The Light of Redemption

by Natalie Damschroder

  “What are you guys doing in here? What’s all the stuff on the table for?”

  “Like I’m telling you, stupid twat.”

  “Hey.” Conn came closer. “Language.”

  Wig goggled up at him. “Seriously? Seriously? You’re gonna lecture me on my bloody language?”

  “I have a burner phone,” Conn said. “We can leave and call in a tip so they don’t know it’s you.”

  I appreciated the offer, because it was better that they not know Eclipse was here at all. But I wanted him to see the stuff in the back, first. “Go look over there before we leave.”

  “No! Stay away! That’s private property!” Wig pounded his feet on the ground and bounced on his ass. He kept yelling as Conn went over, somehow melting into the shadows again so I could barely tell where he was. I waited, torn between following and finding out what he thought, and staying here to watch over these guys. I’d never had anyone slip my light bonds before, but I definitely didn’t want the first time to be in front of Conn.

  After a couple of minutes, he came back, skirting the area lit by my light, and opened the back door. He jerked his head, indicating it was time to leave.

  I looked down at the guys at my feet. “Whatever you’re doing,” I said, “stop doing it in my town. This is your only warning.” Then I strode out the door Conn was holding.

  He couldn’t hide from me in the light of day, as overcast as it was. His dark gray hoodie was up over his head and was big enough, like my hood, to keep his face shadowed. But the rest of him was unmistakable, given how thoroughly I’d studied him at the library.

  “Here.” He handed me a cheap little phone, the burner he’d talked about. “Go to the building next door and call the police.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  His head turned away a little, but he didn’t answer.

  “You’re going to leave? Just ignore all this, ignore me, and take off?”

  “There’s no reason not to.”

  “Are you kidding me? There are a hundred reasons!” I threw my arm up in an arc. “I don’t know what that stuff in there is, but it’s important enough to those guys that they tried to shoot me.” There was a sudden sharp sting in my calf, some injury making itself known now that my adrenaline had ebbed. Probably debris from a ricochet off the brick wall.

  “I don’t know what it is. It could be nothing, and just as he said—he was defending his property.”

  “And you’re still trying to pretend I don’t know who you are.” The deep voice thing was driving me crazy. Both because I knew it wasn’t his real voice, and because it gave me a shivery swoop every time he spoke. And because I wanted to know how he was doing it.

  “You don’t know me.”

  Semantics. I didn’t, it was true. We’d met once, and I knew nothing about him that he hadn’t allowed the town gossips to know. But the way he stood, the breadth of his chest, the hands that were balled into fists—it hadn’t taken long for Conn Parsons to make an impression on me.

  “And we need to talk about my email. I don’t know why you’d try to warn me off. I’m sure you have your reasons for not wanting to help me, but superheroes—”

  “I’m not a superhero.”

  Time was running out. If I didn’t call the police now, there was no way they’d arrive before my light began to dissipate. This debate was going to have to wait. Exasperated and frustrated, I whirled and ran to the stairs down to the riverbank, hoping like hell Angie was okay. She wasn’t in sight when I topped the bank, and I rushed down the stone stairs, already dialing the burner phone with my left hand while I clutched my over-full bag in my right.

  “Angie!” I called, spinning, waiting for the dispatcher to pick up. She dove out from behind a bush and flung herself at me, crumpling me into a hug.

  “Ohmygod, I was so scared!”

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

  I wedged my free arm up and put my finger to my lips, then pointed to the phone. Angie backed up, nodding, but then squeezed closer again. To hear, or because she was still scared?

  There was no voice-modifying app on this phone. No apps at all. So I tried to keep my voice unrecognizable. “I want to report suspicious activity at Emeraud. Maybe gunshots. I think there’s some kind of drug thing going on.”

  “Are you in a safe place right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to ask you a few questions. We’re dispatching a patrol unit. Did you see a gun?”

  “I heard something that sounded like gunshots.”

  “How many people are present?”

  “Two, I think.”

  She asked me a few more questions, and I disconnected when she tried to get my name.

  “Let’s go.” I shoved the phone into my bag and took out my tunic, handing the tote to Angie as we fast-walked along the muddy riverbank. “I want to get out of here before they start searching the area.”

  “Gunshots? They shot at you?”

  “Yeah.” I un-Eclipsed myself while I told her what had happened.

  “What was The Brute doing there?” She was panting as we dragged ourselves up the short slope by shanks of long grass. Leaving, unfortunately, a very obvious trail behind us.

  “We’re not calling him that. And I didn’t have time to find out.”

  But I would. We got in the car and drove away carefully, heading out of town. We’d circle back, but I didn’t want to pass the police, should they actually show up. My report hadn’t been very concrete. I hadn’t given a lot of details about Wig and Kyle, which would have been incriminating to my own trespassing. And since the weapon had been suppressed, if they found it, it would be suspicious if I’d heard it too clearly.

  “What are you going to do?” Angie asked once we were a few miles away and hadn’t seen any other cars.

