Face the Change (Menopausal Superheroes Book 3)

by Samantha Bryant

  “I’ll try anything.”

  “She’ll come tonight.”

  Leonel wasn’t sleeping. Between his injuries and his worries, he couldn’t get comfortable. Lying flat on his back in a narrow and uncomfortable bed in a room that was never completely dark wasn’t exactly restful. He considered bothering the nurses for a pill that would make him sleep, but he’d lost too many days already. Besides, he needed the time to think. And if, as the Director promised, someone was coming to see him, he needed to be awake.

  He had convinced David to go home for the night. Tuesday was the usual night for dinner with their daughters, and he persuaded the stubborn man the girls would want news of his recovery. “You will think about what I said?” David asked, stroking Leonel’s forehead with his fingertips. “This work is too dangerous.”

  He promised he would think about it. After David had left, Leonel was racked with guilt. He didn’t need to think about it. He would not be giving up his work. There was no question of that. The question was what it meant for him and David. David hadn’t said so directly, but the ultimatum hung in the air between them all the same, like a cartoon anvil ready to fall and crush someone. It was his husband or his career with the Department. And Leonel wanted both.

  He was still staring at the ceiling watching the reflections of the hallway’s light slide across the ceiling when the door opened silently. Usually, the nurses announced themselves, knocking and turning on lights so they could check his vitals or bring his medications. But there was no knock, and no lights turned on. The door simply slid open a bit, just wide enough to admit a person, and fell closed again.

  Then there was a little girl of about eight or nine years old standing by his bedside, staring at him with wide eyes in a pale and serious face. The analytical expression was out of place on such a chubby-cheeked child. “Are you lost, little one? Should I call a nurse?”

  The girl shook her head. “I am Norah. The Director asked me to come see you.”

  “You’re the person who might be able to help me?” The Director hadn’t said who the person would be, but Leonel had certainly not expected a little girl.

  The girl nodded, her pink windbreaker rustling with a plastic-y sound. “Where are you hurt?”

  “It’s here,” he said, indicating his side. “I was shot.”

  “By a bad guy?”

  “Kind of. My getting shot, that was an accident. But I was there trying to stop a bad guy.” He wondered how much he should tell the little girl. She didn’t seem like other children, but that didn’t stop his mother’s heart from wanting to protect the niña from having to know too much about the uglier side of life.

  “Did you stop him?”

  “No. Not yet. We saved the person we went to save, but the woman who caused it all is still out there. I want to help them catch her.”

  “What will you do if you catch her?”

  “That won’t be up to me. It will be up to the judges and policemen to decide how to punish her. But she needs to be stopped. She is hurting people. She is dangerous.”

  The little girl slipped off her jacket and laid it on the chair beside the bed. The ruffled blue dress she wore beneath it rustled as she moved, and her thin, pale arms were bare. “The Director said you had a good heart. I think he’s right.” She stretched her arms high and clasped them together over her head and pulled them down in front of her, repeating the gesture three times. On the third time, her hands glowed with a warm orange light. “Close your eyes and think about a quiet place,” she said.

  Leonel did. He thought again about the beach. He imagined lying on a blanket in the warm sun, with David beside him, smiling as the heat soaked into both their skins. In his imagination, it was a quiet cove with only the sounds of the surf and calling birds. They were alone and happy. Leonel could feel David’s love as warmly as the sun’s rays. Somewhere in the daydream, he fell asleep.

  He awoke some time later. The room was awash in early morning sunlight, pouring in through the blinds. And Leonel had to urinate. They had removed the catheter when he’d regained consciousness, so he’d need a bedpan, or to get out of bed somehow. He placed a hand on his side and tried to move to a sitting position. He winced, anticipating the pain that had accompanied his every movement since he awoke the day before. But it didn’t come.

  Trying to move cautiously, he moved to a sitting position and rested on the edge of the bed for a minute or so, waiting for resistance or a cry for help from his rib cage. When nothing came, he stood and walked slowly and carefully, touching the furniture for support and made his way to the bathroom. Gripping the safety rail, he lowered himself to the toilet seat, tucked his penis downward and emptied his bladder, sighing with relief. He finished and was washing his hands when he heard the door open.

