Red and Black

by Nancy O'Toole Meservier

  “So, Deanna, it sounds to me like this Red and Black Woman was the only witness to the crimes that took place last night,” said Tony Gutierrez, the more seasoned anchor of the two.

  Lockheed let out a yowl at my feet.

  “Shit,” I said, looking down at my slightly burnt eggs. How high had I cranked up the heat? I quickly spooned them onto a plate, attempting to keep an ear on the news.

  “That’s right, Tony,” Deanna replied. “It’s believed that the information she carries might be vital to solving these crimes, as no arrests have been made at this time.”

  I made my way to the breakfast nook and hoisted myself on top of the tall stool.

  “In related news…” Tony began.

  I muted the volume and frowned. As I dug into my eggs and toast, my mind wandered. After a minute, I reached across the counter for my red notebook. Turning to the last page, I wrote one name on the top.

  Arthur Hamilton.

  In retrospect, the name sounded familiar. A brief Google search explained why. Mr. Hamilton was a prominent divorce attorney and a longtime resident of Bailey City. I think I had even met him before, at some charity event with Mom. He was known for having pretty high-profile clients, including Johanna St. Pierre, the CEO of Bailey Central Hospital, where Mom’s practice had been based back when she was still a trauma surgeon. I scrolled through images on Google, finding pictures that went back over ten years, some showing him with rather “prominent” members of Bailey City society.

  Hmmmm…a divorce attorney was likely to pick up an enemy here or there. Probably none of the guys I had encountered at the Commerce Center though. Someone wealthy enough to hire Mr. Hamilton was wealthy enough to hire someone to do their dirty work, after all. Of course, the kidnapping might not be related to his clients at all, but his personal life. I eventually discovered, through another article, that Arthur was the father of a Martha Hamilton, and also a widower, although none of the articles I came across mentioned how his wife had died. The guy was old but not like…old-people old. Like, still-old-enough-to-work, old.

  It sounded harsh, Arthur Hamilton wasn’t the type of guy to run in the same circles as lowly IT guy Dana Peterson. Could there be a connection between the two? The easiest solution to this would be to, you know, ask Dana. Unfortunately, my previous attempts to check in on the guy had all been failures. I had an idea of where he lived, but was fuzzy on the specifics. Was he taking a different route home now? His LinkedIn page said he worked for SynergyCorp, which meant exactly nothing. In Bailey City, if you didn’t work for SynergyCorp, you knew at least one person who did. I couldn’t even keep track of all the buildings they owned.

  That brought me to my three assailants: Marty, Noel, and Faultline.

  I had to admit it. I felt a slight chill when I wrote down that last name. No offense to Marty, Noel, or that Sully guy from the Dana Peterson case, but there was a big difference between “guy with a gun/tire iron” and a serious player like Faultline. It wasn’t just the fact that he was Empowered, although that aspect didn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy or anything. It was the fact that he fought like someone who knew what he was doing. And he was clearly dressed to intimidate. The codename merely cemented the fact. Faultline was someone to fear.

  And someone I was likely to run into again.

  Next to his name I jotted in all capitals: DANGEROUS.

  But while Faultline was a bit of an enigma, Marty and Noel were more familiar territory. I didn’t know much about Noel, besides the fact that this seemed really out of character for him. But in all honestly, it seemed just as out of character for Marty. Yeah, he was kind of a douchebag, but he wasn’t a sociopath. Kidnapping, intimidation, murder…that wasn’t the Marty Tong I knew. The guy couldn’t even get into a fraternity, never mind organized crime! How would he and Noel even cross paths with people like that? What did they bring to such an organization that someone with a more colorful background in crime couldn’t do better? Sure, Marty probably had an impressive savings account to pull out of, but I suspected his trust fund was locked away at least until he finished college.

  Of course, that didn’t change the fact that I had seen him running with these guys twice now.

  I sighed. The best way to check in on Noel and Marty was simple—go to school. I even had a class with Noel this morning.

