Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis

by P. T. Dilloway

  Had he wanted to, he could have fought the charges against him. His friends had encouraged him to do that. But he hadn’t because he was responsible for those two hundred thirty lives, which included one not counted officially. That life had mattered to him far more than any others, even his own. He had loved Sylvia Joubert—still loved her—more than anything else in the world. Yet his creations had killed her.

  The RAT devices had not killed her. It was the other project, the one the prosecutors and parole board didn’t know about. That had been a prototype antimatter reactor Ward had overloaded to create an explosion that would have destroyed at least half of Rampart City. Sylvia had stopped that catastrophe; she used her witch’s magic to transport the reactor safely into space. In doing so, she had given her life so millions could survive.

  It had seemed appropriate then for Tim to go to prison to pay for his crimes. Had it been up to him, they would have given him the electric chair or hanged him or perhaps some even worse form of capital punishment. But thanks to his clean record and his testimony against Ward’s assistant Ms. Fielding and Dr. Enrique Stone, who had actually weaponized the RATs, Tim received only five years.

  Now thanks to good behavior and overcrowding, he might be let out after only two years. That was what the three people in front of him had to decide. He tried to read their faces for a sign of what they thought. The bald man and middle-aged blond woman next to him didn’t look at him as they went over the notes on his incarceration. The middle-aged man with thick brown hair and glasses met his eyes and nodded at him slightly. The vote then would be two-to-one to keep him behind bars.

  The bald man finally turned to him, his eyes icy as he said, “Mr. Cooper, do you have anything to say on your behalf?”

  “No sir,” Tim said.

  “Do you feel any contrition for what happened that day? Do you feel any sorrow for the families of the people you murdered?”

  The man with glasses cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Ed, but I think characterizing Mr. Cooper’s crimes as murder is a stretch.”

  “He gave them the technology. That makes him complicit in the murders.”

  “If a criminal murders someone with a gun, do you go after the clerk who sold him the bullets?”

  “I think that’s oversimplifying it,” the woman said. “There’s a difference between a Saturday night special and one of those things.”

  “Excuse me, sirs—and ma’am,” Tim began, “I don’t mind answering the question. The answer is yes. I feel the pain of those deaths every single minute of every single day. But I know there’s nothing I can say or do to ever make it up to them.”

  As he said this, Tim thought of Sylvia. Her sister Agnes had visited Tim before the trial, when he was still in Rampart City. He had wanted her to cuss him out, to spit at him, or maybe—since she was a witch like her sister—put a curse on him. Instead, she had consoled him. “You didn’t know what they were going to do, dear,” she said. “It’s not your fault.” Her forgiveness only made the pain worse for him. He didn’t deserve that forgiveness; he deserved to be hated for what he’d done to Sylvia.

  Though he had kept his eyes forward since he’d entered the room, he had seen Agnes in the back out of the corner of his eye. She sat with an old woman he didn’t recognize. At least he didn’t recognize her until she stood up and addressed the parole board. He knew that soft, shy voice well. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’d like to say something on Mr. Cooper’s behalf.”

  “And you are?”

  “Dr. Emma Earl. I taught at Rampart State University when Mr. Cooper was there.”

  The three members of the parole board looked to each other and then the bald man, Ed, nodded to her. “Go ahead, Dr. Earl.”

  She came forward to stand by the table and Tim resisted the urge to gasp as he realized he’d mistaken her for an old woman. Emma’s hair had gone completely white since the last time he’d seen her at his trial. Then her hair had been a coppery red, lighter than Sylvia’s had been, and her stomach had bulged from the child she carried within her. He had heard she'd lost the baby, but what else had happened to her?

  She put a hand on the table and he was tempted to grab it and tell her to sit down. He didn’t want her to defend him to the parole board. He wanted to be punished for what he’d done. He deserved it. He supposed Emma, who also wore the magic red armor of the Scarlet Knight, wouldn’t listen to this; she believed his release would serve justice.

  “I’ve known Timothy for over three years now. Not only is he a very gifted engineer, but he’s a good person as well. That goodness is what Harry Ward preyed on. Timothy’s only crime is that he believed Ward’s false promises. He believed his creations would be used for noble purposes, to explore distant worlds and solve mysteries that have plagued science for centuries. Ward used that hope to twist Timothy’s dream into something evil and destructive.

  “It would be wrong to say Timothy is as much of a victim as the people who died, but he is a victim in this. He’s a victim of Ward’s megalomaniacal schemes.” Emma stopped and Tim could see her face was red, whether from anger or embarrassment he couldn’t tell. He pushed the glass of water on the table over to her hand. She smiled slightly at him as she took the glass and drank from it. She nodded to him before she continued, “The real crime would be to keep this good man locked up.”

  Ed said, “Thank you, Dr. Earl for those kind words, but I think we would be doing a disservice to the families of the victims to let Mr. Cooper go at this time.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I disagree. I think the real service to the families would be to let Timothy go so he could use his gifts to help make this a better world. He can’t do that from a jail cell.”

  “What’s to stop him from making some new kind of weapon and selling it to Al-Qaeda or some other terrorist group?” the blond woman beside Ed asked.

