uncle Will looks behind him at the door. “I have people with me, and in case they don’t do their job,” he lifts the leg of his slacks up, “I have this.” He shows us a bulky tracking device strapped around his ankle.

  “I’m happy you’re here,” Sidney tells him. “And that doctor you’re paying for hasn’t told me anything, but the nurse said I’m stable. And Kelly told me that they plan on running some tests on me tomorrow.”

  “I’d feel better if so
meone actually told you that,” Uncle Will tells her.

  Dad heads for the door, “I’ll go hunt down a doctor.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Jake says, jumping up.

  Sidney rests her head on her pillow, shutting her eyes. Mom moves closer to her. “Are you feeling alright?”

  She opens her eyes just a bit. “Whatever they have me on works wonders for the pain.” Sidney absentmindedly runs her left hand under her right arm that hasn’t moved from her abdomen. Where the bed sheets stop at her waist I can make out the edges of the heavily wrapped area her arm is covering. It bulges slightly from under her new hospital gown. “I wish I could have been there when you two were growing up,” she says into her lap.

  “Sid, you gave us our lives in Aurora,” Mom says softly.

  “Clairabelle was the one who brought you to Aurora,” Sidney clarifies.

  Uncle Will walks around Mom to get closer to Sidney. “We knew it was your doing,” he says gently. “Catherine told me that you were sending someone to take us somewhere safe.” He leans in to kiss her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispers to her cheek.

  “My sweet boy,” Sidney coos. “I just wish I’d gotten you out of there sooner.”