Son of New York (Ephialtes Shorts Book 3)

by Gavin E Parker

  He wanted to see her again. He still wasn’t sure what had happened that afternoon. He had a feeling, but nothing else. The more he asked Alice about it the less he would understand, exactly the same experience he had with the other sources, the network and the darknet. It seemed that the harder you asked the questions the vaguer the answers became, even when you went right to the source; someone who was actually there.

  Alice didn’t have the answers he was looking for but she had been tantalisingly close to the events of that afternoon. What had happened had been reported around the world but had remained somehow essentially unknowable, perhaps like Alice herself.

  She had been understanding when he had sparred with Leon that first time in the refectory and when she had welcomed him into her house the day after Leon was killed. He felt unused to sympathy. Alice was elusive, beautiful and humane but more than that she had been kind to him.

  He felt foolish. She was probably just that sort of person. Open, kind and supportive. She was probably like that to people every day, without even thinking about it. That it was a rarity to Adam had made him cherish it, but to her it probably meant nothing.

  He wanted to speak to her again. Even though she didn’t know what happened the fact that she had been there imbued her with some sort of totemic power. In some way she represented the unknowable.

  Adam was somewhere a long way away from the geometry lesson. He was musing on his own confusion about where the truth lay, mixed in with an idle daydream about a beautiful girl who had unthinkingly shown him some kindness. And all this at the very moment she was grieving the loss of her boyfriend at his funeral.

  He didn’t hear the lecturer’s call until the second attempt. “Mr Watson!?”

  Adam belatedly snapped to attention. “Yes?”

  The lecturer pointed to a woman stood in the doorway. “Mr Watson, would you please go with Ms Cox. It seems you’re needed at the office.”

  “Yes,” said Adam mostly to himself, and he gathered his books and pens.

  “What have I done?” Adam said to Ms Cox as they walked along the corridor.

  “You haven’t done anything. The principal would like to see you as a matter of urgency.”

  “Why?”

  Ms Cox looked flustered. “Usually with this sort of thing . . .” she stopped.

  “What?”

  “I think it’s best that you talk to the principal.”

  They reached the principal’s office. Ms Cox tapped on the door. “Come!” barked the principal.

  “She’ll see you now,” said Ms Cox, holding the door open and gesturing for Adam to enter.

  Adam took a few steps into the room. The principal was stood behind a desk. In front of the desk were two chairs. Stood in front of one of them was a uniformed police officer. No one was smiling. Adam stopped before he reached the chairs.

  “What is it?” he said.

  The principal frowned before speaking. “Adam, I’m afraid it’s bad news.”

  Adam glanced at the police officer. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your father has been killed in the line of duty.”

  Adam looked back at the principal who looked at him with mournful concern. “Officer Danby has come straight from the precinct. If there’s anything you want to know, anything you need . . . Adam, I’m so sorry.”

  Adam took an unsure step towards the nearest chair and put an arm out to hold on to its back. He looked out of the window. It was a grey, overcast afternoon.

  Five

  As an eighteen-year-old Adam was now an orphan. Legally adult and his father’s next of kin, he would be able to stay in the house. He had been told he would receive a dependent’s provision from his father’s pension as well a lump sum compensation, which would be calculated at a later date.

  The house was visited by many adults in the weeks following his father’s death. Uncles, aunts and other relatives came, all eager to pay their respects and help out with money, bills, wills and the endless and unexpected paperwork that death brings.

  It was bewildering at first, though it gave Adam something to focus on. It also gave an excuse for the relatives to come over, making the house less lonely. Every visit was accompanied by an offer of dinner, or lunch or a weekend’s stay.

  “Come over, Bernice would love to spend some time with you.”

  “Dinner next Wednesday at seven. Paulie can drop you back later. I insist.”

  “Stay for the weekend. Your cousins will love it!”

  He had taken up some of the offers even though it was difficult being around people, particularly relatives. He didn’t want to be constantly reminded of his father but he didn’t want to be alone either. No one expected him to be the life and soul of the party if he turned up to any of their invitations, which was fine with him.

  Two or three weeks after the funeral the visits and invitations lessened. There was lots of paperwork and form filling still to be done but Adam felt generally secure in the knowledge he had a place to live and money to pay for it.

  It had been a dizzying few weeks. He had barely been touched by death before. It was something that happened on the streams or to other people. His mother had died when he was only months old, so although he had always felt her absence he had never felt her death. Death had been an abstract. Now it was as palpable as if it was sitting in the room with him.

  It had always been an unacknowledged possibility that something like this would happen to his father. It was a risk that came with the badge, and it was, in truth, something that attracted some people to the job. Leon and the others were young, though. It wasn’t supposed to happen to people like them. It was wrong.

  Adam had been neglecting his college work. What with the funeral and the relatives and legal people there had been a lot going on. Emotionally he was stunned and was trying to keep going through the motions until his head cleared a little. Everyone cut him slack, which he was grateful for, but he thought he really needed to get back into the swing of things. He decided he would spend the next few nights slogging through his backlog of coursework.

