Masks (Out of the Box Book 9)

by Robert J. Crane

  “Gavrikov,” I muttered and felt my feet lift off the ground. The panic room was heavy, but I’d lifted heavier things. I left the ground behind, taking care not to get more than about ten feet above the place where the roof had been, dodging the panic room around trees as I headed for Long Island Sound just across the lawn. I kept low to avoid radar and witnesses, gaining speed over the moonless night, carrying the multi-ton burden of the panic room along with me out to sea about ten miles. It didn’t take very long, and when I figured I’d gone far enough, I just dropped it into the water.

  It landed with a splash, floating on the surface, full of buoyant air. I dropped down, hovering a foot or so above it as it bobbed in the waves. I looked around, listening, but heard nothing but the ocean. In the distance, I could see the lights of a ship in the utter blackness. I heated up my finger and sent a line of superhot flame into the corner of the panic room, carving it off and leaving a three-inch window into the darkness.

  “Hi, Nadine,” I singsonged as a little water slopped into the room through the hole I’d made.

  “What the hell, you crazy psycho?” she screamed back out at me.

  I ignored her jibe. “I just wanted you to know, this isn’t about Scott. I was mad about that, sure, but this is because you decided to plan a terrorist attack and then ruin the life of a woman who was utterly decent and good in a world that … isn’t.” Water was running into the open hole like crazy now. It wouldn’t be long before it would start to drag the panic room down.

  Nadine thrust a hand out through the small hole. “Okay! Okay! I get it! That’s—that’s a fair point! Just—get me out of here!”

  “Are you sorry you did these things?” I asked, watching detached as she stuck her face up. I could see her white, panicked eyes glistening under the blanket of starlight, her face partially obscured by boundaries of the small opening.

  “I am,” she said, sincerely, slurring a little. “I—I am so sorry. Gah—this—the water is freezing. Please, just—get me out and I’ll—well, I’ll say I’m sorry to her. And the city. I'll make it right!”

  “I don’t really believe you for some reason,” I said, like I was puzzling it over. “Maybe it’s because you’re a liar and a murderer and a thief—”

  “I didn’t—I’m not—”

  “Yes, you are.”

  There was a pause, then a hard breath. “Okay. Okay. Yes, I am. I am all those things. But—”

  “No buts.”

  “You can’t just—”

  “I can,” I said, and then I heated my hand up and blazed another, smaller hole, in the side of the panic room. I heard it sizzle as I burned through, and then water started pouring in from the opposite direction, icy cold, and she gasped in shock at the temperature. “In fact, I just did.”

  “You’re no better than me!” she screamed as the water rushed in on her. Her lips were already blue, I could see as she stuck her face up again. “You’re a murderer! You’re no different than me!”

  “Actually, I am,” I said, a little happier than I probably should have been. Watching her sink as the waves took her little box away felt strangely therapeutic, as though I were punishing someone who truly deserved it in the manner that I’d suffered on so many occasions thanks to Mom. “I’m out here, see. Also, I’m working toward improving things for humanity. You? You’re trying to screw things up. There is a difference, just, you know … not in the actual killing, I guess.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but she was already up to her neck, and the dark water swallowed her, and her reply before she could make it. The panic room sank below the waves, rippling in the sound, and I watched it go, acutely aware that I needed to get back to the Staten Island police station post haste.

  “Also,” I said to the black water below me, “Yeah, I’m a liar, too. When I said I didn’t do this because of you sleeping with Scott?” I put my thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart. “It might have had a teensy bit to do with it. I mean, I woulda killed you anyway, because of what you did to Jamie and New York, but … I would have felt bad about it if you hadn’t done what you did.”

  I stared at the dark water, ripples lost to the waves, not a bubble left to mark the panic room’s passage. I imagined Nadine Griffin sinking into the icy depths, and felt coldly satisfied. “So long,” I said and flew off, low, close to the surface. I had an alibi to finish shoring up, after all.

  90.