  Before arriving on campus, I got off the tram a couple of stops early, sidetracking to one of the last few pay phones in Bailey City. Shielding myself from security cameras with a bulky, nondescript black hoodie (a necessary purchase for all young vigilantes!), I called the anonymous tip line for the BCPD and mentioned that I had seen Marty Tong and Noel White enter the Commerce Center before Mr. Hamilton had been kidnapped. I hung up before they could get in too many prying questions.

  I know, I know. I was flirting with breaking rule #5 here, but technically this wasn’t me trying to be a detective. I was just being a good citizen, reporting suspicious activity to the police and all that. And anyway, the return of my powers felt like I was being given a second chance to help Mr. Hamilton. The fact that they had taken him instead of killing him meant he was likely still alive. But how long would he remain that way?

  I suppressed a shiver as I walked into English Novel a whole fifteen minutes early. I was the first one to arrive and took my regular desk-chair near the back of the room.

  The other students started filing in five minutes later. A couple people I had gone to high school with nodded and said hi to me before taking their seats. I did my best to be my normal friendly-ish self, but it was hard not to keep my attention on the door as everyone but Noel entered.

  “Hey where’s Noel?” a tall black girl (I think her name was Ashley) asked Renee, one of the girls I had gone to high school with.

  “His Facebook mentioned that he had a big night at work last night,” Renee said, tossing back her silky black hair. “Maybe it ran late?”

  “I would be shocked if Mr. Perfect Attendance let something like that get in his way!”

  I frowned. Why hadn’t I thought to check Marty and Noel’s social media? I wasn’t sure how much they made public, but maybe Noel wouldn’t think it was too weird if I friend-requested him? We did share a class, after all.

  “Hey sleepy-head,” Sunshine said, walking into the room.

  I couldn’t help but notice that, as if in defiance of my lack of suspenders yesterday, she was wearing a pair of her own, over a black top and attached to a pair of shorts that looked like they were made of some sort of golden velvety material. Seriously, how did she get away with wearing things that would make anyone else look absolutely ridiculous?

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” I said with a wince.

  “Oh, I suppose I could forgive you,” she said, taking her seat next to mine. “Stay up too late?”

  “Marathoning the first season of The Flash,” I replied with a nod.

  “Ooh boy, don’t party too hard, now! I mean, how many times have you seen that again? There’s more to Netflix than capes and cowls…You waiting for someone?”

  “What?”

  My attention had been drawn toward the doorway as a tall, lanky figure passed outside. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been Noel, just some guy I didn’t recognize. I looked back to Sunshine.

  “Ah…no. Just…thought I saw someone.”

  Sunshine frowned, but before she could say anything else, the instructor walked into the room.

  English Novel was taught by Professor Andrews, a kind, soft-voiced, middle-aged man who happened to pull double-duty as both my professor and adviser. He was a white man with brown hair and the most nondescript features you could imagine. If there was ever someone who would fail to stand out in a crowd, it was Professor Andrews. He was also rather punctual, stepping into the room at 11:00 AM sharp. He walked to the desk and placed a battered old suitcase on top of it.

  Well, that seemed to finalize it. Noel was not coming to class today. I wondered if this meant he had been taken in by the po
lice, was laying low, or was in the emergency room recovering from that dislocated thumb I had given him. Still kinda felt bad about that…

  My mind swam with questions, making it awfully hard to concentrate on the discussion going on.

  For all that I was a good student, but I found myself struggling a bit with my English classes at Bailey U. Don’t get me wrong. I showed up to every class and got As on all of my assignments. It was just the fact that they were so damn discussion-based.

  And, in case you’ve forgotten, acting like a normal human being around people I don’t know is kind of a challenge.

  “Jeez, what was Austen thinking with Fanny? I mean, wasn’t Emma supposed to be the heroine that only she liked?”

