by Lin Lustig
John scoffed. “He'll have ten times the social media and PR team that I have to help keep their public image above board. I'm sure all of this is planned. Can I get either of you a drink?”
“Yes,” Glen and Licia said in unison. Seemed she wasn't the only one left uneasy by the three of them back together.
It was a situation where they knew too much about each other for normal conversation, but not enough for diving right back in where they'd left off. Instead they sat and drank for twenty minutes in silence until Emerson returned.
Glen's watch vibrated and he checked the screen. “Are we on the National News Network?”
“Downloaded the app just for the occasion.” John sat forward and switched to the right app, then turned up the volume. Emerson hovered behind them at the kitchen island. Glen was as far from John as possible on the couch. Licia stayed in the chair away from them all. Their focus slid to the TV.
They sat in the in-between. A state of teetering. Water about to overflow a glass but hanging on by surface tension.
Then a brunette with immaculate makeup filled the screen. “Breaking news, Milo Kostas has announced The United Humanitarian Project has proof of what they're calling Abnormals among us.” The text banner below the anchor read UHP Supports Theory of Abnormals.
Licia tasted John's sour shock mix with her own, then a rush of erotic heat filled her abdomen. “Emerson, keep a hold on John.”
Emerson scanned them both, then rested a hand on John’s shoulder. Maybe Licia was hypersensitive to John's vibe, but in the past, his panic often became a lust bomb that she had no interest in dealing with. Glen stilled in his seat, but his emotions stirred closer to curiosity and concern. Then the churning mix of flavors became mud and she warded against them.
The anchor continued, “We've just had a call into the studio, Mr. Kostas will be giving a live interview from UHP D.C. headquarters shortly. Stay tuned for the exclusive story.”
Licia didn't need her ability to read the hunger on the anchor's face. A story like this breaking live? The impromptu interview must have the newsroom in a flurry if the anchor's increased attention said anything. The world had kept their kind quiet since Aubrey first started experimentation. People weren't ready to process something other. The world couldn't yet handle giving women equal pay or stopping discrimination against people of color and other sexualities. Thanks to GANF's twisted narrative of salvation through staying natural—their version of “natural”—any progress towards equality was nonexistent. If they opened this and gave the public a unified source of fear and hate, the other specialized Abnormals could face worse than UHP's experimentation. She bit down on her fear and made sure none of it slipped through her walls. The others were already on edge, and she couldn't let them tip into panic.
“They're outing Abnormals?” Emerson glanced at them all, his fear pressing against her.
The temptation to throw them all under the wet blanket of ennui was enticing. Dampening reactions had a place, but they needed the swirl of adrenaline and fear to spark their brains into creative solutions. She only had one solution—cut off UHP's head, but her visions reminded her just how much John would abhor that.
Glen fidgeted closer to Licia, scooting so far to the edge of the couch that he looked wedged into the arm rest. She caught a taste of his eagerness at odds with the fear in the others. She stared at him instead of the TV until he flinched away. “What is it?” She kept her tone even. He fixed his cuffs and glanced at John; whose attention slipped from the TV to them.
“Might as well tell her.” Glen shrugged, but John went tight and glanced at Emerson instead. She waited, crossing her arms and watching them. Emerson sat forward, glancing between them all.
“It can wait.” John gave Glen a don't-push-it look.
“Can it now?” Licia brought down a portion of her walls and let them feel her impatience lashing out like a cat of nine tails. Glen started to speak, but John cut him off.
“Aubrey. Aubrey's out. She's in D.C. right now working for UHP.”
She wasn't fast enough to rebuild her walls before the rage flashed down the tendrils of her power like a lightning bolt. John's nostrils flared and Emerson gripped the arm rest until it creaked. Glen's breath went erratic and red patches highlighted his cheeks. Years of practice kept Licia from losing her control, but she shook with the effort to leech out a little calm to temper her slip. When they were emotionally stable, she said, “Why the fuck aren't we in D.C. burning the place down? We could have been in there freeing that girl instead of sitting on our asses while you two play battleships with your relationship. And you,” she pointed at Glen, “used this as a way in.”
