Red and Black

by Nancy O'Toole Meservier

  I figured her parents would be leading the charge, but it looks like both had passed away before she started college. And while she wasn’t a complete loner, she didn’t seem to have anyone she was all that close with. Hell, it didn’t look like anyone even reported her missing. Sure, friends and colleagues had peppered her Myspace page with concerns, but it looked like they eventually assumed she was blowing them off and not in any actual danger. A couple of the comments even mentioned how “Mr. Kent” had explained that she had “moved away.” Was this a result of a memory rewrite from Amity Graves, or was the mayor actively covering up her disappearance?

  I sighed, looking down at the list of names in front of me: Dana Peterson, Arthur Hamilton, Johanna St. Pierre, Edison Kent, and Sylvie Bouchard. These were the five people involved in Callie Saunders’s disappearance, and if she was targeting two of them, it was safe to assume that the others could be on her list as well. The question was, when and where? I could try shadowing them, but there was only one of me and four of them left. Contacting the police was out of the question, given that some of them were already besties with Callie. I didn’t know who of them could be trusted.

  I sighed, leaning back in my chair. How was I supposed to handle this?

  My gaze landed on the ceiling. I frowned, realizing something.

  If you took Dana out of the equation, a clear pattern started to occur with Callie’s potential victims.

  They were all rich.

  And in Bailey City, rich people tended to congregate in very predictable patterns.

  I launched myself toward the laptop, my mind flashing back to the initial search I had done when Arthur Hamilton had first been kidnapped. I opened an image search and quickly scrolled through the pictures, moving past shiny corporate photos and focusing on a colorful snapshot from the Bailey City Times. It was Mr. Hamilton standing with Ms. St. Pierre, former Bailey City Mayor Edison Kent, and Dr. Bouchard at the annual Harvest Ball. The same Harvest Ball that my mother claimed the same people attended every year.

  I jumped up from my seat, feeling the final pieces falling together in my mind.

  Sure, it would be risky. I mean, the security involved, and the fact that everyone would be in costume…but damn, snatching up multiple victims at once was a hell of a lot more efficient than one at a time. She would only need to worry about Dana after that, and there were only so many times I could be depended upon to be in the right place at the right time.

  The Harvest Ball. The same ball that was, what…two days away? If Callie Saunders could succeed…she would be put in the perfect place to snatch up everyone involved in the Transference, and her resulting disappearance. Something had clearly gone wrong, and the fact that she was targeting at least two of the people involved indicated that she would most likely go for the full set.

  I tore open my bedroom door, running to the staircase, one image standing out sharply in my mind. That of our invitation to the very same charity event, perched on top of a pile of mail in the living room.

  The real question was, did I have enough time to RSVP?

  17

  Alex

  “I can’t believe you, Claire,” I growled, eyes focused on the display in front of me. “How do you always win?”

  In response, Claire didn’t laugh as much as she cackled. I stared down at the table in front of me, at the neat lines of tiny red pegs.

  “Seriously,” I said, spinning my plastic foldout station so Claire could clearly see my sunken battleships. “Did you peek over the top?”

  “Excuse me?” Claire said, raising a hand to her chest in mock offense. “Are you accusing me, your little sister, of cheating?”

  “You used to move the pieces around in Monopoly when no one else was looking.”

  “Yeah, when I was seven.” Claire rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Alex. It’s all about being able to visualize the boats in your head. When did I even have a chance to cheat?”

  I shook my head and took a drink of water from my glass on the table. Then, the back door opened wide. Mariah walked in, cell phone pressed to the side of her face.

  “Thank you, Miss Hardscrabble,” she said. “Yes, I understand, Miss Hardscrabble. I’ll let Claire know right away.”

  I fell silent and watched as my sister ended her call and stuck the phone in her purse. She froze on seeing both of us.

  “Oh good, you’re both here,” she said, pushing her hair out of her face.

  “Was that the school?” Claire asked, voice suddenly much quieter.

  “Yes,” Mariah said, approaching the table. She dumped her purse on an empty chair and reached to take off her jacket. “Miss Hardscrabble, in fact.”

  “Yeah, we got that,” I said. “So…have they reached a verdict?”

  Mariah nodded.

  “It’s as I expected. They’re going to let Claire return on Monday.”

  I watched as Claire let out all the air inside her in one big breath.

  “That’s great,” I said.

  “But…they’re going to be keeping an eye on you, Claire.” Mariah replied. “If you do anything —skip class, mouth off to teachers —they’ll be looking for an excuse.”

  Claire nodded.

  “I get it,” she said. “And I feel…very confused to be this excited about going back to school.”

  I let out a laugh.

  “Just two more days of freedom, then the weekend, then back to normal,” I said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “And that’s worth celebrating, I think.”

  “Can we go to Norma’s?” Claire asked, referencing a local diner. We didn’t go out to eat that often, but when we did, we usually stuck to Norma’s, as the food was the perfect mixture of both tasty and cheap.

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Mariah said, a smile spreading on her face.

  “Not tonight, though,” I said. “I have to work.”

  “’Til when?” Mariah cocked her head sideways. “We can always make it a late dinner.”

