by Kyle Andrews
“You know, I had a hand in that too,” Tracy said from the other side of the room.
Will turned and asked her, “Is that right?”
“Yup,” she told him. “I drew police attention to him by being late for a meeting, then abandoned him on the side of the highway after curfew. If it wasn't for me, he never would have even been caught.”
The way she was saying it was light. She was pretending to take pride in her small role in history. Will even smiled and said, “How 'bout that? Two celebrities in one day.”
But there was more to what Tracy was saying. She was trying to deflect attention away from Collin, which he greatly appreciated, but she was putting the blame on herself. She was taking responsibility for what happened to him.
Will looked down to the little girl and asked her, “Are you famous too?”
The girl said nothing. She just sat in the chair, looking down at her hands, trying her best to get through this impossible situation. Collin felt for the girl. She never asked to be there.
As the scanner moved past Collin's left arm, it beeped. The smile on Will's face quickly faded. He turned to Mek, who took a step closer to Collin.
“Transmitter,” Will told him. “A beacon.”
“Do they know we're here?” Collin asked.
“The shop is shielded. They shouldn't be able to find you here. But they might know that you're in the area. We should take care of this as fast as possible,” Will told him, walking back to the bag and pulling a plastic toolbox out of it.
“Take care of it how?” Collin asked.
“Well, there are two ways, really. I could electrocute you. Short out the transmitter, but keep it inside. That's the easy way, but considering what you've been through, I'm not sure it's the smartest way. You should be checked out by doctors before we go around shocking you.”
“What's the hard way?” Collin asked, knowing that Will was putting off telling him that one.
Mek stepped in and looked Collin squarely in the eyes as he said, “Cut you open and take it out.”
Collin stared at Mek, half hoping that Mek would burst into laughter and tell him some far easier way of taking care of this. But Mek wasn't one for jokes, and Collin got the impression that he was interested in seeing just how Collin reacted to this bit of news. Would he break? Would he prove to them all that he wasn't really worth saving?
While there was a very good chance that Collin would fail to meet the expectations of those who ordered his rescue, he wasn't willing to let it happen just yet.
“Do it,” he told Mek. “Get it out of me.”
Will chuckled and said, “That's the plan.”
When Will opened the toolbox, Collin saw an assortment of medical supplies. Drugs, bandages, scissors, tape, scalpels, needles. His heart started pounding again.
“Take a seat,” Will told him, nodding toward one of the waiting room chairs. He then pulled a small table closer tot he chair and set his supplies down on it.
The place was not exactly sterile. Collin could just imagine the types of germs that could potentially work their way into his system. But the thought of having HAND technology inside of him was worse than any infection that he could imagine. He would rather lose his entire arm than live with that technology inside of him.
The little girl moved to the far side of the room and sat down in the corner, covering her head with her arms. She didn't want to see this operation any more than Collin did. Unfortunately, he couldn't hide in a corner.
Will injected something into Collin's arm, numbing it. As soon as he lost feeling in his arm, his breathing became shallow. He'd spent a month having his ability to feel turned on and off at the will of his captors.
“You might not want to look,” Will told him.
Collin didn't even realize that he had been staring at his arm, watching Will work. He turned his head away and shut his eyes as tightly as he could.
He could hear tools being shuffled around in the toolbox. He could hear scissors snipping away his stitches. He could feel sweat dripping down his chest. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't stand to sit there any longer, but he had no choice. He needed to stay still.
Collin's ex-girlfriend, Liz, was in the corner, sitting next to the little girl. She wasn't really there. He knew that. But she was where he went when this sort of thing happened to him. The memory of a better time in his life. His haven.
Liz was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that didn't leave much to the imagination. This was closer to the real Liz than what he normally imagined. She was barefoot, holding her hands on her head, wanting to look away from what was happening, but she didn't look away. She watched with a pained expression on her face.
Having her there was a relief, but it was also the worst thing in the world. She should have stayed in the HAND building. She should never have followed him back to the real world, where he had real people to interact with.
He wanted to tell her to leave, but he couldn't. He needed her there, at least until the tracking device was out of him and he could breathe again.
Collin couldn't help but expect the dial to be turned and the pain in his arm to jump through the roof with no warning. He knew that it couldn't happen that way anymore, but he expected it nonetheless.
In his mind, he was telling Liz to stay with him. To please stay with him. To get him through this. He was begging her not to leave him, because he didn't know how to get through this without her. In his mind, he was no longer in the waiting room of an auto repair shop. He was back in that room, strapped to that table.
She watched from the corner, turning toward the girl and putting a hand on the girl's head, but keeping her eyes on Collin. She had tears in her eyes, but a look of defiance about her. She was stronger than this, and that meant that Collin was stronger than this.
He could hear distant voices, but he couldn't hear what they were saying. If Mek or Will were asking him important questions, he couldn't answer them. He was stuck in the HAND building, in the dark, with Liz. He didn't know how much time had passed. He didn't know what was happening to his arm or the tracker. All he knew was that he needed to stay near Liz.
