by Patrick Wong
Bishop nodded, as though something was clicking into place. “Well, see it from my point of view. In the time my organization has been trailing you, your powers have grown exponentially. Am I correct?”
Nicole shrugged.
“So maybe you just got too angry about it?”
“No!”
“Really? You can honestly say you know exactly what happened? You felt for the people’s suffering, which helped you deliver the message. Now, what if your outrage was just a little too furious? What if you’ve become so powerful that even you didn’t know what you were doing?”
“But I did know! I felt some kind of life force around me, but it wasn’t coming from me.”
“You don’t think for a second that you could have done this by accident?”
“No!”
Bishop scoffed. “This is my problem, Nicole. I can probably believe you didn’t set out to kill the president. But, if I am right, you have a power that you cannot control. You killed my partner.”
“He was going to kill me! He was working with DuBois.”
The confirmation of betrayal was gutting for Bishop, but he couldn’t let that distract him right then. “Nevertheless, you burnt him to death, and by the looks of the post-mortem, a little bit longer than that, too. Your kind of rage is dangerous out there.”
“So, what then? You’re going to keep me locked up in here for something I didn’t do?”
“If we have to, Nicole. You are being held in a state-of-the-art containment room specifically designed for your abilities,” Bishop explained.
Nicole slumped back in her seat and stared at him with a total lack of emotion. She wasn’t impressed.
“Our scientists built this based on a decade of research into Balancers. We know all about your skills. It’s a special bio-prison. See, the little squiggles are billions of bacteria cells living and dying. It produces a life-noise that even you can’t penetrate. Your Balancing skills can’t escape these walls. It’s the only one of its kind. If you ever try to …”
“Yes, I know. If I try to rip your heart out with my mind, the fluid will absorb my Balancing powers and prevent me from destroying you.” Nicole paused for dramatic effect. “Did you know you can tell how hard I’m trying to kill you based on how red and boiling the fluid becomes?” Nicole flashed Bishop a devilish grin. “Do you think you built it correctly? Shall I test it for you?”
Bishop wasn’t the type of person to be taken by surprise often, but the girl’s extra knowledge of the bio-prison was definitely something he hadn’t anticipated. And as much as he trusted his scientists, he wasn’t sure whether pressing Nicole’s powers was worth the risk. The government could cut corners and award construction to the lowest bidder, after all, he reasoned, so his confidence in the bio-prison was far less than 100 percent.
“So sorry to burst your bubble, agent, but I’m not impressed.” She looked around the room and studied its various details the way somebody might window-shop for furniture at Ikea. “Yours is actually a little crappier than the one I was in yesterday. I like DuBois’ room. It looks like he had a higher credit card limit than you did.”
Nicole was messing with him — this was a new personality trait of hers that had emerged from the trauma of recent events. Bishop simply made a note in his notebook and stood up. “We’ll speak again tomorrow. Between now and then, I’d strongly suggest you think hard about being more cooperative.”
Nicole shrugged.
Bishop hovered for a moment, then leaned across and turned off the voice recorder.
“Because the thing is, Nicole, what DuBois said to you was a lie. Your friends are alive. Which shows that even you don’t know the possible outcomes of your own powers.”
“What?” Nicole could hardly croak out the word.
“I’m sorry to tell you that Drake didn’t make it. But Amy, Ben and Professor Barnard did. If what you said is true, then you saved them, Nicole. So you see, you can’t be an authority on all that you do, because I think otherwise you would have known that they were alive.”
Nicole let this sink in. He had a point. When she glanced back up, he was still glaring at her, yet with something akin to pity.
“Get some rest.”
He turned to leave then, and signaled for the controller to dim the lights.
As the door shut behind him, a wave of emotion engulfed Nicole. It contained so many feelings of pain at the prospect of being trapped in that place forever. But the agent had brought her a revelation that was like letting fresh air into her stuffy prison cell. Her friends were safe. There was Drake, and she would have to come to terms with that. But at least she’d saved Amy and Ben.