  I barely made it back into the precinct before I ran into Scott, who was looking mightily pissed off. And when I say I ran into him, it was a pretty near thing. I came around a corner and he damned near bull-charged me down, even after he saw me. “Where the hell have you been?” he asked, all politeness thrown to the wind.

  “I was outside,” I said, looking him over once. “Getting some fresh air.” Over the Atlantic Ocean while drowning the murderous bitch you slept with last night. “Why, what do you want?”

  “There’s a fire at Nadine Griffin’s house,” Scott said, his hard eyes on me. “You know anything about that?”

  “No,” I lied, “but to quote her, ‘That’s a real shame.’”

  He sized me up coldly. “You’re a villain, Sienna.”

  “And you’re an idiot, Scott,” I said, rolling my eyes at him. “You’re letting Gerry Harmon use your personal grudge against me to involve you in this stupid job that you didn’t even want to do. You’re biting off more than you can chew. And Harmon? Not a nice guy. You call me a villain and say I’m punching down, but as president he can do more damage with the stroke of a pen or the press of a button than I can.”

  “And yet he doesn’t,” Scott said, sounding strangled. “But you show no such restraint.”

  “I show a lot of restraint,” I said, lying through my teeth. “I could be so much worse than I am, but even if I was my best possible self, I wouldn’t come close to being what Jamie—Gravity Gal—is right now, and you idiots just arrested her, so …” I shrugged.

  “I wish I could …” He just stared at me, quietly smoldering, “… I just want to hit you in the face with a sledgehammer and break that smug, stupid leering mask you wear to a million pieces so everyone else could see you the way I do.”

  I felt like he’d hit me for real, but I held my reaction in check. “The problem with that,” I said coolly, even as the pain screamed in my head and my stomach twisted like it was spiraling down to earth, “is that you’d never get a chance to do it again.”

  He didn’t even flinch. “I don’t care. It’d be worth it.” And he turned his back to me with one last contemptuous look and walked away. I watched him go, and for a moment, I harbored those doubts I so often ignored when I did a bad, bad thing.

  And then I put them away for later, when I could sit in my closet, at home, alone, because I couldn’t afford to show that kind of doubt in public.

  91.

  Jamie

  “You’re going to be turned over to the FBI,” Lieutenant Welch said apologetically, as Jamie stood there, Kyra standing a few feet away from her, casting her worried looks that were so out of character that she wondered if she’d somehow been replaced with someone else. Clarice stood with Kyra, nodding support. Jamie hadn’t had a chance to talk with Clarice for more than a few seconds, but the tension between them was gone, washed away in the flood now that the truth had come out. Clarice was in her corner again, and it felt good, like everything that had gone wrong when there was a rift between them could now be worked out, no problem. Clarice smiled, and Jamie smiled back.

  “Where will they take me?” Jamie asked, swallowing heavily.

  “Probably Washington DC,” Sienna said from her place in the corner. She stood with her arms folded in silence, eyes distant, seemingly about a million miles away. “If they’ve received what they consider to be a credible tip against you, they’re going to want to interrogate you.” She shot a look at Lieutenant Welch, who’d been very solicitous, just like the other NYPD cops. “I’m surprised they haven’t come for h
er already.”

  Welch shrugged. “It’s not like they don’t have your old friends the meta squad or whatever in the building, lurking. It’s probably an administrative thing.”

  “When am I going to see her again?” Kyra asked, and her voice trembled a little. Jamie looked at her, the concern in her daughter’s voice so different from what she was used to.

  “I don’t know,” Welch said.

  “I’ve got a lawyer that’s getting on a plane right now,” Sienna said. “He works for a firm in Minneapolis that my organization deals with. He’s good, and he’s well versed on metahuman law. He'll be doing everything he can to make sure you don’t end up summarily stuck in the Cube like—” She paused. “Well, like all the people I summarily stuck in the Cube when I ran the agency.”

  A heavy knock sounded at the door, and Jamie inadvertently jumped. Welch, who also looked slightly startled, crossed to the door and opened it. The masked Friday was standing outside, smaller than when last Jamie had seen him, and clutching a note that he handed inside without speaking a word.

