by Jill Cooper
“It’s safe to talk now,” Megan whispered in her ear. “Lawrence made that device and it works because of how close we are to the bubble. It makes static cross their communication devices.”
Susan couldn’t believe it. Somewhere they could talk without fear that someone might listen in on them? How did she not know that Megan was in this deep with Lawrence and his followers? She was a fool to come here. Now everyone would see, it would get back to Jeff. Susan, you dope, you should have just gone to the police. Wasn’t that what respected members of the community did? They relied on the authorities for this type of thing. She wanted to go, she wanted to bolt, but Megan gripped her hand to keep her still.
“No one leaves while Lawrence is speaking. No one.”
Lawrence turned toward the crowd, his hands clasped together. “My friends, last night was the catalyst of change for us, the glistenings of New Haven 56.”
Intense silence filled the room as everyone waited for Lawrence to continue. Even Susan’s heart stilled as she watched him. It was the first time she ever heard him speak, ever saw him up close. The fear of him, everything he stood for, was palpable. Her mouth was dry and her lips were chapped. She couldn’t find the will to swallow.
“With the death of Travis Reynolds and his family, scrutiny will shift to us, my friends. It is time to unite, to stand up against them. It’s like I have always said, there are far many more of us than there are of them.”
Susan couldn’t believe what she was hearing. As her eyes swept across the room she was more horrified. People here believed him. They wanted to rise up? What would that do? What if their agreement with the humans was voided?
“We have friends on the outside,” he said as though he could read her mind and Susan wasn’t sure that he couldn’t. “Rebecca Seers and her crew work to grant us rights, privileges, so one day we can leave our prison. It will not be in our lifetime, friends. Not unless we rise up and do something about it. We should be in control of our own destiny, should we not? Travis was sympathetic to our cause. Now he’s gone. It won’t be long until we’re next.”
Susan twisted her purse strap tightly around her hand. What if he was right? Would they just be snuffed out if the people on the outside, the government and the country, decided they were too big a liability? She was a thinking, breathing, person with family, friends. Except she wasn’t a person, was she? Susan, despite all the acting and show, was just a glistening.
It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t ask to be this. She didn’t ask to be born this way. Susan was sorry. If she could change, she would. She just wanted to be normal.
Lawrence’s eyes fell to her. He got down on bended knee in front of her and took her hand. “What is your name?”
“Susan,” she whispered, not able to look up at him. She struggled with all her will to swallow and calm her frantic heart.
“Welcome, Susan,” Lawrence and the crowd said in a soft monotone. “Why don’t you tell me,” he continued, his voice soft and insincere, “what has you so upset?”
“Everything you said. And, um,” Susan’s voice trailed off, “my son. He’s missing. Hasn’t been home since last night.”
A quiet murmur rolled through the crowd, blanketing them in caustic anxiety. “You worry, don’t you? If he was out past curfew, why didn’t the police find him and bring him home?”
Susan nodded. “Yes.” She blubbered, unable to control her tears. She felt hands from strangers placed on her shoulders and words of strength were whispered to her. It made her feel better, like she was with friends. Family.
“You fear the police have him?”
“No.” Startled, she peered up at him. “Why would they? I’m worried he’s hurt somewhere. Why would the police have him?”
“Do they really need a reason, Susan?” Lawrence stood back up, pacing the carpet and facing the crowd. He held his hands out like he was deep in prayer, cupping the air. “We have no rights. We have no say in when they come and what they do in our homes. If they wanted Jake Monroe, for whatever their reason, why not just snatch him? We must go on, pretend nothing has happened, or it might happen to us. If we make a scene, like our fellow friend, Megan, we could be next. Couldn’t we, friends?
“That’s why we must stand up, organize and be prepared. As a group, as an army. We can take them, seize control of this city.”
How did he know her son’s name? Susan was confused, conflicted and when she glanced over at Megan, and saw how intently her friend was listening, she felt betrayed. Lawrence couldn’t help Jake. Her friend just wanted her to join the cause, become one of Lawrence’s soldiers in a war they could not win. Susan didn’t want to die, but she didn’t want anything to change either. Couldn’t they just live as they always did? Head down, Tupperware and pool parties, late-night snacks gathered in front of the television. Wasn’t that what life was all about?
After the speech was over Susan fumbled with a paper cup and tried to pour herself some organ juice. But she was so upset that she splashed it all over her blouse. Sighing, she cleaned it up with a napkin. “Let me help you with that,” Lawrence said. He took the cup from her without waiting for an answer and poured her some.
“Thanks,” Susan said.
“You don’t agree everything I said, do you?” He smiled curt, but kind. His eyes blinked fast as if lint debris had fallen inside.
“I like my life the way it is.”
“Other than your son being missing,” Lawrence reminded her. “Living in a box, with people watching you all the time, none of that bothers you? It’ll be fun, converting you to one of us. You want to be here. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have come.”
Susan sipped her juice to calm her nerves, but it made her stomach rumble. With the feeling that she was going to be sick, she left the church and hoped never to return again.