  “Ah…”

  I hesitated. The truth was, I wasn’t sure when I would be back. It was, after all, time for the big plan, the benefit. Even if everything went all right, Calypso might need me to hang around for a while. I winced. I had been restless all morning. It was why I had brought out the board game collection after all, taking advantage of Claire’s competitive side.

  There were so many things that could go wrong. People could get hurt; my identity could be exposed. Sure, Calypso had promised to relocate my family to a different city if that happened, but things were just starting to go well for both of them here. Mariah was working so hard, and Claire had just managed to get her life back on track. I could justify my actions by pointing out that the hazard pay would go a long way toward paying off our debts. But that still left my other doubts.

  It all went back to my conversation with Dawn on the pier. Dawn, who had been kidnapped. And even though she couldn’t remember, it still ate at her. Of course, when it came to our five targets, Calypso wasn’t planning on stealing a month of their lives.

  No. She was probably going to kill them.

  I frowned. I had been so focused on the job that I hadn’t really considered the end game. The way Calypso spoke, this wasn’t an emotionless play for ransom or anything similar. This was about pain. And yeah, Arthur Hamilton was still alive, but that was only for now. How long would he, and the other people Calypso held responsible for her pain, remain that way?

  Of course, according to Calypso, these guys deserved everything they had coming to them.

  Could the same be said about Red and Black?

  “How about you guys go without me?” I reached for my wallet, trying to focus on the present. “Don’t worry, this isn’t my way to push the bill off on you.”

  “How late are you working tonight?” Mariah asked, her face falling into a frown.

  “I’m ah…covering for someone. You’ll probably be asleep when I get back anyway.”

  “That’s fine. We’ll just go to
morrow,” Claire said with a shrug. “I can stretch out this celebrating all week if I have to.”

  “If it’s okay with you.” I turned toward Claire, slipping my wallet back into my pocket.

  “Of course…if you want to leave the money with me, I wouldn’t say no.”

  “Alex, where are you going tonight, really?” Mariah asked.

  Claire froze. I watched as her gaze slid between me and Mariah.

  Oh boy…

  I sighed and turned around.

  “What are you talking about, Mariah?” I asked, annoyance creeping into my voice.

  “The last time you had to work late, you didn’t come home until four in the morning, Alex,” Mariah said. “With bruises all over your face.”

  “I told you, I was sparring with some of the guys at work,” I said, waving her off. “They figured out about my experience with Coach Marlon back in high school. You remember him, right? I wonder if—”

  “’Til four in the morning?” Mariah’s voice began to rise.

  I felt my jaw clench. My hands itched for something to do, so I reached out and wrapped one around my glass.

  “Come on Mariah, why does this matter so much?” I asked.

  “The late nights? The random stacks of money we have to be so careful with? Alex, you’re clearly involved in something criminal. And given how large those stacks are, it’s obvious you’re involved in something big.”

  “You don’t know that—” I began, but she didn’t even hear me.

  “God, Alex, have you thought about what might happen to Claire if the school found out what was going on? Or what about the example you’re setting for her? Did you even think about us—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Mariah, all of this is for you,” I said, launching myself to my feet. I shook the glass in her direction. “For both of you.”

  “But we never asked you to do it!”

  “Hey, let’s…calm down guys, okay?” I heard Claire’s pleading voice in the background, the noise of her scraping chair as she came to her feet. But I didn’t see her. All I could focus on was Mariah. The glass. The lines. All the damn fault lines popping up around our shitty little house.

  “God, all you do is push and push,” I said, voice coming out as a growl. “Always asking about the money, when it’s the only thing keeping this house from the bank.”

  “There are other solutions. Solutions we might come up with together. As family. Ugh. You always do this. Just take charge without thinking about—”

  “What! No I don’t.”

  “Yes you do!”

  “Well, fine then. What’s your big idea?”

  “Well, to start off with, I could get a job—”

  “With what time? You’ve packed in as many classes as possible so you can catch up. And you already have student teaching—”

  “Then take out more in loans. Or take a semester off. Save up. We’ve done it before and been fine.”

  “But we shouldn’t have to! It’s not fair!”

  And that’s when the glass shattered in my hands. From behind me, Claire let out a yelp, and I saw Mariah jerk back. After a few second of silence, she raised a hand to her face. It came back wet with a drop of blood.

  “Shit,” I said, taking a step forward. “Mariah, I—”

  She flinched as I came close. And I didn’t like how that made me feel, having Mariah back up like that.

  “Alex, your hand,” Claire said from behind me.

  I looked down at my right hand to see a wash of blood across my palm.

  “Shit,” I repeated.

  “Oh! Let me take a look.”

  Mariah stepped toward me, reaching for my hand. I heard the sound of glass crunch beneath her shoes.

  “Let me get the broom,” Claire said, then dashed out of the room, probably toward the basement, where we kept most of the cleaning stuff.

  My hand continued to bleed. Mariah reached out and gently took it in hers. For a second, all I could do was pause and linger over the sight of my big bloody mitt cradled in her small ones, delicate and pale, just like Mom’s had been. I couldn’t count the number of times I had come in, scraped or cut up, and how those small hands had patched me back up. And strangely enough, no matter how much she poked or prodded, it had never seemed to hurt, at least in ways that counted.

