Elliott nods. "I understand how you feel."
There’s a tinge of disappointment in my stomach, as if I had hoped he would have a different response. Maybe a part of me wants him to declare his mad passion for me before whisking me off to live with the Naturals in the woods. But I'm not that childish, am I?
"Promise me something, Rose," he says.
"Yes?"
"That if our life ever becomes normal, that we can try to have a relationship."
"Sounds good."
I slurp down the milkshake, trying to tune out the world around me. It's an easy promise to make, because I'll never have to fulfill it. Our lives are never going to return to normal.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As we walk through the police station quietly, the only sound comes from the flickering florescent lights overhead. My skin twitches against the freezing air.
“You’ll have ten minutes,” the police officer says before opening a thick metal door that screeches.
We enter a room containing a cell with chain-link metal walls. A bunk bed sits against the back wall and a toilet along the other. Red splatters I worry are blood pepper the concrete floor before I realize they’re chipped paint. Mrs. Ford sits up on the bottom bunk and walks over to the fence.
“I tried to get the suite with the hot tub, but I guess they were booked,” she says.
“Grandma, this is ridiculous,” Elliott says. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“No,” she says. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I, on the other hand, let my childish dreams get the best of me.”
“We’ll get you a good lawyer,” Elliott says. “You’re just a Flier, you aren’t dangerous.”
“I’m an example,” Mrs. Ford says. “If people think you can get unauthorized zaps without consequences, the black market industry will boom. I don’t want to be responsible for people getting injured from those faulty machines.”
“So, you’re saying you want to be jailed?” Elliott asks.
“It’s not my first choice to share a bathroom, no,” she says. “But I’ve had my fun, now it’s time to face the music.”
Loud snoring echoes from the top bunk.
“You can’t just give up,” Elliott says.
“You need to promise me something,” she says.
Elliott nods.
“That you let me handle myself,” she says. “I don’t want you making yourself into a martyr. I’m old, and now I can die happy knowing I was right. I’m a Flier.”
“Grandma, please—
“You’re young, you should be out having fun, seeing the world.” Mrs. Ford looks over at me and lifts an eyebrow. “He kissed you yet?”
The question stuns me.
“You don’t have to answer,” she says. “I can see on your face that he hasn’t. That’s my point.”
“It’s not over yet, Grandma, there’s still time.”
“Trial will be soon. They don’t waste time in cases like mine. Not a lot to figure out. Really just a technicality.”
“There’s got to be a loophole, or something. There’s always hope.”
“Of course there’s hope. Hope you can move on and enjoy your life. They’ll take care of me. The food isn’t half bad in here actually. And you get used to the vomit smell after a while.”
Another loud snore echoes from the top bunk.
“Grandma—”
“Promise me.”
“I won’t be a martyr.”
Mrs. Ford smiles. “That’s my grandson. Now go out and enjoy yourself.”
The loud snore thunders through the room once again.
“Elma!” Mrs. Ford yells. “Would you wake up already? It’s 10:00 a.m.”
The woman sits up and turns towards us and I have to stifle a scream. Her disfigured face is a mass of swollen pale skin, and her sole eye glows bright green.
“Elma’s one of Mr. Grayson’s victims,” Mrs. Ford says. “She made a deal for immunity if she testifies against him.”
“You betta believe I’m testifyin’ against ‘im,” she says. “He says I could get me some pretty wings like Mrs. Ford there.”
Elma throws a pillow at the wall.
“Now, you said you wouldn’t do that anymore,” Mrs. Ford says. “You know the sheriff doesn’t like it when you throw things.”
“I knows it,” Elma says. “Sorry.”
“Maybe you’d better leave,” Mrs. Ford says. “Elma gets cranky around visitors.”
Elliott nods and as we leave, I can hear Mrs. Ford calming Elma down. The metal door behind us squeals shut and the police officer escorts us back out to the car. Elliott stays quiet the entire walk, his right hand clenched in a fist.
I place my hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be alright.”
Elliott places his hand on mine and we exit the police station.
“What’s going to happen at the trial?” he asks. “She doesn’t realize what she’s getting into. Mr. Grayson wasn’t able to create Elevateds, he could only create—whatever happened to her.”
“Blackmarket Elevateds rarely work out,” I say.
As I listen to myself, I realize I’m repeating the common conception. I don’t actually know if blackmarket GEMO is that dangerous. I can remember one example of a man who zapped himself to become a three-armed piano player, and he seemed completely fine.
“So how are they going to explain her ability?” Elliott asks. “Hopefully they find another success story for Mr. Grayson. Otherwise, I don’t think her story will hold water.”
“It can’t botch up all the time or nobody would use those people,” I say. “Somebody else will turn up.”
We spend the next few days trying to distract each other. I engross myself in my plants, which desperately need my attention, and Elliott marathons spikeball games on the TV. We even invite Shelly and Zach over to watch games a few times. I enjoy watching Zach blush while Shelly compares how much slower the Fliers are than him. Neither Elliott nor I can argue with her; Zach’s speed on the field is incredible. While Zach doesn’t become nearly as excited as Elliott or Shelly over the game, I can see him getting into the strategy involved in the plays. He might be won over by spikeball after all.
