by LE Barbant
“Who are you?” Rita said, scanning the room for details as she waited for the girl to respond. Her predatory sense of smell revealed little and the dim light made it hard to see, but her enhanced nerve endings spoke wonders. The air was moist, which wasn’t uncommon for summer in Pittsburgh. The palpable condensation in the room told her that they sat down by the river. In Pittsburgh, that didn’t offer much specificity.
“I’m Skylar.” The girl’s face was soft. It didn’t mirror the anxiety Rita felt rising in her stomach.
“Where are we, Skylar?”
The girl remained silent. Rita expected at least a shrug, but as in much of life, her expectations went unfulfilled. She was never very good with kids and could tell her track record might remain consistent.
“How long have you been here?” Rita asked. She tried to soften her tone but her raspy voice precluded gentle whispers.
“I’m not sure. I can see the light come and go through the cracks. Tried to keep count for a while, but then I just gave up. More than a month, less than six, as far as I can tell.”
There was something odd about the girl. It wasn’t that she seemed to sit completely motionless or that she spoke so articulately for a young teenager. The strange thing was her composure in the face of a monster. Rita avoided people and for good reason. But this girl addressed her as if she were another human captive.
“You aren’t afraid of me?” Rita asked.
The girl laughed. “Why would I be afraid? If you haven’t noticed, there’s not one, but two sets of bars between us. You couldn’t do anything even if you wanted to.”
Rita walked to the bars and wrapped her clawed, webbed hands around them. It was as close as she could get to the girl. Rita’s black eyes stared, trying to untangle the mystery. “Most people find me…unsettling.”
“Being different doesn’t make you a monster.” A corner of Skylar’s mouth curled up. “But why do you look like that?”
The question was strangely comforting. She had never had anyone ask in such a disarmingly honest way. The few who she had spoken with over the years—Chem, Tim, and Elijah being the majority—danced around these questions or avoided them entirely. The frankness was humanizing. Rita glanced around the cell. “It looks like we will have plenty of time to talk about that. But first, I need some answers. Why are you here?”
“For a while I didn’t know. When they first took me, I thought they were going to make me do…um…you know…stuff.” The girl’s face flushed with embarrassment. “But then I just lay here. Finally, after what must have been weeks of me begging, the nicest one—the one who bathes me—told me it was because of my mother. They are trying to make her do something.”
A chill swept over Rita’s dried scales. “Bathe you?”
“Oh, right. Details. I can’t move anything below my neck.”
Horror found its home in Rita’s stomach.
“See,” the girl said, “I’m different too. Although I don’t have your cool claws. I bet you don’t take crap from anyone.”
You have no idea, Rita thought, even as her heart, for the first time in a long time, broke for someone other than herself.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no. I’m used to it. As used to it as somebody can become, I guess. Happened ten years ago. Kids in my class are getting their driver’s licenses, I was hoping for a new chair. You know, one I can control by blowing into a straw. My mom has been building one that will be better than anything you can buy out there.”
A smile crept across the girl’s face. Guilt and admiration collided inside Rita.
“What are they trying to make your mum do?”
Before the girl could answer a steel door creaked open; natural light invaded the dim room. Rita shielded her eyes with her hand. As her sight adjusted, she made out the silhouette of a man in the doorway.
“Is that the nice one?” Rita asked in a hushed tone.
The girl shook her head.
“Ah, look at this. The fish is up.” The man laughed as he approached the cages.
Overweight and wearing gray pants with a matching shirt, he appeared as though he might have been in great shape before beer and fast food became his primary sustenance.
He stood inches from Rita’s cage.
“Cat got your tongue, Flipper?”
Rita’s black eyes captured the man’s without blinking. The walk to the cage had induced heavy breathing. She moved back into the corner of her cell and sat on her heels. She didn’t say a word.
“You better play nice, you could be here awhile. We’ve had that vegetable in this place for months.” He nodded to the girl. “You think someone is coming for you? Come on. We both know you’ve got no one.”
An image of Chem and Elijah flashed through her mind. The relationship between her and the chemist was tenuous, but she had helped them. While she knew Chem wasn’t a man of principles, the new one—Elijah—certainly was. He wouldn’t abandon her to this place.
As though the man could read her mind, he sneered. “You think those other sideshow performers are coming for you? We knew you were ugly—but we didn’t know you were stupid too. They don’t give a shit, honey.”
Rita tensed as he reached into his pocket, waiting for a tool to give weight to his cruelty. Instead he produced a handheld digital recorder and clicked it on. The sound was distorted but she could still recognize the voices.
“Screw Rita. She’s made it abundantly clear that she’s not one of us. It sounds terrible, but the freak made her bed.”
Nicotine-stained teeth flashed as the man turned off the recorder and slid it into his pocket. He laughed as the weight of Chem’s words washed over his prisoner. “Like I said. I’m the only friend you’ve got.” An evil look passed across his face. “Fuck with me, and you’ll be sorry.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Traffic blocked the road for several miles east of the Squirrel Hill tunnels. It was no surprise. Elijah had gotten used to this commute, although tonight’s circumstances were less than usual. His thumbs drummed the steering wheel to music playing in his head. He rehearsed the speech one last time. It needed to be perfect.