  “Get the stuff I collected tested. See if we can figure out what they’re doing. I can go back at night if needed.” My heart pounded. They’d be twitchy now, and even though I could do something new, using light as a shield, I wasn’t sure I was ready for another battle. If you could call what had happened a battle.

  “And Mr. Clothesline? Why was he there?” she asked again, because that was the most intriguing question. He’d told me no, he wasn’t going to help me. And then he’d shown up where I was—still not very friendly, but helpful. How had he known? Or was it coincidence?

  One thing was for certain. I was not done with Conn Parsons.

  Chapter 6

  The week went by very quietly after that. I didn’t see Conn, not for lack of trying. I patrolled every night and caught a peeping Tom and two guys making a middle-sized drug deal—typical stuff. And I sent the samples I’d collected to an old college friend who worked for some type of lab up in Cleveland, but she didn’t expect to have the results until next week.

  I didn’t test my abilities. I wanted to, but I was a coward. With my old training ground unavailable, I couldn’t think of any safe place to do it. My house was out. Experience told me that control wasn’t the first thing to be gained, and I didn’t want to break any of my stuff. Or have flashing light seen by my neighbors. The basement was too small. Angie suggested the woods, but there were too many issues there. No available light unless I took it with me, too visible at night by anyone passing by, no time during the day because of work and other obligations.

  She argued. Constantly.

  “Take flashlights and stuff. You can draw from a lot of places. Dome light of your car. Headlights. Cell phone.”

  “And all of those sources will die if I can’t keep the light from dissipating before I return it. I can’t drive home with no headlights. Plus, there’s too much open space. I’ll be seen.”

  “What about that stretch of woods north of town? Where thos
e kids were busted for barn parties last year?”

  “Visible from the highway.”

  “Ooh! Crowley Road. That’s always deserted.”

  “Crowley Farm.”

  “Damn, you’re right, the family’s so big there’s always someone there. What about—”

  And on it went, until she accused me of being a coward, I agreed with her, and she threw her hands up and stormed off.

  Sunday afternoon, Simon was having a Memorial Day barbecue. He typically invited half the town, which meant it would be a good place to follow up and see what anyone knew about Emeraud. There had been nothing in the paper, and no one mentioned it at the library. It would hopefully also be a place where I could talk to Conn Parsons, unless he didn’t go so he could avoid me.

  “Are they here?” Angie twisted to peer over her shoulder, studying each person in the crowd in Simon’s backyard. She held her red Solo cup of soda close to her chin, as if protecting it from unknown substances. Even after a week, she hadn’t relaxed about Wig and Kyle, even though she hadn’t seen them at the warehouse, or been seen by them.

  “No. And they’re not Simon’s friends. They won’t be here.”

  “They could show up as someone’s guests. Is that him? The tall guy, over there?” She pointed with her index finger around her cup, looking the opposite of discreet.

  “No. That’s Simon’s father.”

  “Oh, yeah. I knew that.” She drank and turned to face the other way, still searching.

  “Angie, I’m really sorry I got you all mixed up in this.”

  “What? No!” She turned back to me, eyes wide, and I realized it wasn’t fear in them, but excitement. “This is more fun than I’ve had in years.”

  “But you’re all twitchy. Like you’re scared. And you weren’t even there when the scary stuff happened. I was the one who was shot at.” And shot, apparently. My calf had a nice crease across the side of it, a furrow dug by a passing bullet, not a nick from flying brick chips as I’d assumed. The wound wasn’t as bad as Kyle’s similar one, but it had turned into a very ugly scab that itched like crazy, and that forced me to stick with my long, flowy skirts instead of wearing shorts or capris, which would have been nice in today’s heat.

  Sark wandered over, a bottle of beer in his hand. “How are you ladies doing?”

  “Great,” we said in unison, and I pretended Angie hadn’t given me a Stare of Significance. “You lucked out with being off duty for this, huh?”

  “Yeah. Well, I was on shift earlier. Bunch a nuisance calls today. Tomorrow will be the real stuff, with fireworks accidents and drunks in brawls.”

  We nodded and all drank simultaneously. “What kind of nuisance calls?” I hoped I sounded normal. We often chatted about his job, so it wasn’t weird for me to ask, but I was afraid to sound too eager.

  “Well, there was a literal cat-in-a-tree call. An old lady from the west side couldn’t get her new kitten down.”

  Angie laughed. “I thought those were the fire department’s, you know, department.”

  “Nah, that’s way too hard on the budget. I have a folding stepladder in the trunk. Didn’t have to climb for this one, he wanted down, just didn’t know how to do it.”

  “I bet that was the highlight of your day. She give you cookies?”

  He grinned. “Chocolate chip.”

  “So does that mean this weekend is better or worse than usual?”

  “The same, I guess.” He drank some of his beer, then said, “Last weekend we had a weird call out to Emeraud. You know, the old warehouse by the river?”

  We nodded.

  “Someone reported hearing gunshots over there. Claimed there was a drug thing going on. But place was as abandoned as ever.”

  “Did you go inside?”

  He must have thought my question odd, because he frowned over the top of his beer bottle.

  “I mean, I’ve always wondered what it was like inside. Researcher brain.” I tapped the side of my head.