  “Timothy didn’t make or sell any weapons to anyone,” Emma said. “He designed the RATs for exploration, for science. It was Dr. Stone who turned them into weapons without Timothy’s knowledge.”

  “Dr. Earl is right,” the man with the glasses said. “Mr. Cooper wasn’t the one who made those things into weapons. And from Warden Carmichael’s reports, Mr. Cooper has been a model prisoner since arriving here.”

  “You really want to put this dangerous criminal back on the streets?” Ed asked.

  “Timothy is not dangerous. He’s committed his life to science, to the discovery of truth.” She put her hand on Tim’s shoulder. “When I knew him at Rampart State, he spent twelve hours a day in the labs, to the point where they gave him a key so he could let himself in and out. Does that sound like a dangerous criminal to you?”

  “Plenty of drug makers spend time in labs too,” Ed grumbled.

  “Timothy isn’t a drug maker. He’s never done any drugs. For that matter he never even jaywalked. He’s one of the kindest, most good-hearted people I’ve ever met.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Earl. You may return to your seat. We will discuss the matter in private for a few minutes.”

  Emma nodded to Tim before she returned to her seat. He didn’t look back at her; he didn’t want to see the kindness in her eyes and in those of Sylvia’s sister. He didn’t deserve their support, only their hatred for what he had done.

  The board took fifteen minutes before they returned with the verdict. It was the man with the glasses who announced Tim would be freed on parole. “There is one condition of your parole, Mr. Cooper. You are not under any circumstances to work in any sort of mechanical engineering capacity or in related fields.”

  “That’s not fair!” This came from Emma, not from him. She got to her feet and came over to his table again. “How can you do that to him? Would you have asked Mozart to stop composing symphonies or Shakespeare to stop writing plays? You’re denying the world the benefit of his genius.”

  “That’s enough, Dr. Earl,” Ed said. “The decision of this board is final.”

  Emma’s jaw clenched and Tim w
ondered if the parole board had any idea with whom they dealt. Even without the armor, Tim had little doubt Emma could take down not only the members of the board, but all the guards in the room as well. But she didn’t. The anger in her face drained away and she sank down in her seat next to Agnes.

  With that, Tim became a free man.

  ***

  Emma met him in the parking lot outside the prison. She and her friend Becky Beech waited for him as he came out. To his surprise, Emma hugged him. “Congratulations,” she said.

  “I guess so,” he said. He certainly didn’t feel in much of a celebratory mood. He was a free man while Sylvia and all those other people remained dead. All those families shattered, lives in ruins, and he would be free again.

  They took him to a diner nearby. Emma said, “You probably haven’t had a decent meal in two years.”

  He waited until the waitress hurried off to get their drinks—coffee for he and Becky and tea for Emma—to say, “Thank you for what you said in there.”

  “It was the truth. Every word of it.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe what they did to you. Not letting you do what you love. What do they expect you to do?”

  “At least he’s out of prison,” Becky said.

  “I guess,” Emma said. She looked down shyly at the tabletop. “It’s just not fair.”

  “Life usually isn’t,” Becky said.

  “I know.”

  Tim looked at Emma, at her strangely white hair that sharply contrasted with her wrinkle-free face. “I’m sorry about your baby.”

  “Thanks.” She twirled some of her hair around her finger. “I guess you probably already figured out that’s how this happened.”

  “I thought as much.”

  Their drinks arrived and they ordered—cheeseburgers for he and Becky and an egg white omelet for Emma. Once the waitress had left again, Becky smiled woodenly. “Come on you two, this should be a happy day. Let’s drink a toast to Tim rejoining society.”

  They mumbled the toast and then clinked their glasses together. The coffee tasted bitter, but better than the sludge they served in prison. With what he’d done, such coffee was too good for him; he should have to subsist on musty water and moldy bread.

  Emma sipped her tea and then said, “Becky and I were talking. If you don’t have anywhere else to stay, you’re welcome to stay with us.”

  “I couldn’t put you out like that.”

  “It’s no problem. We have plenty of room.”

  Tim tried to think of some way to say no without hurting Emma’s feelings. The truth was if he was to be free, he didn’t want to stay with Sylvia’s friends. They would only remind him of her and the fact he would never get to see her again. Still, when he looked into Emma’s eyes, he knew he couldn’t say no. She had stood up for him against the parole board, had stuck her neck out for him because she believed in him. He knew she would help him in every way she could because of that belief. “I guess so. Thank you,” he said. Then he stood up from the table. “I have to use the bathroom.”

  He didn’t go to the bathroom. He went over by the front door and hunched down as if to buy a newspaper. When someone else came in, Tim used that man’s body for a screen to slip out the door. He made sure to keep low as he crept around the front of the building. Once he was sure they couldn’t see him, he ran.

  He hated himself for rejecting Emma’s kindness after what she’d done for him. At some point he hoped he could make her understand it had nothing to do with her. He needed to make a clean break with his old life, rid himself of any reminders of Sylvia. That was the only way he could hope to ever really be free.

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  The minivan came to a stop and the driver rolled down her window. “Just an oil change today?” Tim asked.