Glen puffed up his chest. “I'm not—”
“Shut it.” Licia couldn't hold her frustration back and felt it coil around the three of them despite her walls. All the deep breathing in the world wasn't going to steady her.
“This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you yet. You spoil for a fight before we know all the facts.” John gritted his teeth. Licia wanted to flay him to the bone.
“Who’s Aubrey?” Emerson asked. The three of them stilled like water had doused their sparks. John's emotions skipped from annoyed to horrified to worthless in the single breath he took to speak, so she cut him off.
“She ran WHRP. We had her arrested and imprisoned years ago,” Licia said. John caught her eye. She didn't have to cover for him or give him an out from telling the truth. He needed to tell Emerson, but maybe now wasn't the right time. Not with her and Glen hovering like vultures over the carcass of their relationship.
John cleared his throat. “She uh...” he shifted in his seat. “She experimented on a kid named Azami. We got her free. If Aubrey’s back, then she'll be the one running the experiments. We'll have to approach her directly, but she's...” John paled and licked his lips.
“Worry about that later, he's on.” Glen hiked the volume unnecessarily as they fell silent. Maybe even he sensed that this wasn't a conversation they should be privy to. Her annoyance and rage petered out as she considered Glen. He slipped her a small smile and she found no effort was needed to return it.
The anchor gave a final lead in to the story. They went live to the UHP office in D.C. drawing out the moment, putting them all on the edge as they waited to hear what UHP had to say. The original L.A. office of WHRP had disbanded after they took out Aubrey, but UHP rebuilt with a new political angle and moved their primary site to D.C. If Aubrey was there, then they could reach her. Licia could almost feel the woman's twisted emotions within her grasp. Finally, a reporter sat in a cozy chair with the current CEO, his wizened face and gray streaked hair making him look like a professor, rather than a businessman. The glasses didn't hurt, nor did the modest blue suit with no adornments.
“Mr. Kostas, thank you for setting aside time for this interview. Just minutes ago, UHP released a statement citing the company has proof for what you've called Abnormals.” The reporter was smooth, no hesitation in her voice and no frills to her presentation.
Kostas nodded. “Reports have been coming in for the last decade on increased rates of savants and genetic abnormalities—mostly in children. We've had the opportunity to study some of these cases and have found a few adults that display attributes that go above and beyond what we thought the human body and mind were capable of.”
The sharp woman cut back in. “Similar conspiracies have been floating around for years. What makes your findings conclusive?”
“We've been working with them. These people have no idea what's happening to their bodies, and we're doing everything we can to bring clarity to the fear of the unknown. Part of that is control. We've decided to come forward with our information because we can now offer a solution. The United Humanitarian Project has created a new suppressant called Jammers. Similar to beta-adrenergics, these pills block the hormonal spikes of abnormal influences—rather than adrenaline like the beta-adrenergics. We've had tremendous success in our control groups, but
Jammers have yet to be approved by the FDA.”
The reporter nodded, her face a mask of intrigue and suspicion. “So, these Jammers stop the so-called abilities?”
“They help nullify them for about twelve hours. When taken by someone without abnormal traits, it protects them from the effects of Abnormals. Jammers provide a way for those with or without these expressions to control what they influence or are influenced by.”
“It neutralizes someone’s own ability?” Emerson’s lip curled in disgust. John shushed him.
“It sounds like you're suggesting there's something dangerous about Abnormals.” The interviewer's question made Licia grind her teeth. Jammers were canceling out natural specializations, taking away who they were. Dangerous? Anyone was capable of being dangerous. Anyone.
Kostas leaned forward. “Some of the abilities we've seen when uncontrolled are.” He eased back. “But some are as close to a miracle as I've ever seen. The danger lies in the unpredictability of the infected individual. People with these abnormalities have a duty to help the rest of society, and people like you and me have every right to protect ourselves from intentional or accidental misuse of those abilities if desired.”