  On the second night of dedicated college work he was annoyed to hear the doorbell ring. Usually any relatives would call ahead. He had hoped to catch up on his college work over the few days leading up to the weekend but it seemed another evening was going to be substantially lost to concerned glances, sympathetic words and offers of support.

  Adam traipsed downstairs to answer the door. The lights were off on the ground floor and the figure at the door cast a shadow across the hallway floor from the street light across the way.

  “Who is it?” Adam called as he reached the bottom of the stairs. There was no reply but he couldn’t be sure if the figure had not heard or simply chosen to not reply.

  Adam flipped the hallway light, instantly remembering that it had blown two days before and he had not got round to replacing it. He silently cursed to himself.

  “Who is it?” he said again as he approached the door.

  “Adam?”

  “Yes, who is it?”

  “I’m from your father’s precinct. I’d just like a few words.”

  Adam stopped and looked at the silhouette framed in the door window. “Just a minute,” he said.

  He fumbled with the latch and opened the door.

  “I’m sorry to call unannounced, Adam. Can I come in?”

  Adam squinted at the figure. “I guess,” he said, opening the door.

  “Thank you,” the man said, and entered.

  “Please, come through to the living room,” said Adam. It was the sort of thing he had heard adults saying a thousand times but it felt hollow and insincere when he said it himself. He had no choice - he had been rudely thrust into the role not just of adult but man of the house. He had to continue with the grown-up façade. “Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?”

  “Thank you, no,” the man said.

  Adam flipped the light on as they entered the living room and as the man turned to sit he recog
nised him. He was Captain Patrick O’Halloran. Adam felt like he had been tricked, that he had invited a vampire into his home and was now powerless. He tried to suppress his feelings as he manoeuvred to a position on the opposite sofa to O’Halloran.

  They stared at each other.

  “What is it?” said Adam.

  O’Halloran paused before beginning. “I have some of your father’s things to return. Some of the personal effects from his locker.”

  “Oh,” said Adam. O’Halloran studied him.

  “All the stuff we took before has been returned, I understand?”

  It took Adam a second to process the question. “Oh yes, weeks ago. His stuff and mine.” It rankled with Adam that O’Halloran made it sound like returning his own possessions was some sort of favour.

  “Good, good. Bad business, that.”

  Adam was tempted to call him on exactly what he meant but he sensed that was what O’Halloran wanted and he held his tongue, trying to force O’Halloran to fill the silence. As a veteran cop O’Halloran had many years’ experience of interrogations behind him and he was a virtuoso at manipulating a conversation. He had got the better of operators vastly more experienced and slippery than Adam. He called Adam’s bluff, filling the silence with nothing more than a stare and a simple insincere smile.

  Adam broke O’Halloran’s gaze, looking first to the floor and then agitatedly at a photo of his father on the mantel. “It was a breach of our right to privacy,” he mumbled quickly.

  O’Halloran leant forward. “I’m sorry, Adam, I didn’t catch that,” he said. He said it with the exquisitely subtle menace of a schoolmaster, clearly conveying that he had caught every word and meaning.

  Adam fidgeted but decided to tough it out. He consciously tried to act less restless and he looked O’Halloran in the eye. “I said the raid was a breach of our right to privacy,” he said deliberately.

  O’Halloran nodded. “Rights are tricky, lad,” he said, “in a democracy. With rights come responsibilities and it’s a delicate balance. Particularly in a time of war.”

  “We’re not at war,” said Adam, his tone scathing.

  O’Halloran framed his words deliberately. “Do you watch the news streams, Adam? I know you do, I have reports on all of your network activity. You’re not stupid, either. You’re shrewd, like your old man. We’re at war all right. The Restrictive War Measures are still in place. We used some of those powers to authorise the raid on your house, if you’re interested. The reason they’re still in effect is because the war never ended. Sure, we brokered a deal with the Asian Bloc but the underlying dynamic of the conflict never went away. Then the Martians stepped up their assault on the USAN and caused all this mess you’ve been watching on the streams night after night. They might not have armies of millions like the Asian Bloc, but they’re killing us just the same by cutting off our power. Where do you think all of this is going to end? How do you think all of this is going to be resolved? We’re at war all right, and this is just the beginning. We’re at war with the Asians, we’re at war with the Martians, and we’re at war with fifth columnists right here at home. Your responsibility as a citizen of the USAN is to support that war in every way you can. Support the government and support its institutions. You forget that at your peril.”

  Adam was looking at O’Halloran, not sure if he was a maniac or a prophet. In some ways he agreed with what O’Halloran was saying - that the USAN faced myriad problems at home and abroad and needed the support of its citizenry. But if the cost of that was to be a huge diminution of freedom and arbitrary justice dished out by a paramilitary police force then the USAN was not worth saving.

  “What happened to my dad?”

  O’Halloran paused. “You know what happened. Killed in the line of duty. Some punk-assed ‑”

  “What happened to my dad?”