Susan was disgusted with herself. She could not believe what she allowed to happen. If anyone found out she went to a meeting led by Lawrence Stark, she’d be done in. What if someone there told Jeff? Or they told someone and that someone told Jeff? He was a popular person in the community and it was her job not to make waves. Don’t rock the boat. How many times had she heard him say that or her parents? It was practically a glistening motto. So upset by what she did, Susan’s hands were clammy against the steering wheel. She was never so relieved to see her home, free of any parked cars in the driveway.
Thank goodness Jeff hadn’t popped home for lunch like he sometimes did. What if he came home, what would she say? Susan had to put it out of her mind. She was going to make a nice lunch, prepare a big dinner, and call the police about Jake. Her brain must have left the building earlier, to let it be deceived by Megan.
The phone rang. Susan considered not answering it at all, but what if it was important? What if it was Jake? She grabbed the receiver in a flurry, nearly dropping it. “Jake?”
On the other side there was static. A muffled voice came over the receiver. “Mrs. Monroe, if you want to ever see your son again, you’ll do exactly as we tell you.”
Her heart galloped like a runaway horse. She spun, her back to the fridge. “What do you know about my son?” She held a hand to her cheek, her fingers clamped into her flesh in horror.
“We can have him returned to you safely, but only if you do as we say.”
Susan’s mind raced with thoughts and accusations, but she couldn’t voice anything. She was frozen silent.
“Four p.m. in the park on Central Boulevard. A briefcase will be placed next to the water fountain. Take it. Open it in the privacy of your bathroom at exactly five-fifteen p.m. If you do not, we cannot guarantee your son’s survival.”
Susan wrote what he said down, but she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Tears stung her eyes. “How do I know you mean what you say?”
“Do not tell your husband. Tell no one. And Mrs. Monroe, change your shirt before you go out.”
The line went dead. Slack-jawed, Susan stared at the red stain on her blouse.
Chapter Fourteen Jenna
Jameson’s elite tracking abilities led them to a coffee shop over by Main Street where the waitstaff wore paper hats. Music inside was inspired by Buddy Holly and the hardest thing on the menu was rocky road ice cream. The tables were crammed with the beautiful glistenings that Jenna expected. Except today was different. Their chatter was hushed and their eyes moved erratically. She walked among them like a sheriff among thieves, her steps purposeful, slow and her eyes studying each of their faces.
Her boots squeaked across the tile and the eyes of the glistenings were on her. Until she tried to make eye contact. Then their eyes shifted away. They were wide, filled with horror, and seemed to beg please don’t let her look at me. But Jenna looked at all of them, smirking and enjoying their discomfort.
One cowered in the corner, nursing his milkshake. He was clean-cut enough and Jenna smelled vulnerability on him. “Why is everyone sitting at the front?” she asked, not bothering with introductions.
His hands shook so that his milkshake sloshed out of his tall glass. He answered with his eyes squeezed shut. “Cop. There’s a cop.” His arm shot out straight as an arrow and his finger extended.
Jenna followed it with her eyes and saw him. Still in his uniform, he sat in a back booth by the window with an uneaten glazed donut on a sparkling plate. George kept flipping his fork in his hand over again. A nervous twitch Jenna suspected.
She signaled her team with a nod of her head and as they made their way toward him, Jenna scowled at the glistenings. They parted for her as she moved past, hurrying with their coffee and snacks in hand. She slid in the seat beside George. Dirk and Jameson sat across from him.
So upset by whatever was bothering him, George jerked. He blinked at Jenna. She tried to hold eye contact, but he shifted away again before she got a read off him. “I’m surprised Laurel let you out of the Outpost. I heard what you guys tried to pull.”
“You mean you heard we tracked down that someone was deleting surveillance vids?” Dirk asked.
Jenna suppressed a sigh. Dirk always did know how to make a point.
The coffee cup rattled in George’s hand. “I didn’t know that. I just heard you were trying to hijack the operation.”
“We’re just looking into a few things and need a few answers. I think you can provide that for us, George.” Jenna used her smooth talking voice. The same one she sometimes used to pick up guys who were not named Dirk.
“I’m not in charge of the investigation. I don’t know what you expect me to be able to tell you.” George rubbed his neck.
“Maybe why you’re sweating a pint of water might be good. It’s a bit cool in here,” Dirk said.
Jenna nodded her head toward Jameson. Happily, he puffed up his chest and studied his cell phone. “Want to explain to us why it took you over ten minutes to go two blocks after it was reported that something was wrong at the chief’s house?”
George glanced between them, leaning back against the booth. He wiped his hands together. “Wait a second, are you guys interrogating me? You think I deleted the vids? I don’t even have that kind of access.”
“No, we were curious about the state of traffic congestion in New Haven,” Dirk said with heavy sarcasm.
“No one said anything about you deleting the vids,” Jenna said, “unless, of course, you’re confessing.”
“Damn it, Jenna. You can’t just go around accusing people.” George’s fists were clenched and his eyes squeezed shut.
She softened her voice to edge him into trusting her. “Then, just tell us what’s going on. Were you really two blocks away? Maybe you fell asleep. I don’t know unless you tell me. And if you waste my time, while the chief’s killer is still out there, I’m really going to be angry.”