  The speaker in question was, of course, Sunshine, who had been open about her dislike of Mansfield Park since first cracking open the spine. One of the guys in our circle of chairs rolled his eyes at her rant, giving the girl next to him an annoyed look. I frowned in response. A few of the people in the class—the guys especially—complained about how vocal Sunshine was during discussion time, which seemed like an overreaction. Sure, she talked a lot, but she never talked over people. She was more than happy to let other people speak, and Professor Andrews never seemed to mind.

  “Why do you feel that way?” Professor Andrews asked, nodding toward my best friend.

  “She’s just not what I want from my Austen heroines. Where is Lizzie Bennett’s passion and intelligence? Emma’s manipulative nature? I feel like Mary Crawford would be a better heroine, yet we’re supposed to feel like she’s some big ho because she actually goes for what she wants.”

  “The marrying-the-cousin thing is kind of creepy too,” Ashley added.

  “By today’s standards,” Professor Andrews replied.

  “Yeah, sure, but I didn’t really get the romance either. I mean, Henry was clearly the better catch,” Sunshine said.

  “What about you, Dawn?” Professor Andrews turned to me. “You wrote about this in one of your journals, correct?”

  I blinked. I had recently written an entry about how Fanny seemed wimpy, but actually displayed quiet strength. Refusing to do what was expected of her and marry Henry Crawford was not all that different than Elizabeth Bennett refusing to marry Mr. Collins, after all. Also, Henry’s continued pursuit of her was just as despicable as any of Austen’s roguish characters. I had tied in the topic to the issue of consent (because when is that never an issue on a college campus?). It had shaped up to be a rather nice entry.

  Of course, those carefully chosen words were not what came tumbling out of my mouth. Instead, I rambled on eventually trailing off into nothingness, leaving me all shades of red.

  I hated, hated discussion time.

  Sunshine came to my rescue, picking up a strand of what I had said and building it into something bigger, with several of the students jumping in and springboarding into a completely different topic. Not that I paid much attention. Instead, I sat there, picking apart my stupid words, trying to figure out where I had embarrassed myself the most.

  “Dawn, if you have a moment,” Professor Andrews said at the end of the class, as I was gathering my things. I told Sunshine to go on ahead and that I’d speak to her later. The moment the door shut, I found myself breathing a little easier. Professor Andrews was one of those rare advisers who actually seemed to care about his charges, and I had grown more comfortable around him over the past year.

  “Sorry to put you on the spot like that,” he said, forcing the last of many books into the bag of holding he called his suitcase. “But I just thought you had some great points in your journal entry. Too many people look down on Fanny for being an atypical Austen heroine, but by bringing in the issue of consent, it shows how she can be admired from a modern perspective.” He paused to chuckle. “Despite marrying her cousin. Have you thought about focusing your upcoming presentation on it?”

  “Ah…that’s an idea,” I said.

  In truth, I had been trying to forget about the presentation (standing up in front of my classmates for twenty minutes—oh joy!). We all had to speak on one of the books we were reading this month, and I had to pick my topic soon.

  “It would be a fine topic. Let me know if you need any help on it. I might be able to provide some resources.”

  I thanked Professor Andrews and headed out of the room. I looked up to see Ashley and Renee down the hall, gathered around one of their phones, their attention on the screen.

  And then I got an idea.

  “Hey, Renee. You have a second?” I asked, adjusting the strap of my messenger bag.

  Renee looked up in surprise. Model-gorgeous since she hit puberty and always decked out in designer clothes, Renee Hua seemed like the perfect example of a mean girl. Only, she wasn’t. She was actually really sweet. And while I didn’t know Ashley as well (who was just as statuesque and gorgeous), I admired the fact that she never let anyone push her around.

  “Sure, Dawn.” Renee put her phone in her purse (a Rebecca Minkoff number I know would make Sunshine drool).

  “You guys are friends with Noel, right?” I asked.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Well, he normally sits near me and um…I found this phone charger near his chair last class? I was hoping to check and see if it belonged to him, um…you know, before chucking it in the lost and found?”