“You say infected. Is this a disease?”
Kostas almost looked surprised, his lean eyebrows arching. “Not at all. But we don't know what's causing these expressions. Affected individuals are rare, adults even more so. With Jammers, we can help their friends, their family, and them.”
“If they are as rare as you suggest, then what makes UHP believe people need to be protected from them?”
“For that, I'd like you to play the clips my head of research has made available.”
The interviewer nodded at someone off screen and they cut to a familiar stark room in a hospital hundreds of miles from here, but so clear in Licia's memory that she was instantly transported back twelve years.
The camera was angled down, looking at the blurred faces of two individuals. One was in a hospital bed, thin and worn, her long greasy hair stringy. Beside her sat a prim woman in crisp clothing, her hands lightly clasped in her lap. The patient had an IV in her arm and bruises from needle punctures in her left elbow.
Fury and a pit of sadness ached within Licia as she watched Azami. Azami before they'd freed her. Azami at the mercy of her mother and the doctors.
Verbal consents were given to the camera, though the names were beeped. They talked through taking a needle to Azami's less bruised arm. Even with her face blurred, it was clear she flinched back when the needle stabbed in. Red blood welled into a small vial, and a nurse—also blurred—carried it to another patient in an adjacent bed.
The camera panned to a woman in a white lab coat, but when she spoke Licia recognized Aubrey's voice. The hairs on her arm stood tall. It took all her control not to look at John.
“The patient has stage four lymphoma. Notice the nodules on his neck. He's unresponsive and on hospice. We have signed consent forms to inject him with the Abnormal blood.”
A tall, thin figure, also disguised with blurring, touched Aubrey's shoulder. “Wait, I'm not sure about this. That kid...”
Damn. Another voice she recognized. She felt John go rigid on the couch and caught a taste of his acidic fear. But John in the clip, identity protected, whispered into Aubrey's ear in protest. Licia hoped the others wouldn't recognize his cadence.
Aubrey brushed him off, then continued with the trial. She showed the scans taken of the patient, claiming to have come from only hours before, then injected him with Azami's blood. A nurse rolled over a large monitor with a small attached wand, then repositioned the patient's head so the lump on his neck was more pronounced. It took Licia a moment to realize she had an ultrasound machine and used a squirt of gel to help slide the wand over his neck.
The lump showed up as a dense cluster of white against an otherwise dark background. At first Licia assumed the clip would cut to hours later, but no. As they watched the tumor began to shrink. His pallor warmed a shade from death-gray to ashen.
Aubrey made a verbal note of the process, and then the clip cut back to the studio.
The reporter sat upright, listening into her ear bud, then said, “We have another guest. Please welcome Toby Marquah.”
The man who stepped into the interview was barely recognizable as the same patient in the clip. Licia sank into her festering anger and disbelief. Yes, Azami could heal others, but they were killing her to save everyone else. Toby and Kostas shook hands, greeting like friends.
“Mr. Marquah, was that you on that video?” the interviewer asked.
Toby sat back on a spare chair hastily rolled out onto the set and crossed his ankle over his knee. His grin was chipper and a little goofy. “Yes ma'am it is. That girl's blood gave me twelve years of health and happiness.”
“And this is only because of her blood, no other treatments?”
He laughed. “I was a complete goner. That little angel saved me.”
Kostas clapped Toby on the back with a grin. “This is our miracle. This is what we want to give to the world, but unfortunately the girl in question refused to help any further. Her abilities are what we strive to find and share with the world. Our research is intended to help us recreate this medical marvel, but I'm afraid not all abilities are as miraculous.” Kostas nodded and the reporter gave another signal off screen.
Glen leaned forward. “Wait, what did he mean—”
“Shh,” Licia snapped.
Another video played. The quality suggested it was newer. No John this time, but several blurry-faced medical staff.