  “Mr. Alvarez.” The voice was alarmed. “Mr. Alvarez?”

  “I’m in here,” Leonel called out, drying his hands on the paper towels.

  When he came out of the bathroom, a nurse stood by the bed, a stern look on her face. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “I had to use the bathroom.” Leonel felt sheepish and defensive at the same time.

  “You should have used the call button and asked for help. Your chart clearly says you are not to get out of bed unassisted yet.”

  “I’m all right,” Leonel insisted.

  The woman moved to his side and took Leonel’s elbow on his uninjured side. “Let’s get you back into bed and the doctor in here to check. You’re going to delay your recovery if you keep moving around like this. Part of being a good patient is patience.”

  Leonel let the woman help him into the bed, though he definitely didn’t feel as if he needed the assistance. As soon as he was settled, the nurse used the call button to let the nurse’s station know Mr. Alvarez had been out of bed and the doctor needed to come and check on the wound. A disapproving frown still distorting her face, the nurse took Leonel’s vitals and recorded the results in her rolling stand.

  “You stay in bed until the doctor comes,” she admonished as she left the room, closing the door harder than was necessary.

  A few minutes later a doctor came through the door, redfaced and harried. “Mr. Alvarez, what were you thinking?” The man rushed to the sink and hurried through his preparations. “If you’ve reopened your wound again so soon, we’re looking at an infection. You do not want an infected abdominal wound.”

  Leonel moved the blankets aside and opened his hospital gown for the doctor, hoping the man’s obvious concern was an over-reaction. Surely, it had to mean something that he had not had pain as he moved about. Pain, after all, was the body’s warning system and, for some reason, his body had seen no reason to sound a warning.

  He turned his head toward the window and concentrated on the soft morning light, thinking about his dream of a little girl with glowing orange hands. He winced a little when the doctor pushed on the area around his wound, but it was tender in the way a bad bruise might have been. Certainly nothing like the searing, screaming pain that had made him pass out.

  “What on earth?” The doctor’s voice has gone soft with wonder, and Leonel turned to meet his gaze.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” The doctor pointed at Leonel’s abdomen, and Leonel crooked his neck awkwardly to try and examine the wound. His skin was red and irritated, probably from the tape and bandages, but the ugly blackened area that had looked so purpled and swollen the day before was nearly the same light brown color as the rest of his flesh. “This doesn’t hurt?” The doctor pushed gently around the surgical scar.

  “It’s a little sore.”

  “Just sore?”

  Leonel nodded.

  The doctor raised his hands, spreading the fingers in a gesture of surrender. “This should not be possible, Mr. Alvarez. If I hadn’t seen this wound yesterday myself, I would say it happened two or three months ago instead of only a matter of days. I think we could remove these stitches.”

  Leone
l felt a warm hope glow in his chest. “Does that mean I could go home?”

  “I’m going to send in someone from the lab to take some samples. We’ll have to run some tests and make sure, but, yes. I think we can send you home this afternoon.” The doctor sat in the visitor’s chair, flopping down like a deflated balloon. “I don’t understand.”

  Leonel sat up and stretched his arms out wide. There was the faintest twinge, rather like he might have felt after overdoing it in the gym. The doctor’s eyes widened, watching him move. He picked up Leonel’s chart and flipped through the pages, frowning. “There’s nothing in your chart to suggest accelerated healing. Just enhanced strength.”

  “I can’t explain it either.” Leonel winced a little inside at the subterfuge. It was the truth. He couldn’t explain it. He had promised he wouldn’t. Besides, he wouldn’t put a child at risk. Norah had a tremendous gift, and Leonel understood why the child was a well-kept secret. “I guess it’s some kind of miracle.”

  The doctor gave him a wry smile. “I don’t believe in miracles, Mr. Alvarez.” He got up, removed his gloves then threw them away. “‘Need to know’ works differently at this hospital.”