“You have no authority to ask me these questions.” George’s eyes narrowed in anger. “I did my job. I got to the chief as soon as I could.”
“Are you sure?” Jenna asked. “We could make a formal complaint. We’re not against paperwork, are we, fellas?”
“No,” Jameson and Dirk said drily.
George rolled his shoulders in a way that showed Jenna he was agitated. She didn’t get it. He was a cop. He should be able to hide his emotions better than he was. Unless, of course, he knew something so bad that it had him rattled. “What’s it going to be?” She asked quietly, but with an edge in her voice that dared him.
“Look, it has nothing to do with the chief. Nothing to do with what happened last night.” He fidgeted from side to side in his seat.
“Let us be the judge of that, okay?” Dirk asked.
“No,” George sputtered. “You don’t know what you’re asking me.”
“We could do it in the Outpost,” Jenna offered and put her hand on his arm. “A little peace offering for Laurel. Maybe she’ll let us into the investigation if I prove we’re worthy.”
“We’re not worthy,” Jameson snickered. “What? I love that movie, guys.”
“You can’t do that. Jenna, c’mon. Let this go,” George said.
“You know you’re talking to Jenna Morgan, right? She hasn’t let anything go since the day her brother toppled over her Legos,” Dirk said.
Jenna cast him a wry glower, but it seemed like his words worked. George was beginning to falter. “It’s not what you think. I was doing someone a favor. She was in trouble, I was doing what I had to help her out.”
“Who?” Jenna asked.
George shook his head. “I can’t. Can’t tell you.”
“Were you helping a glistening?” Jameson asked with a lace of disgust. “Did you leave your post to help a glistening?”
“No,” George shot him a look, but his eyes were frightened. He was indecisive, Jenna realized. He didn’t know how to answer the question. She wasn’t sure if she believed him anymore. “Look it’s not like that—”
“You keep saying that,” Jenna said, “so why don’t you stop and just tell us what it is like.”
“We won’t tell anyone. As long as it has nothing to do with what happened to the chief last night.” Dirk was smooth and comforting, and Jenna believed him even though she knew what a gossip hound he was. If the information was good, it would spread like wildfire through the police station, thanks to fan-the-flames-Dirk.
George folded his napkin into a neat little triangle, with a bit of paper flapping over the side. “I was helping Rebecca Seers. This can’t get out, Jenna. It’ll cost me my job.”
Jenna’s chest tightened and the searing anger made her temples throb. “You better get explaining what you were helping her for.”
George took a deep breath and Jenna could feel how rigid her teammates were on the other side of the table. “There’s some support growing on the force for what Rebecca is trying to do. There was evidence inside New Haven that glistenings aren’t what we think. They’re more human. I…I helped her get the evidence out. Out of New Haven.”
“You helped her smuggle something out past Outpost?” Dirk asked, his jaw slack.
“You don’t know, all right?” George was defensive. “You aren’t here, spending time with these people. You don’t see the brutality.”
“They deserve it,” Jameson said, his cheeks flushed. “Are you defending these monsters?”
Jenna’s eyebrow twitched from anger and she felt that feeling of lightheadedness sweep over her. She reached for the pouch in her jacket to grab her pills as she spoke. “What evidence?”
George opened his mouth to speak. Beside him, the window shattered behind the impact of a high-speed bullet. It pierced through his skull. He slumped over, his head rocking against Jenna’s shoulder. His mouth fell open while his head opened up like a cracked pumpkin, depositing blood and brain tissue onto the left side of Jenna�
�s face. She couldn’t move, but inside her brain screamed with searing heat.
Glistenings screamed, running from the diner. Dirk and Jameson fought against them as they ran into the street, searching for the shooter. Jenna carefully pushed George over and gently placed his head against the table. The side of his head was collapsed like a fallen cavern and she wondered what had he been in the process of telling her that warranted killing an officer in the middle of the day?
Travis’s murderer was still in New Haven. Whatever reasons they had for killing the chief, they were now in the process of tying up loose ends. Desperation and horror washed over Jenna. She popped two small pills into her mouth and swallowed them back dry.
Jenna had never frozen up in the line of duty before, and she didn’t like it.
Inside the women’s restroom, she scrubbed her face to remove all traces of George’s blood from her skin. Her cheek was reddened from the abrasive towel, but other than that she looked good. There was no evidence of anything except for the brain matter splattered against the shoulder of her black jacket.
She brushed it into the toilet and flushed before noticing the particles left on her fingers. Jenna glanced at it in horror, felt a gurgle in her belly. She wiped her hands on some paper towel already in the wastebasket before hurrying outside.
Police were already on the scene, quarantining glistenings and taking statements. Jenna’s eyes fell on an officer as he forced a waiter to the ground. The waiter’s paper hat tumbled to the ground as he screamed and his face flinched with pain. The officer raised his baton high overhead, disgust on his face. Jenna looked away, knowing emotions were running high. She had to do what she did best. Piece this together.
Before New Haven tore itself apart.