  O’Halloran stopped talking and looked at Adam for a few long seconds. “What happened to your dad is the same thing that will happen to you if you don’t get your shit right. I just told you what’s going on. This country is in the middle of a war and there are only two sides in a war - us and them. If you’re not on the side of the USAN that’s your choice, but there will be consequences. Your father and your buddy made their decisions. I’ve made mine. What happens now is up to you. Choose right. Choose right, and tell your friends.”

  O’Halloran got up to leave. “I don’t want to be coming back here,” he said as he headed towards the door.

  Adam followed behind him. “What about my dad’s stuff?”

  “It’s junk. Forget about it.”

  The corner table was less boisterous than it used to be. When debates did break out they were conducted in hushed tones and quickly dissipated if a member of staff or even an unknown student walked by.

  Adam had been avoiding the refectory for weeks. Initially he hadn’t been around that much anyway but even as he had returned to more and more classes he had stayed away. He spent a lot of his free time in the library, burying himself in his work, and he ate his packed lunches in some quiet spot outside, despite the cold.

  The world had changed and it seemed unnatural to him to be in a crowded cafeteria with all the shouting, hollering and zestful youthful expressions of exuberance. Contemplative silence chimed better with his mood.

  He had been late out of bed that morning and hadn’t had time to make a sandwich. He was mostly caught up on his work too, and something inside him was telling him it was the right time to start showing his face again. He was nervous, but also invigorated by the challenge.

  He picked up a pasta dish and a drink from the self-service bar. He felt self-conscious, though no one was paying him any attention whatsoever. He made his way to the corner table.

  He caught Alice’s eye as he approached. “Hello, Adam,” she said.

  “Hi,” he replied, sitting down.

  “We haven’t seen you for a while.”

  “Been busy. Getting back to normal now, though.”

  “Good. It’s nice to see you.”

  Adam nodded. He ate quietly as Alice and the rest went back to their banter laden conversation. He liked that no one was quizzing him or expecting him to join in. It felt more welcoming that he was left to himself than it would have if they were all badgering him, hanging on his every word. He felt humbly grateful.

  As he finished his pasta a few people moved off. The table was thinning a little. He opened his drink and took a swig. He was setting it down on the table when Alice said, “There’s another rally next weekend. Would you like to go?”

  “Me? To a rally?”

  Alice shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  Adam looked at her. Her young eyes were bright and she was impossible to resist. “Okay,” he said, casually.

  “Great. I’ll send you the details. We’re meeting up at two. Maybe we could meet somewhere before that? Get a coffee or something and go up to the rally together?”

  Adam swallowed, not quite believing what he was hearing. “Yeah,” he said. “That sounds good.”

  “How’re you doing?” said Alice, tilting her head.

  “I’m fine,” said Adam, with not quite convincing chirpiness.

  “It must be so hard for you.”

  Adam felt like a phony. “You too,” he said. “It’s all a bit weird, isn’t it? People dying and all that?”

  “I know,” said Alice.

  It felt like she did know.

  An angry sky was threatening rain when they met at the coffee shop two hours before meeting the others for the rally. Adam had been nervous at first but Alice was easy to talk to and within what seemed like no time at all they left, slightly late for their rendezvous.

  Alice had talked about her sadness at losing Leon and had told Adam she couldn’t imagine how much worse it must be to lose a parent. Adam told Alice about O’Halloran’s visit and his ominous declamation of an endless war. He told her that he wasn’t sure about anything anymore except one thing; if there were only two side
s he was on the side opposing O'Halloran. Yes, partly out of personal animosity, but mostly because he thought a storm was gathering and the government forces were rapidly spiralling out of control. The only thing that could check them was the people, and as much of a pain in the ass as it was for the people, it was something that had to be done. The price of freedom would never be cheap.

  They had spoken of heavy things, but lightly.

  The edge of the park, where people were loosely interspersed, had given way to denser crowds as they had made their way toward the meeting point. Some people had painted faces, others carried placards.

  Shortly after they met up with the rest of Alice’s friends they found the crowd drifting toward the centre of the park. There was a stage where, a few minutes earlier, a band had been playing. A woman was tapping the mic and a short whine of feedback faded away. The bodies around them came closer and closer together.

  “We’re running late already, so I want to keep this short,” said the woman on the stage. Adam and Alice were being pushed closer together by the people around them, who they now moved with without thought. The crowd was so compact there would be no point fighting against it.

  “Our great nation was founded on democratic ideals. The founders of that democracy had the foresight to balance power such that each branch of the government checked the others. As a final check, the people themselves,” she gestured to the crowd, “you, have a right and a duty to overthrow any government that oversteps its legitimacy.

  “The last time the people of this country went to the polls was thirteen years ago. Illegally deprived of our right to curtail the president at the ballot box, the only other option open to us is direct action.

  “The president is scared.

  “As his grip on power falters, so too it tightens. Our task - our duty - is to loosen that grip and return our nation to those to whom it belongs - us.