  Welch took the paper and read it, frowning. He looked up when he was done, and called to Friday’s retreating back. “Then that’s it?”

  “That’s it,” Friday said, his voice muffled as he vanished down the hallway.

  Welch read the paper again, and then said, “Huh. FBI is dismissing the arrest warrant against you.” He looked up with a smile at Jamie. “Looks like you’re free to go.”

  There was noise, talking, but Jamie barely heard it after the words, ‘free to go.’ She just stood there, in stunned shock, staring into the distance until Kyra landed just below her arms in a hard hug.

  “We can go home, Mom,” she said, looking up hopefully. “Or … if this house thing is worked out, we can, anyway.”

  “It’s … getting worked out,” Jamie said, putting an arm around Kyra. “I think … it’s all going to work out.”

  “Well, that’s good news,” Sienna said, stirring from her statue-like position in the corner. “All’s well and … whatnot.” It was obvious she was forcing a smile onto her face as she started for the door. “Take care, Jamie, and uh … glad it’s all … finished okay.” And she disappeared through the door.

  “What the hell …?” Welch muttered. “Excuse me.” And he stepped through in pursuit of Sienna.

  Clarice sighed loudly enough that it jarred Jamie out of her momentary quiet. “It’s all going to be okay, you hear? You’re free.” She practically burst with excitement. “You’re free!”

  “I … excuse me just a second, you two. That’s just—it’s a little weird, and I want to … ask a question.” Jamie followed after Sienna and Welch, closing the room’s door behind her as she went.

  92.

  Sienna

  “Wait up!” Welch called after me, and I held up for him. He was looking at me with one eyebrow cocked to the side, like I’d done something weird—which I probably had. “What is your deal?”

  “Why did they let her go?” I asked patiently when he’d gotten close enough. “They were hot on her tail, like heatseeking-missile hot. And they just …” I threw up my hands. “All done, now? Something doesn’t track here. Something else is going on.”

  “Welcome to the bureaucratic nightmare that is law enforcement,” Welch said with a barely concealed smile. He looked down. “My guess? They knew they’d overplayed their hand, they saw the support, and maybe the Harmon administration didn’t like the optics of hanging a hero out to dry for this.”

  “They saw which direction the wind was blowing and opted to go in a different one? Like Frost, but larger?” I rolled my eyes in disgust. “Tell me this isn’t how it works. That it’s not all about catching a person, any person, in the wake of a disaster like what we saw in Manhattan yesterday.”

  “That’s not how we work, no,” he said. “And it’s not how the FBI has worked, either. My guess is … your boy Scott saw red and went charging at it a little too hard, as young bulls are wont to do. Probably had a superior straighten him out.”

  “Excuse me?” Jamie came walking up, still clad in her Gravity Gal leotard, not self-conscious in the least. If I’d been wearing that thing, I would have been as embarrassed at walking through the precinct as Reed was when I first confronted him about diddling Dr. Perugini. “Either of you want to explain the whisper and wonder thing you’ve got going on?”

  “Just speculating on what stuff behind the scenes led up to your good news,” I said honestly. “I just … don’t want to see you get your hopes up and have them arrest you again later or something.” I smiled. “But we think you’re clear. They’ve probably seen the error of their ways.”

  “So that’s it, then?” Jamie asked.

  “I think so,” I said as Welch slipped away, probably sensing that he didn’t want to have to deliver these reassurances. They could charge her later, after all, or continue their investigation with full intent to drop the hammer once the public had calmed down somewhat. I sensed something going on behind the scenes, but hadn’t the foggiest as to what it was. “I hope so.”