  Leonel thanked the man, and, after he left, closed his eyes to thank God as well. There was no question in his mind Norah was a miracle.

  Sally Ann Doesn’t Believe Her Own Eyes

  “Her name is Agatha Corman, age fifty-four, native of Springfield.” Sally Ann pushed the picture across the table. The team passed it around. Even though they’d all have a copy on their phones, each agent still stopped and held the photograph, studying it briefly. There was still no substitute for the human eye and mind.

  When it got to Jessica, she asked, “Another of Dr. Liu’s victims?”

  Sally Ann shook her head. “Not this time.” She tipped her head at Mike Lester who took his cue and stood at the end of the table. He was trying to play it cool, but it was obvious to Sally Ann that the man loved his moment in the spotlight. This time he deserved it. He’d been undercover for months to get the intel they’d all make use of now. The Director had a hunch there was something worth watching going on at Bethesda. And, as usual, he’d been right.

  Lester flicked a button and brought up a picture of an institutional building with a white facade, familiar to everyone in the room. “Bethesda Hospital, on the north end of Springfield, is known for its research in neurology and its willingness to work with indigent patients, so it was no surprise Corman was sent there when she had a stroke two years ago. Corman survived her stroke and underwent experimental surgery in an attempt to improve her motor function and speech.”

  The next slide showed a smiling man holding up a trophy. The man’s glasses took up a good third of his face and magnified his eyes to an alarming degree. “Dr. Leonard Harvey. He’s the brains behind the experimental treatment. He’s been working out of Bethesda for about five years now, winning awards for his techniques and accolades for the hospital.”

  Six other faces popped up on the screen. “This part didn’t make the evening news—in fact, it didn’t make it out of the hospital. But some of Harvey’s patients have exhibited strange abilities after their treatment, including precognition, telekinesis, telepathy, and mind control.” That garnered some reaction from the gathered agents. The side talk stopped immediately. “These six,” Mike gestured to the picture, “are missing. Two were reported dead. The family of one man has a reward posted for information on her whereabouts. The other three had no family to speak of.” Among the grumbling and whispered comments, Sally Ann caught Jessica watching her. Not everyone had yet heard what Sally Ann had seen. But Jessica had.

  Sally Ann took her place at the end of the table. “Mike infiltrated the hospital months ago. Based on his information, we’re preparing to move on Dr. Harvey and find out what exactly his role is in all of this. But his patients are the bigger concern to public safety.”

  Sally Ann pulled up a photograph of the group in front of the jewelry store. A red circle was drawn around a man standing near the center of the group. He stood out for three reasons: he was unusually tall and thin, he held at least four bags, and he was the only person in the group looking a different direction than the rest. He was also one of the six. One of the patients who’d been reported dead.

  “I was on the scene myself.” Sally Ann rested her hands on the table and leaned forward, ensuring every eye in the room was on her before she went on, flinging an arm back toward the display screen. “I didn’t see that man.” She turned to look at the picture again herself. “No one did. The camera captured his image, but not a single one of the dozens of police and emergency workers on the scene can remember him.”

  She pointed at the bags. “These bags probably contain the contents of the store. The thief—Archie Matheson—was standing in our midst and we couldn’t see him.” After giving the group a moment to react, Sally Ann went on. “It gets worse. Agent Driver chased down a car fleeing the scene. He was able to identify Agatha Corman behind the wheel. And Corman made him go to sleep and run his car off the road. If it had been anyone else…” In the pause, Sally Ann heard Jessica reassuring everyone that Agent Driver’s absence wasn’t due to injuries but due to his work on another assignment.

  Sally Ann clicked back to the picture of the group in front of the jewelry store again. She stood staring at it for a moment, remembering. Even now, with photographic evidence in front of her, it was hard to admit she’d been so easily manipulated.