There was some hope after all.
Something. Anything.
The phone call Bishop had been waiting for had come through at 1400 hours. The events of the past hour had led to him being promoted to head of the investigation into the president’s assassination attempt. At his request, the FBI had put through an extraordinary-measures order that would come into effect at 1800 hours if Nicole Aaronson could not account for the president’s injuries. At long last, he and PRESS had total jurisdiction. Yet for the life of him, he couldn’t summon up the relief he had expected he’d feel at this.
He was beginning to believe that Nicole had told him the truth earlier. Part of him felt frustrated by that — that all of this could have been avoidable if only she had come to him sooner.
He’d pondered the connection with DuBois and made a note to speak to Barnard about that, but it likely wouldn’t be enough to stop the wheels that were already in motion to banish Nicole and keep her out of sight.
Bishop returned to the PRESS operations room, which was buzzing with activity, receiving minute-by-minute updates on the president’s ailing health. Velasquez was sitting close to Ben, who was sliding around a mouse and hitting keyboard commands so fast it was difficult to keep up. He was reviewing the footage of Nicole’s arrest at Virginia University on Velasquez’s government-issued computer. Bishop looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
“He asked. I’m monitoring him,” she said in reply to his quizzical gaze. “He’s pretty good, actually.”
Ben shrugged at her words and pressed rewind again. Playing the Virginia University footage once more, he paused for a moment on a still frame of Nicole’s imploring face.
“I’m not sure what you’re hoping to see, Ben,” Bishop remarked.
Ben shrugged. “Something. Anything.”
“Can we go home yet?” Amy asked, glancing up from her smartphone. “My mom’s asking.”
Bishop cleared his throat, resenting having to be so diplomatic with these kids. “We’ve spoken to both of your sets of parents, and they’ve been told there will be a delay. They don’t like it, but they also understand the gravity of the situation.”
Amy sighed.
Bishop paused before his next remark. “There’s something else you should know.”
The grave tone of his voice grabbed even Amy’s attention. She lowered her phone.
“The Bureau is going to act in four hours if they don’t receive convincing evidence of Nicole’s innocence in the attempted murder of the president.”
“What do you mean ‘act’?” Amy pressed.
Velasquez gave Bishop a no-nonsense expression and responded. “Amy, it means that they’re going to take her away somewhere secure.”
“Secure? Are you joking? They’ll turn her into a guinea pig!” Ben protested.
“The fact is,” Bishop sighed, “my team has been poring over evidence for the last six hours, and they can come up with nothing to support her story. There was some mention of this Max, who was her bodyguard in the car, but we can turn up no sign of him in the crowds.”
“Can we see footage of her before she approached the president?” Ben asked.
They’d missed something. He knew it. And he’d be able to get to the bottom of this.
“I don’t think that’s going to be possible. I’
m sorry,” Bishop replied.
Ben observed him. “She was telling you the truth. You know she’s not a liar.”
Bishop rubbed his tired eyes. “We can all believe what we want. But unless she can offer convincing proof of her innocence, then we’re going to need to restrain her. To make sure she won’t be able to harm anyone for a long time.”
Ben nodded and glanced at Amy, half hoping for a smartass defense of Nicole. But Amy just slumped over the desk again, hopeless and sad. Ben felt disappointed. What had happened to Team Balancer?
The room fell silent as the occupants became lost in their own thoughts. Bishop spoke first. “Professor, may I have a few minutes with you?”
Barnard showed disgust at the interruption but closed his notebook.
Ben had grown up a lot in the past few days. He might not have had the looks or the strength of Drake, but the job of rallying Team Balancer had now fallen in his lap. He sat down next to Amy and started to rub her shoulders, hoping to give her some of the comfort he knew she needed. “Amy, I’m really sorry about what happened with Drake. There’s nothing we can do to bring him back. But our friend Nicole’s in trouble. She needs our help now.”