Dad continues to stay glued to his computer screen and whenever I try to see what he’s up to, he always switches over to his resume. No one has been willing to hire an ex-Unsound so far, and being a stay-at-home Dad would probably drive him mad if he didn’t have the murder allegations to worry over. I contemplate using my Scanner power to track what he’s up to, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Besides, Elliott may be right. The last thing I need to do is make his problems worse by getting involved.
The endless waiting continues to drain us both, and by the day before the trial, we are on edge. Elliott tells me he has a big surprise planned, and I’m stunned when he pulls into the parking structure next to Spectrum, a high-end boutique store downtown.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“You always said you wanted to go to Spectrum,” he says.
“Yeah, but—”
“Come on,” he says. “This will be fun.”
He steps over to my side of the car and opens the door for me.
"Thank you," I say. His chivalrous behavior is quite sweet.
He takes me by the arm and escorts me to the entrance. Even being his best friend, I can’t let Elliott buy me something from Spectrum. He must have no idea. I imagine the sticker shock will send us running to the car within a few minutes.
When we enter, I'm blown away by the bright colors. I've never been inside Spectrum before—the clothing is way out of my price range. My classmates would go sometimes just to try on their cute dresses, but that always seemed tacky to me. The floors and wall glisten with an all-white sheen, emphasizing the bold colors of the clothing on the racks. A sharply dressed woman with flowing purple hair greets us.
"Welcome to Spectrum," she says, and I notice her eyes changing color depending on how the lights hits them. "My n
ame is Iris. Is there anything I can get for you?"
“My friend Rose would like to try on some dresses,” he says.
She responds with a voice that floats on air. “And I’m guessing you wish to consult with one of our color specialists.”
“Yeah—um—sure,” he says.
Pulling out a small electronic device, she moves her fingers along the screen. “Perfect, I will page an agent for you. One moment.”
She steps to the side, and I pull Elliott’s head down so I can whisper in his ear. “We can’t do this, it’s too embarrassing,” I say.
“Why?”
“I can’t afford one of these dresses.”
“Oh—right—I was just thinking you could have fun trying some on.”
I smile at Elliott. “It’s a sweet thought, but—”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch an unexpected figure in the back of the store.
“Dad?”
“Ok,” says Iris, “an agent will be with you shortly.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, “but I’m with an Adam Williams.”
Iris frowns. “Oh, you should have said so. He’s consulting with Carol in the back.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll join him.”
Grabbing Elliott by the arm, we head back towards Dad. What he’s doing here I have no idea. His sense of fashion is limited at best. For him, dressing up means putting on a slightly less wrinkled shirt and pants that don’t have rip in them. As we approach, we can see that Dad and Carol are arguing.
“Sorry sir,” Carol says, “but I need an actual person for the consultation.”
“Ok.” Dad puts his phone away, which shows a picture of me. “If the picture won’t work, than I guess I will be off.”
“Wait sir,” Carol says as he turns to leave, “isn’t that your daughter?”
Dad looks up and stares at me, eyes wide in disbelief. “Rose. You’re here?”
“I was wondering the same thing.”
“Your Dad wanted to surprise you with a new dress.”
It’s hard to believe it. My dad always made fun of Spectrum. Said it was a spider web for suckers. “You did?”
Dad gulps. “Well, there goes the surprise. Guess it’s ruined now.”
“No,” Carol says, “look at her face. She’s surprised now. But what’s better? Now she can be part of the surprise. I have a fantastic new line that would look great on you.”
She takes me by the hand and bounces down the aisles. We pass by beautiful dresses built with cutaways in the back to accommodate Fliers. Another section contains dresses with elaborate splatter patterns, like modern art.
"Oh yes," Carol says, noticing my attention. "That's our Impressions line, hand-made with our Inkers. We can try that later, but I was thinking something more traditional would make most sense for you."
We keep walking, past outfits designed to enhance a Glower’s natural shine, and gloves made with a special material to accommodate Sparkers. We finally reach an area with platforms surrounded by mirrors.
She gestures for me to take the platform. “Let me take a look at you.”
Spectrum’s claim to fame, and the justification for the outrageous prices, is their color matching system. The only employees they hire are Shaders, those that can see far more than the usual human eye. It's a bit uncomfortable to stand here as she glares at me.
"You have a most interesting complexion, Rose. Special," she says.
As I step off the platform, Elliott leans over and whispers, "Bet she tells that to everyone."
I punch him in the arm, but a part of me thinks he's right. These types of places rely on the customers feeling special. Hard to justify the outrageous prices otherwise.
"How about something in emerald green," she says. "I have some dresses over here that are fantastic."
"Emerald green," Elliott whispers. "Like your best dress? What are we paying her for again?"
I smile, and as we walk over together, I feel a sense of pride knowing emerald green was my best color. And a bit flattered Elliott remembered it as well. She pulls out a shimmering dress that reminds me of the glowliles in Fowler's Grove.
"Faux lumosilk," she says. "It's all the rage these days. You'll turn every head at the wedding in this."
"Provided they don't need sunglasses," Elliott whispers.