Rhett might be able to pull it off, but years of teaching didn’t provide the historian with the necessary oratorical skills. He closed his eyes, then jumped in head first.
The die is cast.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said.
Willa didn’t respond. Her eyes were locked on an imaginary line outside the gridlock.
“Did you hear me?”
“You’re predictable, Elijah.” She pivoted her head. Her eyes were cold. There was little left of the smart, gutsy woman he got to know over only a few months in the spring. “I know you have to try to talk me out of this, but it won’t work. Dobbs killed my mother. I can’t just let that go. And it’s not outside of the realm of possibility that he had something to do with what happened to Sean…and Brooke.”
Willa was using a powerful rhetorical move, and Elijah felt its impact. Apparently she had been rehearsing too.
“That’s why we’re going,” he said, trying to swallow the lump in his throat whole. “Strange things are afoot in the Steel City and Dobbs has the answers. But we need to get him to share that information with us. That’s not gonna happen if we…”
“What do you think, Elijah, we’re just going to walk into the Mayor’s office and get a confession about killing my mom?”
“Maybe. We can be persuasive.”
“Oh, I’m planning on being very persuasive.” A smile, cold enough to match her eyes, manifested on her lips.
“OK, so we persuade him. Then we call the cops or something.”
Willa let out an uncharacteristic laugh. If Elijah didn’t know better, he would swear that Willa’s evil twin sister was riding shotgun. “Don’t be naïve. People like Dobbs don’t pay for what they’ve done. They just keep on keeping on.”
The car was quiet. Too quiet. Elijah’s nervous drumming returned.
“Don’t get in my way, Elijah. I don’t want to have to go through you to get to him, but I will if I have to.”
He knew she wasn’t bluffing.
“Willa, we’ve been given these powers for a reason. We’re not their lords but their stewards. This is only the beginning—you know that—and we need to start this right, or we’re just those monsters that Dobbs is calling us.”
“With great power…OK, Uncle Ben.”
Elijah paused for a moment. He’d reached his last line of defense. “I didn’t learn it from the movies. I learned it from Sean.”
Willa stared out the window. Elijah could barely hear her response, but it sent chills down his spine.
“Sean’s dead, Elijah. And soon Dobbs will join him.”
I’m screwed, Elijah thought as he cursed out loud at the traffic.
****
“This isn’t right,” Elijah said.
Their footsteps echoed through the foyer of City Hall.
“It’s a weeknight,” he continued. “This place should be packed.”
Silence greeted them as they walked toward the guard’s desk. The scenes on a row of monitors jumped around to different parts of the building. “He’s waiting for us.”
“Yeah, he might be. And I think he’s pretty damned excited about the prospect of getting some of the monsters on candid camera.” Elijah nodded to the screens.
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Willa said, as she started to chant.
“All within is dark as night:
In the windows is no light;
And no murmur at the door,
So frequent on its hinge before.”
The screens went to static.
“That will do it,” Willa said. “Gives us about an hour, and it should have fried everything up to about fifteen minutes ago too. So, I’d say we’re in the clear.”
“Somehow that doesn’t give me much comfort.”
They paced toward the elevators. Inside, they pressed the button for the Mayor’s suite. A bead of sweat traced its way down Elijah’s spine. The elevator rose and he considered his training. He only hoped he could bring his powers to the fore if necessary.
“Remember you still have a choice in all this.”
Willa’s eyes were glued on the numbers lighting as they approached the floor. “I know you think that.”
The elevators slid open and Elijah had a flashback to PPG Tower.
This is not going to end well, he thought.
****
“Welcome, friends,” the Mayor’s voice met them as they entered his office.
It was a gaudy workspace. Gold floor-to-ceiling curtains and overstated chandeliers made it look more like an 80s casino than a 21st century political lair. It even smelled old, like his grandmother’s house in Rockland.
Unlike the office, the Mayor himself was more impressive than Elijah expected. On television the man looked good for his age, but in person he seemed downright regal. His suit was perfect, and it matched his hair and smile. The look in his eye screamed divine right of kings.
“Friends?” Willa sneered.
“I’ve known you a long time, Dr. Weil. What, you’re surprised I know who you are? I’ve been waiting for this moment for years. Just never thought it would come at such an opportune time. I always knew I was blessed, but this is almost too much.”
Dobbs directed his perfect smile toward Elijah. “And you must be Dr. Branton. I heard you were doing some amazing work on the history of steel for the Alarawns before your early termination. There’s been a lot of termination during your tenure in Pittsburgh, hasn’t there? Well, I’m glad you returned. I could use another pawn on the board.”
Dobbs stood from behind his desk and walked around it. A sitting area of a love seat, two chairs, and a coffee table separated the heroes from their villain.