Amy touched his hand and offered back a weak smile. She knew Ben was right.
What on Earth?
Nicole was dreaming again. This time, she had awoken in a stone-walled dungeon — like the well with the skeleton girl Balancer, but it was somehow different, too.
The girl in the corner was a stranger. She had short hair, a little like Amy’s, and bruises and cuts on her face. She was on her knees and whispering, a set of rosary beads circling around and around in her shaking fingers.
There was the sound of drumming outside. It was grave in tone, as though it were heralding oncoming doom.
The figure rose to her feet, and Nicole could see then that she was wearing armor and had a large red cross emblazoned on her torso.
“Mon dieu!” she whispered, and then turned her gaze in Nicole’s direction. Nicole saw her deep blue eyes, and she realized that this was the same girl from the plane — but here she was, older. For a moment, she stared through Nicole, and then she began examining a wound in her shoulder.
Nicole flinched, but the figure, who had not noticed her presence, remained unperturbed.
Then the door to her chamber swung open. An archer in full battle armor stood in the doorway.
“Mademoiselle, vous êtes prêts?”
“Non. J’ai besoin de plus de temps. S’il vous plaît.” The girl pointed to her other shoulder.
The archer hesitated.
“Dépêchez-vous.”
With supreme reluctance, the archer drew back his bow and took aim. The girl closed her eyes.
The briefest fffst sound filled the room, and the arrow whistled past Nicole’s face, finding its mark deep in the girl’s other shoulder.
The girl hardly made a sound. Slowly, she opened her eyes again, and she smiled down at the second wound.
“Merci.”
The girl attached her helmet to her head, and — dripping blood as she went — left the room.
Nicole glanced down, and she then saw her own reflection in the dark red blood on the floor.
She had light behind her — a bright, golden light — and her face was that of a young soldier boy.
What on earth?
Nicole woke up.
Her glass prison was illuminated, and somebody had put out more food alongside a fresh set of clothes.
Nicole eased herself off the bed and looked all around her.
“A little privacy, please?” she called out to whoever was watching. After a few moments, the glass of the prison changed into a wall of mirrors.
“Cute,” she remarked. She started to remove her clothes, and tried to avoid looking at herself. She caught glimpses of lank hair and dark circles underneath her eyes. There were bruises here and there, and she could tell her body was thinner. The worry and the stress had ground her down.
Now dressed, she sat down and dug into her sandwich. It was important, she thought, to control her feelings and accept that this might be her life for now. She hoped Bishop would be good on his word to let her speak to her mom and dad. She enjoyed this rare bit of privacy and reflection time for a moment more, but soon she heard the sliding doors of the monitoring room and the unmistakable dulcet tones of Bishop talking with those guarding her.
“Nicole,” he spoke over the speaker system. “May I speak with you?”
“Sure. I’m ready.”
The glass turned translucent again to reveal Bishop sitting in front of her, looking focused.
“We’re not going to be able to patch your mom and dad through today.”
“Oh.” Now Nicole could add disappointment to the list of the many feelings she was experiencing.
“I’m sorry,” Bishop said quietly.
“Agent Bishop, can I ask what happened to Drake?” Nicole felt her heart pounding in her throat as she said this. The news that she had saved Amy and Ben had kept her awake with excitement for hours. But Drake — his death was a mystery.
“Sure. Whereas you managed to heal everyone else, you only partially healed Drake.” Bishop glanced up. He was hoping she might not need any more than that.
“I sort of figured that. What was it about the healing?” Her voice quivered. “What did I do wrong?” Nicole searched his face for some clue, but his expression was hard to read. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”
Bishop sighed. “He died, Nicole.”
“Do you have a file on him? Like you had on Carter?”
“I don’t think you need to see it,” Bishop replied.
“Are you protecting me now?” Nicole replied angrily, matching his stare.