  Mariah had those hands now. It was why she was going to be a nurse. Why she was meant to help people, even when she wanted to smack them.

  So what did that make me?

  “You should be fine,” Mariah said. “But we need to clean and bandage it.” She paused and looked up at me. “No boxing lessons tonight, okay?”

  When I didn’t respond, her frown deepened and she dropped my hand.

  “I just need to get to the medicine cabinet,” she said, then left the room, shouldering past Claire, who stood in the doorway, broom clutched close to her chest.

  “I can take care of it.” I reached out for the broom.

  “Yeah, that’s not a good idea,” Claire said, glancing downward. I followed her gaze. I had reached out with the injured hand.

  “Sorry,” I murmured.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Claire said, her voice bitter.

  I stepped out of the way, and she walked toward the glass and started to sweep. The pieces made clinking noises as they were dragged across the linoleum. For a few seconds, that was the only noise in the kitchen.

  “You know,” Claire finally said, “I think I like things a lot better when you are I are the ones fighting.”

  Well, what could I say to that?

  During my elevator rides down to the subbasement of the Grand Bailey, I’ve spent my time doing one thing—putting it all away. My thoughts of my sisters. My regrets tied to my mother. My hopes for something special with Dawn. These pieces of me don’t belong in Calypso’s world. Alex Gage doesn’t belong. Calypso never needed Alex. She needed Faultline.

  But then, throughout the month of September, things had started to get blurry. I couldn’t just be a thug anymore, punching people when ordered to, not when I had been put in charge of the benefit heist. I couldn’t see Calypso’s followers as mindless drones anymore, not when I had come to see Noel as a friend. Even though it was only a matter of time before Noel was just as crazy as the others. And then there was Dawn’s confession about the scars left behind by her abduction, the scars that I was going to cause, again and again, tonight.

  I couldn’t just put it away anymore. At least, not while my hand hurt like this.

  I looked down at my injured right hand as I flexed it. It was encased in my newly repaired body armor, which covered me from neck to toe. I kept my helmet tucked under my arm.

  The elevator dinged as the door slid open. I looked up and blinked in surprise.

  I wasn’t used to people meeting me here. Sure, sometimes I caught sight of a drone going out as I was coming in, but it was clear from how she stood, and the way her green eyes bore into mine, that Calypso had been waiting for me especially.

  “Calypso?” I said.

  “Faultline,” she replied, “are you ready?”

  I hesitated.

  “It depends,” I replied. “What exactly should I be ready for?”

  Her eyes narrowed before she spoke, and when she did, only one word passed through her lips in a low, snakelike hiss.

  “Justice.”

  At that word, something inside me snapped into place. Because what were we doing tonight? Not taking down innocent victims like Dawn. No, we were setting things right by taking back the power from those in control who would not share it. By forcing life, which was by definition never just or fair, to finally go our way. The first twenty-four years of my life had been nothing but things taken away from me: my father, my mother, jobs denied to me over and over again. And while my sisters might not like it, there was no way that I was going to force them to live that same life. They were going to succeed, goddamn it, and if they didn’t like what I needed to do to make sure of that, th
en they were just going to have to live with it.

  Fuck Arthur Hamilton, Johanna St. Pierre, Edison Kent, Sylvie Bouchard, and Dana Peterson. Fuck the whole unfair world. Tonight, we might have to break all the rules, but we were going to come out on top.

  I reached down and placed the helmet on my head, obscuring the top half of my face.

  “I’m ready now,” I said.

  Calypso nodded and turned.

  And as I followed her from the elevator, I felt my hands tighten into fists. And when I did, I didn’t feel a single ounce of pain.

  18

  Dawn

  Thank God for old Halloween costumes.

  I wore a gray (once ankle-, now calf-length) elven cloak, acquired back when I had been thirteen and obsessed with Legolas from Lord of the Rings. Having recently seen that my reputation as “the kidnapped girl” was still in full force, I paired the cloak with a silver mask from a more recent Halloween. I had been dressed as Dagger (minus the exposed cleavage and belly) as half of the crime fighting duo “Cloak and Dagger” alongside a fellow Northwest Comics regular. No one had understood the reference outside of the shop, which I consider to be one of the true tragedies of our time.

  Invitation in hand, I headed toward the towering Tong Building. A building, I couldn’t help but note, that Marty’s family owned.

  Was that why he had been recruited in the first place?

  The line of limos that snaked around the street, plus all the weird looks I had gotten on the tram, confirmed that I had chosen the least popular way to travel to a benefit filled with Bailey City’s rich and famous. I was fashionably late enough for guests to start arriving in full force. Compared to the elaborate outfits I came across, my costume was dull, dull, dull. I think I might have stuck out for being underdressed, especially around those who just dressed up. Women wore daring backless gowns and plenty of diamonds and pearls. I even saw a man eschew the traditional bow tie for an ascot.

  It was clearly a night for risk taking.

  I could only assume Callie Saunders felt the same way.