  “Yes and make sure you check the wiper fluid this time. Last time I was here I ended up bone dry when it rained.”

  “Will do,” Tim said with a forced smile. The woman popped the hood and he set to work on the thirty-point checklist he had memorized after two days of work at the Speedy Oil. He made sure the woman saw him pour some wiper fluid into the reservoir as she talked on her phone.

  She was out of the garage ten minutes later. After two months on the job, he could change the oil in just about any car blindfolded. It wasn’t difficult for someone who could build an antimatter reactor.

  Those days were long behind him now. To his surprise he found he didn’t miss it a whole lot. What he’d really missed while in prison was to work with his hands, to get them dirty in the guts of some machinery. The oil change job sated that need while it satisfied his parole requirement that he not work in engineering. The pay wasn’t great, certainly not what he’d made at TriTech, but at least he was employed. With a felony conviction on his record, he was lucky for that.

  Another car came in, this one a sports car with a middle-aged man behind the wheel. “Make sure you don’t scratch her,” the driver said. “When I was at the Jiffy Lube, they left a huge scratch on the left fender. Cost me two hundred bucks to repaint it.”

  “I’ll be careful with her, sir,” Tim said. The driver watched him warily nonetheless.

  At least that’s what Tim assumed, until he came back with the bill. The man squinted at him and said, “You’re that guy from the newspapers, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “The Boy Genius, right?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Yeah you are. You think I ought to look under the car for any hidden explosives?”

  “Your car is perfectly fine, sir. Not a scratch on it.”

  “Does your manager know who you are?”

  “Yes, sir.” In fact his manager, Ray Rosen, had been skeptical of him at first. “But Steve just got busted for selling meth so I’m a little shorthanded,” he’d said in the interview. Ray had wagged a finger at Tim and warned, “If you screw up once, you’re out on your ass.”

  So far Tim had yet to screw up. He’d even made Employee of the Month last month for the best average time of any of the grease monkeys. The award came with a gift certificate to Burger King, with which Tim had taken his new coworkers to lunch. At that lunch, Tim had felt at ease for the first time in years. It was the first time he could be around a group of people and not worry he might be stabbed or raped.

  The driver of the sports car gave Tim the evil eye, but ultimately he paid his bill and left. Tim figured the man would write an angry letter or make an irate phone call to the district manager to complain the company had hired a notorious felon. Tim might even lose his job. He supposed he should be more concerned about it, but he wasn’t. He’d already lost the one thing he cared about most in his life, so the rest didn’t matter.

  He stepped outside and reached into his back pocket for a cigarette. He hadn’t taken up smoking until he got here. The cigarettes, along with the beard he’d grown, were part of his new life. While he smoked, he took out the letter that had arrived yesterday.

  The letter was on Plaine Museum stationary, which meant it could only come from Emma. She had found out his address, probably through his parole officer. Then again, being the Scarlet Knight and a certified genius she could have figured it out on her own. She’d written him two other letters, the first just to say she forgave him for leaving her and Becky at the diner and that she hoped they could still be friends. The second letter came a couple of weeks later to say she and Dr. Maxwell were looking into how to get his work restrictions lifted.

  He hadn’t answered either letter. When he tried, he could only remember Emma in front of the parole board to passionately defend him. There was no way then he could say what he really wanted to, that he didn’t want her help or her forgiveness. So he left the letters beside his bed, unanswered.

  This third letter was dated from three days ago. “This is just a quick note,” Emma wrote. “Something’s come up and I have to go out of the country for a few days. Dr. Maxwell will still be working on your
case. We’re both confident we can get your restrictions lifted. I hope to hear from you when I get back—and I hope to have some important news to tell you. In case you don’t hear from me for a while, I just want to say you’ve been a good friend.” She signed it as “Your Friend,” which along with the last sentence prompted him to toss his cigarette to the ground.

  He supposed he ought to write her back even if she were going out of the country. Why she would be leaving he didn’t have any idea. Maybe he should try to call her friend Becky or Agnes; they would probably know. Whatever it was, it sounded dangerous, enough that she feared she might not make it back. Probably Scarlet Knight business.

  As he reached into his pocket for another cigarette, the sky darkened. He looked up to see black clouds had blotted out the sun. From what he’d heard on the radio, it wasn’t supposed to rain today. Maybe it was some kind of quick-moving system that had just popped up.

  It did move quickly; the black clouds faded a minute later. Tim flicked on his lighter, but as he bent down to light the cigarette, it fell from his mouth. “What the hell?” he whispered.

  The letter in his hand had gone blank. It was as if Emma’s words had been written in invisible ink. He held the paper up to the light, but didn’t see any trace of the writing. Even stranger, the envelope had gone blank as well.

  Before he could give these any more thought, a car pulled up to the garage. He tucked the letter into the envelope, to keep both in his pocket for safekeeping. Then he went back to work.

  ***

  Tim didn’t have a cell phone and Ray didn’t like anyone to make personal calls from the shop, especially long-distance personal calls. So Tim had to wait until his lunch break at three o’clock before he could go to the McDonald’s across the street to use the pay phone. First he bought a hamburger to get some quarters to put into the phone.