  “Well, I hope so, too,” Jamie said, reddening. “Because I … kinda need to pick up the pieces of my life now. The world knows I’m Gravity … ugh, Gal … my business needs attention, I’ve just had the ultimate identity theft.” She looked at me hopefully. “Can I pick up the pieces? Am I going to be able to go back to living a normal life?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, and hesitated. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re a superhero, and the world knows who you are. Normal is … right out. But you can maybe go back to living.” I stepped closer to her and put a hand gently on her shoulder. She had a look on her face like the wind had been knocked out of her. “It’s not ever going to be the same again. But it’s not the end, either. You’re going to be out there now, and there’s risks that go along with that. But you’re not alone.” I pulled a card out of my pocket and pushed it into hers. “And if you ever need help … call me.”

  “Thank you,” she said, regret and fear mingling with her gratitude. “But … you’re leaving?”

  “Well, the State Fair is going on back in Minnesota,” I said lamely. “I need to go home,” I said, veering more toward solemn.

  “I just …” She lowered her voice. “I’m … afraid … in a way I haven’t been since I first started this.”

  “It’s because now that the mask is off, the people you love are exposed,” I said, nodding. “I can’t pretend that feeling will just go away, because it won’t. But …” I looked toward the door behind her, where Kyra and Clarice were waiting in the room we’d just left. “It’s better to do this with help than on your own. Trust me on that. Voice of experience here.”

  “I believe you,” she said, softening a little. “But … my family—”

  “You’ll protect them,” I said with confidence. “You’ll find a way to make it happen.”

  “You sound so sure,” she said, a little brittle.

  “You’re a hero, Jamie Barton,” I said, walking away, trying to play it cool. She didn’t need crippling doubts or fears at the moment; she knew the risks she was facing, and she needed to see the face of someone who had lived the life she was stepping into, confident that she’d be all right.

  That her family would be all right.

  “You’ll be fine,” I said and paused. “But from now on … maybe drop the ‘Gal’ and go with just… ‘Gravity’?” I pushed my way out through the back door and took off into the sky. I shook all the way back to my hotel, hoping that in this case, I hadn’t told another lie.

  93.

  Jamie

  Jamie let Clarice drive them home because she didn’t have a car anymore. Kyra fell asleep with her head against the window, and Jamie watched her, the streetlights illuminating her daughter’s fair hair as they passed each in turn. The silence was thick in the car, almost as thick as Clarice’s perfume, and when Jamie finally went to speak, Clarice broke the silence at the exact same tim
e.

  “I wanted to tell you—” Jamie started.

  “I think what’s been bothering me—” Clarice said.

  “Oops,” Jamie said.

  “You go first,” Clarice said.

  “No, you,” Jamie said. “Please.”

  “I think what was bothering me all this time,” Clarice said, hands on the wheel, eyes looking out at the empty Staten Island side streets, “was the thought you didn’t care about Barton Designs. That you were just throwing it all away.” She looked at Jamie in the passenger seat. “But you weren’t. You were answering a higher calling—helping people.” She bowed her head for a second, almost brushing the steering wheel with her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” Jamie said. “I’m the one who should apologize. I should have told you. Instead, I left you holding the bag at Barton Designs, making excuses for me while I ran off and played Supergirl.”

  “It’s amazing what you do,” Clarice said, “but I don’t know how a designer could look at that costume and think it was a good idea.”

  “I … didn’t want to appear too professionally put together,” Jamie said, a little abashed. “I was afraid if I looked too good, it might point someone in my direction.”

  “But you can design something new now, right?” Clarice asked with a wide smile, nodding in anticipation of the answer. “Now that everyone knows, you could pretty much come up with something that might reflect nicely upon your company, yes?”

  “Probably,” Jamie said, but something about that troubled her. “I mean … if I’m going to keep doing this.”

  Clarice looked at her like she was crazy. “Do you want to keep doing this?”

  “I … just worry about Kyra is all,” Jamie said, swallowing heavily. “I put the mask on because I wanted to protect this city, but also protect my daughter. Now … what if the two don’t go together? What if they’re irreconcilable? I can’t watch her all the time, after all, and—” Jamie stopped; there was a crowd in the road ahead, blocking access to their street. Jamie tensed, raising her hands to get them ready to react to whatever threat waited.