Then he felt someone's hands on his face and heard one of those distant voices saying his name. It was Tracy.
Slowly, Collin managed to pull himself away from that room in the HAND building. He and Liz returned to the waiting room in the auto repair shop, and finally, he could open his eyes.
Liz was gone. The only person near the little girl was Will. He was running the scanner over her. It didn't look like he found anything.
Tracy smiled at him when he looked at her. She said, “Welcome back.”
Collin looked down at his arm, which he still had no feeling in. It was bandaged now. Mek was on the other side of the room, looking at the tracking device which was being kept in a small jar.
Part of Collin wanted to ask Tracy how long he had been out of it, but to do so would acknowledge that he wasn't entirely present during the procedure. It would mean admitting that part of him was back in that place. Maybe it always would be.
He lifted his arm and looked at it. Though he couldn't feel anything, he could still wiggle his fingers and make a fist. It was a strange experience. It was like controlling someone else's hand with his mind.
“That should wear off soon,” Will told him, then with a wink added, “Y'know, unless I really did something wrong.”
Collin forced himself to smile. Smiling was what normal people did when someone told a joke, and he had to be normal.
Still smiling, Collin looked at the little girl. She was still sitting in the corner, now with her knees pulled close to her chest. She was watching him with an expression that was both pained and questioning.
10
Rose stayed in bed for longer than was really necessary. She couldn't sleep, and while she had the radio turned on, she wasn't paying very much attention to what was being said. All she knew was that the chaos of the night before was being
downplayed. The Mayor was being praised for accomplishing what he had set out to do. Libby Jacobs was dead. Collin Powers was released. All was right in the world, according to the news reports.
When she finally pulled herself out of bed, Rose set the radio down on the table and looked over at her roommate. His eyes were open now, looking back at her.
“Good morning,” she said to him, putting a hand to her aching head.
“Borning,” the man answered back, his word distorted by his stuffy nose and general grogginess.
There was nothing else for her to say. She wasn't planning on staying in bed for the rest of the day. She had a life to get back to. She had a family that she needed to get home to, and she needed a good excuse for why she hadn't gone home the night before.
But before any of that, she needed to go and see Libby's mother. It was a job that was perhaps better left in Justin's hands, but he hadn't been seen since the night before, and allowing Libby's mother to go on believing that her daughter was still alive would be cruel. Even if the woman wasn't exactly sympathetic to the cause, she deserved to know the truth.
“Do you want me to leave the radio on?” she asked her roommate. He nodded and sighed what may or may not have been a 'yeah.'
Rose stood and moved the radio closer to the man's bed, keeping it on. She then turned to walk out of the room, which sounded a lot easier than it really was. Her head was throbbing. Apparently, having it repeatedly slammed into pavement wasn't such a good idea. Who would have guessed?
By the time she made it to the door, she was feeling a little bit better. Her arms and legs were feeling stronger. She still ached, but she could deal with that. She could deal with anything that she needed to deal with, as long as it would get her out of that hospital bed.
Before she could leave the room, something caught her attention. The news report on the radio, which she hadn't been paying attention to at all, suddenly caught her ear as the female reporter said, “...shot to death in an alley late last night, the apparent victim of a Hate attack. Seventeen year old Croy Fisker appears to have been on his way home, minding his own business, when a member of Hate stepped out of the shadows, pointing a gun at the teen.”
“And I heard it all,” said a new voice as a recorded interview began. This was the voice of an old woman. “I live right up there and I could hear the struggle. The scream... He sounded like a girl, he was so terrified, yelling for someone to help him. And then I heard him again, screaming in pain. It was just awful. I live right up there.”
“Did you see the attack?” asked the reporter.
“Well, I heard the scream for help. And I heard the other scream. Then I heard the gunshot go off. By the time I got to the window, the boy was on the ground and I saw someone running off.”
“What did this person look like?”
“Well, it's hard to say. It's dark and I live up there, so I was sorta looking down. But the person was definitely large. Bigger than that poor boy. And white, because as soon as I saw the boy on the ground, I knew that this must have been some sort of hate crime.”
“A Hate attack?”
“Yes. I don't know what those people want, but it was them.”
The interview ended and the female reporter came back live, saying, “Now, there have been a wave of race-related crimes recently. Most notably, there was a break-in at a hospital, in a largely minority neighborhood where the now-deceased Hate member, Libby Jacobs, was reportedly spotted. The group reportedly objects to flu medications being given out to minorities.
“Authorities have yet to release an official report on this horrible murder. They tell us that the investigation is ongoing, but Mayor Northfolk has issued a statement saying 'My heart goes out to the parents of Croy Fisker and to those in his neighborhood. No child should have to fear for his life in his own neighborhood. Any murder is horrific, but to target a victim based on the color of their skin is truly evil.'”