  “Well, if his phone’s dead that would explain why the loser’s not answering any of his texts.” Ashley rolled her shoulders.

  I nodded.

  “Do you know where he lives? I could drop it off at his dorm room.”

  The two exchanged a look I couldn’t quite read.

  “Sure,” Renee said, a touch slowly. “He’s over in Stone. Room 209.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Um…bye.”

  I nodded at them and started down the hall. I turned a corner and paused, letting out a sigh. Good, now I could check and see if Noel was still on campus, then…

  “How obvious was it that she was lying?” I heard Ashley say.

  I froze. Had I been that bad?

  “Yeah, I didn’t really buy it either,” Renee replied.

  “Do you think she has a thing for Noel?”

  Well, shit…

  “Maybe…”

  “Not that I have anything against No getting some action, but do you think the two of them could get over their own introvertedness to have an actual conversation?”

  “Hey, be nice. Dawn’s just shy. That and, you know, what happened to her last year.”

  “Oh yeah…how could I forget?” All the amusement drained from Ashley’s voice.

  I continued to walk down the hall, Renee and Ashley’s words inadvertently digging up old memories, the same memories I found myself pushing to the back of my mind whenever I went to bed at night. That didn’t seem to go away until I blew off some steam, jumping from rooftop to rooftop.

  As I exited the building, I noticed I was walking slower than usual, as if suddenly and inexplicably weighted down.

  My phone buzzed in my purse.

  I pulled it out to see a text message from my mother.

  “Hope everything is okay. Can you give me a call after class this afternoon? Have a signing from 8-10PM your time.”

  Shit. Mom must have finally seen the news. She was on the West Coast leg of her book tour now, so I had wondered how long it would take for things to reach her.

  And then I noticed that I had missed a call. The number looked local to Bailey City. I pulled the phone up to my ear and listened. A clipped female voice came through.

  “Hello, this is Detective Bronson with the Bailey City Police Department. I was hoping to speak with you this afternoon in regard to your case. Please give me a call to confirm—”

  I stopped the message. For a moment, all I could do was stare at the screen as my stomach dropped further.

  “Hey. Can we get past, please?”

  I jerked to attention, looking around to see that I was standing in
front of a doorway right as classes were getting out. I murmured an apology and stepped aside.

  Well, there was no time for this now anyway, I thought, slipping the phone in my pocket. I had to speak with Noel and squeeze in lunch before my next class. I could deal with everything else later. Or maybe tomorrow. There was only so much I could expect to fit into my day, right?

  7

  Alex

  The text message came through at about 10 AM on Friday morning. It was from Calypso, asking me to show up by 12:30, right after I got off work. I wasn’t surprised when I arrived at my locker to find the shattered pieces missing from my armor. It was probably why they had called me in. The question was, would they hold me responsible for the cost?

  My phone buzzed the second I placed it on the top shelf on the locker. I shook my head, once again amazed that it managed to work down here. I pulled out the shiny smartphone (a gift from Calypso) and felt my jaw tighten when I recognized the number on the screen.

  “Hello,” I said, managing to keep my voice calm.

  The person on the other end let out a long sigh. I felt my grip tighten on the phone.

  “Hello, Mr. Gage.” The woman on the other line spoke in a dull, exasperated tone I was all too familiar with. “This is Fiona Hardscrabble calling from West Bailey City High. We are calling in regards to an incident with your sister.”

  “Okay,” I said, running my fingers through my hair. “Did Claire skip class again?”

  “Mr. Gage, your sister instigated a fight in the cafeteria this morning.”

  “What?” I straightened up. Claire’s school-time antics tended to be on the more passive aggressive side. She’d never gotten into a fight.

  Fiona Hardscrabble let out another one of her sighs.

  “Normally, we would call the police in an instance like this, but the young man’s parents have already expressed that they are not interested in pressing any charges and would prefer not to escalate things beyond what they already are. Unfortunately, this does not change the fact that we have a zero-tolerance policy at our school when it comes to violence. Your sister—”