A young man was strapped to his hospital bed with thick cuffs. He didn't look to be in pain, but his sweet voice trembled as he spoke his consent to the camera.
Licia flicked her gaze to John. He met it briefly with a flicker of uncertainty, then focused on the TV.
A nurse approached the young man and laid her hand on his arm. The moment their skin touched, she buckled to the ground. He apologized over and over, the sound like a mantra to ward off evil. Another nurse put on a pair of rubber gloves, then held the young man's wrist with no ill effects.
A male voice described effects of electrical currents on neurotransmitters, in this case superficially the ones for pain—caused by the patient.
Out of the corner of Licia's eye, John palmed his face, a briny defeat washing over Licia's wards.
The clip continued with another test. Bare skin-to-skin. A new volunteer touched the young man and seized up. The staff tried to pry him off. The patient screamed and bucked back, trapped within his restraints. The volunteer went limp. Doctors and nurses shouted mixed instructions. The camera skewed. The screen went black then returned to Kostas in his chair, looking somber with his hands clasped.
“The patient committed suicide a few weeks after the last video was taken. He couldn't come to terms will the deadly power he held.”
The interviewer swallowed hard, her stoic expression cracking. “The volunteer didn't survive.” It was half a question, half a statement.
Kostas nodded. “This is why we've been working on Jammers. Useful abilities have a responsibility to help. Dangerous abilities need to be controlled. On Halloween, our annual gala will be dedicated to raising funds to increase Jammer production. We want everyone to have access, so anyone can be safe.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kostas and Mr. Marquah. We appreciate your time today.”
The interview ended. Emerson muted the TV, filling the room with strained silence.
All Licia could hear was shallow breathing. She released her wards and was slammed with the taste of their terror, their disbelief... and Emerson's recognition.
Fuck.
CHAPTER 30
John
John couldn't move. He could barely breathe. This was it. They'd been outed. He'd been outed.
Emerson's grip tightened on his shoulder. A warning? A comfort? He didn't dare look at him for confirmation or condemnation. Then Emerson's hand slid away and
John couldn’t stop himself from turning.
“Fuck.” Emerson scrubbed his face and left the couch to pace.
John swallowed hard, his throat scratchy and swollen. “They've made us out to be dangerous,” he said, feeling like that ever-present elephant between him and Emerson might finally stomp on him. Licia glanced between them all, but it was Emerson that broke first.
“Explain.” He rounded on John, flexing his muscles to seem imposing, but John wasn't threatened. He'd already lost and part of him was relieved to finally be punished.
“Emerson,” Licia warned and stood as well, her frame doing nothing to block Emerson, but John could feel a slither of her power reach out, waiting. She didn’t need to protect him, but it was nice to believe she was still on his side.
“That was you in the first video.”
Guilt ripped at his organs. If only he could go back, he might let Licia raze the whole place just to soothe the disgust in Em's eyes. But he couldn't have predicted his marriage would cause all this.
“I didn't know what the company would become,” John admitted.
“How did this happen? How were you working with them!” Emerson developed splotchy red along his cheeks, but his eyes were as cold as Licia's.
All eyes were on John, each a set of cold marks against his soul. Glen and Licia already knew what he’d done, but Emerson’s outrage felt like a condemnation from them all. “I met Aubrey when I was seventeen. She figured out what I could do and wanted to understand how I worked. I was their first subject.” John licked his lips. A wave of nausea made him feel ill, but he didn't let it show. This was a role. He couldn't lose composure or control. He'd been rejected before. He'd be rejected again. But he’d never thought it would be like this.
“John, do yourself a favor and shut up.” Licia kept her stance just a breath between him and Emerson. John stood and sidestepped her, coming within Em’s reach, knowing he’d never hurt him, feeling the friction threaten to catch and burn him alive. He wanted to touch him, to try and reach something still linking them together, but even as he thought it, he could feel their connection pull tight and splinter.