“I should really thank you for that stunt at PPG Place. I mean, I was already trending down in the polls. I remember looking at Vinton—God rest his soul—and saying, ‘Bobby, unless something downright apocalyptic happens, we might find ourselves in a tight spot.’ And you know what? Armageddon arrived in the form of a couple of overeducated snots who don’t have the chops to work a full-time job.”
Elijah felt his temperature rise, even though he knew that was exactly what Dobbs was looking for.
The man needed a show, and this was the warm-up.
He didn’t need to turn his head; he could feel Willa’s lips moving. Shit was accelerating. He started his own centering, focusing on bringing out the power.
Willa paused her poem and spoke to the Mayor. “You killed my mother. And now you are going to pay for that.”
He laughed. “Technically, I’ve never killed anyone. But, you’re right. I called in the hit. I mean, best decision ever. Look at me now.” The man waved his arm, showing off his office like a model on The Price Is Right. “But maybe I should have killed that baby along with her. Might have saved me a headache. Anyway, I’m sure this will play out just fine.”
Heat rose in Elijah’s body. He struggled to manifest his power on command, but he knew that turning now, at least in part, would be no problem. Although the old spirit was gone, he could feel traces of him, and he was pissed.
“It’s time, Dobbs,” Willa said through gritted teeth.
“Oh, you thought I was just going to deliver a cliché villain speech before being killed? Come on. I should show you what Pittsburgh’s research budget is able to buy.”
Before he could finish the sentence, the doors opened.
Three men wearing serious DARPA-like battle armor rolled into the room. Elijah recognized the tank from earlier but with it was not one, but two men in the smaller exoskeletons. Elijah, Tim, and Rita had barely held off two of them. This wasn’t a complication they had planned on.
Oh, shit.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Rhett stood on large porch, a thin railing the only thing separating it from a line of nearly identical houses on either side. Pittsburgh row homes made him feel claustrophobic. A gentle rain splashed on the asphalt, adding a quintessential city smell to the night air. He knocked for a third and final time, then leaned against the railing. He would have to move to plan B if she weren’t home, though he had no idea what plan B was.
He exhaled as the doored open.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Jillian stood in the doorway. Baggy pajama pants and a hoodie with a faded college seal on the front were a stark contrast to her formalwear from the other day. Though she could have been sleeping in that outfit, Rhett could see in her eyes that she was wide awake.
“I see it’s blogger business casual today,” he said, looking her up and down.
Jillian didn’t say a word; she just turned up a middle finger in his direction.
“Sorry, I’m not here to give fashion advice. But you do owe me a drink. Grab your gear and let’s go.”
****
“You want the story of a lifetime?” Rhett asked between sips of his Dark and Stormy.
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
Rhett was distracted by the red curls. Even though the biggest clusterfuck in Pittsburgh history was about to go down, all he wanted to do was play with them.
“Let’s just say I have a line on something big and I don’t trust anybody else…”
Jillian stopped the glass of Merlot before it got to her lips. “I’m glad I’ve earned your confidence.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. In lieu of a trustworthy reporter of repute, I’m settling for you.”
“Bastard.”
Rhett could see the beginnings of a smile on her lips. It had only taken her five minutes to get ready, but he noticed subtle lipstick and some mascara that hadn’t been there originally.
“Go to City Hall at 6 p.m. You’ll get all the proof you need regarding our monster problem.”
Rhett threw a twenty on the bar. He pointed at it, and said, “You still owe me a drink.
”
She grinned as he stood to leave. “That’s it? You’re seriously not going to give me any more info?”
Rhett smiled. “Don’t worry, you can trust me.”
“Like hell I can trust you. You’re Dobbs’ lapdog. This is probably just another ploy to distract the public.”
He stared at the woman. It was the rare person who remained unaffected by his words.
She must be more of a cynic than I thought.
He could hear Paul laughing in the back of his mind. His powers ineffective, Rhett settled for a more conventional tactic.
“Fine, stay home. I’m sure a serious news outlet like the Pitt Times will listen to me.”
He turned to leave, not waiting for her response. At the door, he offered one last word of warning.
“Oh, when you show up, keep your head down. City Hall might be a war zone by the time you get there.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Light pierced the room as their jailer returned. Rita had learned from Skylar that he rarely left her alone for long. He seemed to take joy in poking fun at her.
He headed toward Skylar’s cage, whistling tunelessly.
“You’re a dead man.” Rita gurgled under her breath with her head down.
The man stepped toward the cage. “What? Dead? Just you wait until we parade your body in front of the city. The sight of you is gonna make this city shit its pants.
In a flash, Rita’s clawed hand darted between the bars. The guard didn’t stand a chance of reacting. She grabbed a fistful of shirt and pulled with all of the unnatural strength her transformation had given her. The sound of the body smashing against the bars was sickening. A scream accompanied the first collision. Rita pushed, then pulled again. The second blunt force knocked him unconscious. The third, fourth, and fifth brought the blood. Red sprayed from the man’s nose and lacerations on his forehead, turning the artist into a walking canvas fit for the Warhol Museum.
Breathing heavily, Rita finally released the shirt and let the body fall into a mass on the floor. She reached through the bars and into the guard’s pocket; she found his keys.