Rose couldn't keep her mouth from falling open as she listened to that report. The memory of the previous night's attack played in her head like a movie. She remembered screaming for help, but nobody came. She remembered biting her attacker and his screaming in pain. She remembered the feel of his breath on the back of her neck and she knew that if she hadn't done whatever it took to save herself, she would have been the one lying dead on the street.
The color of his skin? Rose didn't even see the color of his skin, but she would be willing to bet that her skin was darker than his. She was well aware of how the government-run media distorted facts in order to herd the public into whichever corner they desired, but hearing it this time sent a chill through her.
She was the victim. That 'poor little boy' tried to kill her, or worse. She did what she had to and she wasn't about to regret it for one damn second.
As she walked away from the room and down the hall, Rose saw Lacy making her way from one patient room to another. Lacy smiled and asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Nauseous, but just because I was listening to the news,” Rose told her.
“I prescribe one hammer to be taken to the radio twice daily.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Rose smiled. She started to walk away and then stopped, realizing that she wasn't quite sure which direction she should be walking in. Turning back to Lacy, she said, “I'm lost. Which way is Libby's mother again?”
As Lacy pointed Rose in the right direction, any humor that she once had in her eyes was gone. She now realized that Rose was on her way to tell Amanda about Libby.
“Do you want me to come?” Lacy asked.
“I've got this,” Rose replied and walked off.
Of course, she had no idea how she was going to handle this situation. She'd never had to tell anyone that their child was dead before. She didn't know Amanda particularly well. For that matter, she'd only met Libby a month earlier. She didn't know how she was supposed to act toward Amanda or what words to use when telling her. Was there a good way to do this? Was there any way to make it even a little bit better?
As she walked, Rose thought about Justin. She'd known him for years. They weren't exactly best friends, but they were close enough for her to know certain things about him. For example, she knew that at that very moment, Justin was hurting. She hated to think about that, because one of the things that had always defined Justin in her eyes was his desire to be good and to do good. He didn't deserve to lose as much as he had.
Her thoughts of Justin were what Rose held onto as she neared Amanda's room. She tried to think about how she would break news like this to Justin, knowing how painful it would be for him to hear it. Did that method help at all? She wasn't really sure.
When she reached Amanda's room, Rose stood and stared at the door for a few minutes, trying to think of the first words that would come out of her mouth. After that, maybe she could make it up as she went along, but she needed those first words. When they didn't immediately come to her, she wanted to turn and walk away. How did she end up in this position anyway? Shouldn't there be someone else who could handle this job? A doctor or... Justin should have done it. But he couldn't. She needed to do this for him.
'Amanda, my name is Rose. I'm a friend of your daughter's.'
Simple words, but they should get the ball rolling. Rose decided on those words and pushed the door open. She walked into Amanda's room, finding it mostly dark. The only hint of light was coming from the various devices that were monitoring Amanda's condition. The room smelled like food—onions and meat, if she had to guess.
As Rose walked deeper into the room and her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, the door closed behind her. She was tempted to open it once again, providing more light and an easier escape route when she needed it, but she didn't turn around. She just kept walking.
In the darkness, Rose wasn't even sure that Amanda was still in the room. She could hear the heart monitor beeping, but for all she knew, she'd walked into the wrong room by mistake. And even if this was Amanda's room, Rose didn't know if
the woman was awake. She was starting to think that she should come back later.
“I told them before, I don't want your help,” came the wheezy, weak voice of a woman in the darkness. “I know what you people are. I don't want your drugs. I just want to get out of here.”
Rose turned toward the voice. She was just barely able to make out the form of a woman in the bed as she said, “Amanda, my name is Rose and I'm a friend of your da—”
“Where's my daughter?” Amanda asked, cutting Rose off mid-sentence. “Where is Libby?”
Rose froze. Amanda's voice changed when she asked about Libby. It wasn't cold or defiant, as it was when she was refusing medicine. When she asked about Libby, Amanda sounded lost. Maybe a little bit scared.
Still unable to see Amanda, Rose could hear what sounded like light crying. Amanda then said, “I need you to tell her that I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...” Amanda started coughing and she couldn't seem to stop.
Rose moved closer to the bed, wanting to find a glass of water or something that might help Amanda, but she couldn't see.
Amanda grabbed Rose's arm and struggled to say, “I need to see her. I need to tell her that...” Amanda stopped talking, not because she needed to cough, but because she didn't know what to say next. Finally, she said, “I need to tell her so many things. I should have told her before. I just need to see her.”
Rose opened her mouth to speak, but there were no words. She searched her mind for something—anything—to say, but nothing came to her.
“You're a friend of her's?” Amanda asked. “Is that what you were going to say?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Rose replied. It might have been the first time she'd ever used the word 'ma'am' in any way that wasn't sarcastic.
“Why is she here?” Amanda asked. “Maybe if I understood.”