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, inside was pretty much empty. Some old debris from when it was in service. That’s it.”

  That shouldn’t have even been close to it. There should have been shell casings and blood on the floor. Even if they missed the bullet holes and damage on the walls in the dim light, and even if Wig had managed to collect all his casings, there was no way they had time to clear out the bed and table and all the other stuff.

  Hair on the back of my neck rose. Maybe they’d had help. Maybe somehow they’d made their stuff look like debris, and maybe Kyle hadn’t gotten any blood on the floor from his own wound. But maybe . . . Sark was part of the whole thing.

  My hand went cold and my cup slipped a little, splashing soda on my white silk tank. I cursed and accepted the napkin Angie handed me. “I’d better go inside and take care of it or it’ll stain. I’ll be back.”

  I wound through the crowd, pissed at myself. Hopefully, Sark wasn’t as suspicious as me and wouldn’t see my fumble for what it was. If he was dirty, I didn’t want him knowing I thought so. If he wasn’t, I didn’t want him to think I was a ditz. The latter, of course, was preferable. I wasn’t naïve. I knew a small town could have crooked police officers, or ones willing to look the other way if they thought it was helping a friend or letting a misdemeanor go. But it bothered me a lot to think someone I considered a friend could be involved with true criminal activity.

  The inside of the house wasn’t as crowded as the yard, but the kitchen and living room both had groups of people standing or sitting around talking. Simon was in the hallway with a couple of people from the paper.

  “But why would he be in Pilton?” the female writer was asking him. “We already have a superhero, and it’s not like she gets a lot to do.”

  “Maybe he was just passing by.” The photographer who’d said that shifted to let me pass, giving me a little nod and smile before refocusing on the conversation. “It was at the interstate, and he didn’t show up right away, right? Could he live in Columbus or something?”

  Simon shook his head. “I reached out to the Dispatch. They haven’t had a superhero since Ragusa died six years ago.”

  I continued into the bathroom and closed the door. Ragusa was part of the reason I’d decided to start using my ability for more than lazy reasons. He’d been one of the original superheroes in the country, using a combination of strength and speed and telekinesis to fight crime in New York, building an agency there before moving to Columbus to “protect the heartland.” He’d died of complications from diabetes, which kind of drove home the message that superheroes were normal human beings, so why couldn’t a “normal” human like me be a superhero? But I hadn’t had the courage to tackle a big city. Not when my ability didn’t help me travel or protect me physically. And not when I didn’t have any real experience or training. I just wanted to help make Pilton, my home, a safer place to live.

  I was surprised they were still talking about the car accident and Conn—The Brute was sticking, but I refused to call him that—a whole week later. There hadn’t been any other incidents, and Thursday’s paper had even done a short piece on how he hadn’t been seen again. People just didn’t like unsolved mysteries, I guessed.

  The soda rinsed out of the shirt pretty easily, and I blotted the wet marks as best I could with a towel from Simon’s linen closet before putting the shirt back on and checking myself in the mirror. The damp areas were barely noticeable, and none were in inappropriate spots, thank goodness.

  When I left the bathroom, only one person was in the house, a woman waiting to use the facilities. I apologized for keeping her waiting and went back through the kitchen, surprised it had emptied out so thoroughly.

  Backup food covered the counter and the butcher block island. I spotted Simon’s mother’s caramel brownies half hidden under a
n open, giant bag of chips. Those things always came out at the end of the party and disappeared in seconds. I was totally taking one now. I had peeled up the edge of the plastic wrap and was wiggling out a corner square when someone behind me said, “That looks sneaky.”

  I jumped, and the brownie broke in half. “Dammit.”

  “I guess you’ll have to share it now, if you don’t want me to tattle on you.” Conn came up next to me, his body brushing against my side as he reached to tug the larger section of brownie out from under the edge of the plate, where it had fallen. “Are these the ones Simon’s mother makes?”

  “Sshh.” I’d heard the bathroom door open and angled myself to block the brownies from sight. I grabbed Conn’s forearm to keep his section of brownie hidden, too, until the woman had gone out the back door, her trippy footfalls going down the steps.

  I released his hard-muscled arm, but he didn’t move away. My breathing had gone shallow, as if I’d run up a flight of stairs. My entire right side was hot, and his hazel eyes flirted at me when I tilted my head to look at him. “How do you know about Simon’s mother’s brownies?” Act normal. I replaced the plastic and rotated to face him, which put a couple of feet between us. My brownie half had squished under pressure, and my hand was a mess. I had to either ditch it—sacrilege—or eat it before it fell all over my shirt.

  I hesitated, not wanting to look ridiculous trying to get the brownie in my mouth, but Conn’s lips were doing that wiggle thing that meant someone was trying hard not to smile. He knew what my dilemma was.

  To hell with it. These were Simon’s mother’s brownies. I cupped my free hand to catch crumbs and opened wide to bite off as much of the mess as I could. And yep, he was laughing, but then he crammed most of his half into his mouth in one bite and handed me a paper towel from the roll hanging under the cabinet.