Without another word, Bishop flicked his tablet and selected an image. He held it up to the glass.
Nicole saw the CT scan of Drake. She felt as though her heart were bursting in that second.
“The bullets …”
“Yes.” Bishop put the tablet away. “If it’s any consolation, we don’t believe you were responsible for the outcome. The gas or sedative given to you — it must have done something to your abilities.”
The bullets were still in him!
Nicole’s mind raced at the terrible thought. Tears curled in the corners of her eyes.
Bishop inhaled. “Nicole, you and I aren’t so dissimilar. And the first thing you learn in this game is that you can’t save everyone. Because if you’ve saved everyone, then chances are you’re dead.”
Nicole stared ahead of her. Her body was numbing her to the pain of realizing what she had done to Drake.
Maybe I’d be better off dead.
“Is there anything else you’ve forgotten to tell me about what happened to the president? Anything more you want to add?” Bishop looked at her, almost imploringly.
Nicole tried to process the question, but seemed unable to respond.
Bishop decided to change the subject. “You know your friends have been racking their brains out there.”
Nicole gave a lost smile. “They’re here? Can I see them?”
Bishop was speechless, and Nicole noticed his unexpected silence. “Amy’s mad at me, isn’t she? The way he died — Amy must be devastated.”
Bishop gave no response. He tapped his fingers on the counter in front of him and sucked in some breath. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Nicole, but if you don’t come up with anything new, the Bureau is going to arrive in two hours to transfer you to a permanent secure facility.”
“Where?”
Bishop sighed. “Even I don’t know.”
“But Amy and Ben — they’re going to be freed, right? And my parents? You’ll make sure they’re guarded. Just in case DuBois finds them?” Then the tears ran, and Nicole clutched at the napkin on her plate.
Bishop felt ashamed. Whatever she was, powerful or uncontrollable or both, Nicole was also just a teenage girl.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered,
wiping her face. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just promise me you’ll make sure they’re all safe. That’s all I ask. Please.”
“You have my word,” Bishop promised.
It was 1700 hours when the 6-foot-square glass cube arrived. Two agents brought it to the revolving hatch at the side of Nicole’s cell. It looked to be made out of the same double-glazed bio-glass that both DuBois and the PRESS agents had used for her.
The hatch moved around in the air lock, and a mechanical plate then conveyed the cube toward Nicole.
“Is this how I’ll be leaving?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t know why you bothered to give me shoes,” Nicole retorted. It was an odd thing to say, but it reflected the ridiculous situation she found herself facing.
“I’m sorry. It’s for your own safety.”
“What? Is it bulletproof glass or something?”
The expression on Bishop’s face suggested that it was.
“Oh,” Nicole murmured. “You’re not taking any chances, are you?”
“No, we’re not. So, it’s a little past 5. They’re coming at 6,” he said.
“Will I be able to speak to my parents when I’m there?”
“To be honest, I don’t know. Sorry.”
“It’s OK,” Nicole sighed. “I appreciate your honesty.”
Silence. Nicole stared at her feet. Never had she felt so helpless as she did then.
Be My Guest
Bishop arrived at the door to his office, exhausted and stressed. Just as he reached out for the door handle, Velasquez opened the door and eased out of the room. She had a guilty look on her face and a whiteboard marker in her hand.
“Don’t fire me?” she said.
Before Bishop could reply, she opened the door wider to reveal that his office was now a kind of makeshift operations room. Barnard was presiding, his portfolio spread out on the long meeting table. Carry-out cartons and soda cans littered the desk, and Ben was working away on a laptop.
“What in God’s name? …” Bishop began. But as Velasquez returned to the whiteboard, he could see what had been going on.
The board was a living mind map of Nicole’s recorded transcript, with key words linked up to others. The name “DuBois” was at the center of it — his link between Balancers, Takers and Givers was the key to unlocking the mystery of what had happened to the president.