I nudge him in the ribs. It is impractical, but there's a child inside that giggles with delight at the dress.
"I can see she likes it," Carol says. "Want to try it on?"
Stunned by the dress, all I can do is nod.
"Perfect," Carol says. "Let me get your size."
Carol steps away and I glance over at Dad, who looks like he’s waiting to have a root canal.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Dad takes a deep breath. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—”
“You didn’t come here to buy me a dress,” I say. A part of me is a little disappointed, but it’s hardly surprising. I would have felt guilty accepting such an expensive dress right now anyway. “Then why did you come here?”
Before he can answer, Carol returns with the dress. “Ready?”
"I—well—"
"Of course she is," Elliott says, giving me a wink before leaning down to whisper, “No use coming all this way and not even having some fun.”
I feel a bit guilty wasting Carol's time until the dress hits my hands and I realize its full beauty. I’ve always wanted to try on one of these dresses, and it would only take a few minutes of her time.
Carol’s voice snaps me out of my trance. "Just let me know if you need any assistance."
She points me in the direction of the changing room and I take a deep breath.
"I guess I'll just wait out here," Elliott says.
“Of course you’ll wait out here,” Dad says.
They take seats on lounge chairs built for this purpose. Some Flier magazines and sports journals sit on a small table. I can imagine some men would spend hours sitting there as their girl tried on all the different wonderful outfits in the store.
I remove my clothes and step into the dress, which fits me like a glove. Carol is good at what she does, that's for sure. Zipping it up, I turn to see myself in the mirror. The bright dress shines against my skin and beautifully compliments my flaming red hair. Somehow in this dress, my hair doesn't seem quite so obnoxiously loud as normal, probably because the dress is so phosphorescent itself.
"When you get dressed, come outside," Carol says. "We'd like a look too."
I take a deep breath and open the door.
"Beautiful!" Carol shouts. "Rose, you are a vision."
My cheeks flush and I wonder if they match my hair. I turn to Elliott, who beams with a broader grin than I've ever seen before.
“You do look beautiful," he says.
I twirl in place, feeling a bit lightheaded.
"How much is the dress?" Elliott asks.
“Why are you asking?"
“I'm just curious."
"He's not buying it," I say. "So he doesn't need to know."
Carol leans over and gives me a wink. "Understood. Men just don't understand investments, do they?"
Elliott snorts.
"Well, if you want to get dressed," Carol says. "I can start on the paperwork."
As I head back into the dressing room, I'm feeling even guiltier than before. Guilty for wasting Carol's time, and guilty for wishing I could buy such an expensive dress. I knew there was a reason I never came into this store. I took one last glance in the mirror and sighed, before returning to my ordinary clothes.
"Ok," Carol says, reaching for the dress. "I can get this wrapped up, and then we'll be good."
My hand trembles as I give it to her. It's ridiculous, but I feel attached to it, or at least to the idea of owning a dress that amazing.
“Miss—I’m—well—”
Dad steps forward. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm not going to be able to buy it."
Carol sneers. "I thoug
ht so. I know you kids love to come in here and have some fun, but I have a living to make. And you, sir, should set a better example. So if you'll excuse me—"
She storms off, and I feel sick to my stomach. I'm not that type of girl, trying to waste her time. It just happened.
“You need to leave,” Dad says. “Now.”
“What’s going on?” I ask. “If you weren’t buying clothes, what brings you here?”
“Please leave,” he says.
"We'd better head back out to the car," Elliott says.
Remembering what he said about messing with my Dad’s business, I head back out with him, past the rows of beautiful gowns.
"One of these days," he says, "we'll have to come back. You need one of those dresses."
He smiles at me and a warm flush comes over my body. He can be awfully sweet when he wants. After we step outside, Elliott opens the door for me to enter the car. He sits beside me, but doesn’t start it.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“You know what I said about messing with your Dad’s business?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Forget I said it,” he says.
I look back at him, confused.
“What?” he says. “You can’t be the only person who’s curious?”
I laugh. “I’m a bad influence on you.”
Elliott grins back.
“So what do you think Dad was doing there?” I ask.
“I wonder if the Catalyst works there.”
“I can’t imagine the Catalyst works retail. Besides, they are Shaders.”
“Right. Sorry, stupid thought.”
“But if the Catalyst doesn’t work there, then why—”
Elliott points to the entrance of Spectrum. “Your dad’s leaving the store.”
We watch as he heads out to his car and behind some cement pylons. I scan through them, watch him enter the car and wait for him to start it. But he just sits there.
“What’s he doing?” Elliott asks.
“Waiting for something I guess. He hasn’t started the car.”
We sit there for a few minutes, then an hour, but Dad doesn’t move. After a while, my brain hurts from the scanning. I take short breaks, but maintain focus on him in case he moves. Now past closing time, shoppers begin to leave the store. Cars disappear around us, until only a handful remain. The setting sun dims the parking structure walls into a dingy gray. An eerie quiet is broken only occasionally by the echoing footsteps of a Spectrum employee walking to their car. Still, Dad sits there.
Catalyst: (Elevated Saga Book #2) Page 7