  She turned back to the group. “We’ve faced some strange things together, but this is a new area. We’ve got a man who can influence perception and a woman who can force people to do her will. Both of them fooled a large group of people, including trained professionals. There’s every possibility the other four missing patients are working with them as well, and they just got the means to bankroll pretty much anything they have in mind. We don’t know yet what the others can do, beyond the rumors Mike heard in his time at Bethesda.”

  Moving quickly through the group, she handed out assignments and information packets. “As of today, this case is your top priority. All other assignments are suspended until we figure this one out. Progress reports due at three.” She waited until they were all looking at her again. “The city is relying on you. Bring your A-game. Dismissed.”

  After the other agents had left the room, Sally Ann closed the door and pulled a file box out from under the table, then sat staring at it for a while. She was getting better at this, but that still didn’t mean she liked it. Opening herself up to whatever story a piece of paper might tell her was a gut-wrenching business in more ways than one. Just in case, she fetched the garbage can from near the door and put it on the floor beside her.

  She looked at the clock, took a deep breath, and took the lid off the box. There were six envelopes inside, each carefully labeled in the neat and swirling handwriting of the Director’s new assistant.

  Agatha Corman. Archie Matheson. Lillian Curtis. Ava Langenkamp. Georgia Leigh. Henry Argento. Six patients of the mysterious Dr. Harvey. Six missing persons. A tough case for the brand new Unusual Cases Unit, one Sally Ann intended to crack.

  Sally Ann pulled out the folder for Agatha Corman, figuring she might as well start with someone she had a little context for. She dumped the contents onto the table and looked at the pile for a few seconds, carefully avoiding any physical contact just yet. It would be good to see what she could glean from her more ordinary senses before subjecting herself to the invasive explosion her extra perception would bring.

  As instructed, the team had picked up a variety of paper from around Corman’s apartment. Mail, reading material, photographs, lists. The more personal the item, the more likely it would be helpful, but Sally Ann had gleaned unexpected clues from seemingly innocuous sources before, so she didn’t discount anything.

  Done procrastinating, she picked up a grocery list and was relieved when it didn’t offer much. She picked up mild irritation and bit of hunger. The hand
writing was squat but neat. The items on the list itself seemed ordinary enough: milk, bread, chicken, rice, potatoes, Tylenol, sunglasses, eye drops. The last few hinted at Corman’s power and the side effects, but could also simply indicate a headache.

  Sally Ann moved on to the next item. The mail gave some clues to motivation, in the form of collection letters and bills with high balances, but no particular emotional stains. The “touched” stack was now the larger one, and Sally Ann hadn’t really learned anything of importance.

  She wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or grateful for that. The information would move the case forward, but she still remembered the assault on her senses Dr. Liu’s lab papers had proven to be. And in the end, it hadn’t been much of a lead. Hers was a fickle talent, yielding trivia as often as epiphanies. She’d been working to strengthen it, but she could still only read what was there to find. Which seemed to be a fat load of nothing.

  A small tingle finally came when she picked up a credit card receipt. She almost dropped the paper as a kind of burn went up her fingers and into her hand and arm, but she held on for the ride. A wave of bitter anger with a layer of despair roiled through Sally Ann’s guts. Nausea. A desire for revenge. When the emotions ebbed a little, Sally Ann tightened her focus on something quieter in the background. Two voices. A man’s and a woman’s. Sally Ann could hear the tension, but not the words. She focused harder, pressing the receipt between the palms of her hands. “Archie.” The woman’s voice was sharp and angry.

  Sally Ann sat listening for a while longer, but that was all she got. Disappointed, she moved the receipt into a stack for “useful” and moved all of Agatha Corman’s papers to the far end of the table, along with the envelope. She had found more evidence of a connection she already knew about. They had already identified Archie Matheson from the photographs taken of the crime scene.

  It wasn’t any surprise to Sally Ann that Archie and Agatha were in this together. Anyone could have guessed that money would be a serious motivating factor in the lives of people facing serious medical treatment. She herself still sent money home to help pay for her father’s hospital stay from years ago. And he’d had decent insurance. Financial had already discovered that two of the missing patients hadn’t even had that much going for them.