Born Hero

by S A Shaffer

  WHERE NOBODY ELSE LOOKED

  Observing the death of a close acquaintance would affect different people in different ways: pain, fatigue, emptiness, longing, even guilt. Observing multiple deaths of loved ones would only compound those emotions with each additional loss. Losing a father, a grandfather, and 90 percent of a mother in the space of a month would crush most people, no matter their strength. To add the death of the woman you loved on top of the original loss would leave a man, any man, in emotional tatters. That’s how David felt. Every good person in his life had died a tragic death or wasted away in silence. First his father, then his grandfather, and his mother would join them soon. Now Mercy. Was he so lethal? It seemed just being near him caused death.

  How high and mighty he had been when he told Mercy all about his manner of dealing with grief. Counting blessings had worked before, but there was something different about this death. He’d known it was coming. It was within his power to prevent. Why didn’t he go with Mercy that night? He would have gladly slept on her balcony in the rain for the rest of his life if it meant he’d get to see her alive each morning.

  Why hadn’t he been able to solve this ludicrous mystery and find this man in the shadows? The answers were there; he just couldn’t see them. These and other thoughts flowed through David’s head as he sat in his apartment facing his wall of questions. Mercy’s death had broken him. He’d seen a glimmer of hope in her, a type of hope he had not felt in a long time, and to have it snuffed out before his very eyes had crushed him. He sat for days in front of that wall, wondering, wishing, yet always, always thinking. On the one hand, he wanted desperately to find Mercy’s killer. He wanted to inflict pain—torturous pain. But on the other hand, would it bring her back? Why continue to slave away at a job other people were actually paid to do? He was not an inspector. He was an aide … a lowly, underpaid aide. But the question mark on his wall would not go away, and if there was something David couldn’t leave alone, it was unanswered questions. The question gnawed at his mind—an itch he couldn’t scratch. He’d spoken it out loud so many times, it rang in his ears: Who was the man in the shadows?

  David had a vague impression that today was important. Yes, today was census day. At sundown tonight the Houselands would confirm a speaker for the next three cycles. More than likely, according to David’s math, it would be Blythe. It should be cause for celebration, but the moment was not all he’d imagined it to be. At some point in the last few months, David’s hopes and desires had altered. His future projection of himself had shifted. While before he hoped to someday be a powerful aide or even a representative himself, meeting Mercy had changed all that. Family—he wanted family now more than anything else.

  But as he sat, desperate for the strength to go on yet incapable of summoning it, something happened—something powerful, something that happened every day in Alönia, but only seen on the rare occasions when the rain clouds parted. The sun rose. Golden rays stabbed through the storm clouds and filled David’s apartment with glorious light. It tugged on him, calling him, driving him away from his sullen mood and toward the window. David placed a hand against the glass and closed his eyes as the sunshine bathed his face. It wasn’t a normal kind of light. Normal light couldn’t melt a heart of stone, warm the chill of sadness, or soothe the sting of loss. It was a deep kind of light—the kind of light that made someone realize how big the Fertile Plains were … the kind of light that made problems seem small and possibilities endless. This light always left David feeling the exact same way, and thinking the exact same thing: Jeshua is real and working.

  David leaned his head against the window, leftover rain sliding down one side and his tears the other. In the distance he could hear bells calling the people to Sanctuary, bells that he had ignored for a long time. He’d have to reconcile that void in his life, and soon. But for now, he was still alive, and regardless of how he felt, there was work for him to do yet. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to face the day—just today. He’d worry about tomorrow when it arrived. After a quick bite to eat, he washed, dressed in his tattered suit, kissed his mother good-bye, and walked to the airship transportation facility. An hour and a half later, he stepped into the Third District office, which was completely empty.

  David turned a few times in the middle of the room, looking at the empty desks. He even checked Blythe’s office—after knocking, obviously. He was a full hour late and still the first one to arrive? Not likely. Evidently census day didn’t pose many duties and Blythe had closed the office. David considered leaving right then, but something stopped him. He’d avoided looking at it since he’d entered, but no longer. David walked over to Mercy’s desk, and after a moment’s hesitation he sat in her chair. He pushed past the thoughts of never seeing her again and asked himself a question that had been bothering him for some time: Why had the killer chosen her? If it was a political rival and they wanted information, why hadn’t they chosen him? Paula he could understand; she was the most senior employee at the office. Samantha also made sense as a target, as it was public knowledge that she and Blythe were having an affair. Pillow talk had a way of transferring delicate information. But the next obvious target was him, not Mercy. He had been the mastermind behind Blythe’s interception of Public Pharmaceuticals. He had been there during Blythe’s grand speech—he and nobody else. So why Mercy?

  As much as it felt wrong, David started rummaging around in Mercy’s desk. Somehow she had discovered something. Somehow she had positioned herself as a prime target. David opened the drawers on the right and found several months’ worth of newspapers all categorized in chronological order. A few of them had markings and comments, but nothing of particular note. He sniffed away some tears as he remembered her advice about newspapers. The drawers on the left contained nothing more than office supplies and a few articles of makeup. David shut the drawers, doing his best to leave everything exactly the way he’d found it.

  He eyed the top of the desk and found only a few things: a couple of ledgers from the audit and a few loose folders. The ledgers left a sour taste in David’s mouth. Two straight days of counting donors was enough for a lifetime. He made a cursory scan of the documents, rifling through them like somebody’s trash. There was nothing there, just a list of nonprofit organizations. David dropped them on the desk and slouched in the chair, breathing a long, slow breath. His eyes fell into a blank stare, taking in the desk as a whole. What was it that Mercy had discovered? David just had to be missing something.

  He frowned. One of the ledgers he’d dropped back on the desk had some markings on it. Mercy had circled one of the names: AIR Fund. The circle didn’t mean much to him, as he often circled names to mark his spot, but perhaps this was something more. He scanned the rest of the document and saw plenty of checkmarks but no other circles.

  AIR Fund? What in the Fertile Plains is that? … And they donated almost a hundred thousand sterling? That was the largest donation he had ever seen—a fortune. No wonder she had circled it.

  He stood and walked back into the file room to look for the corresponding box Mercy had listed on the ledger. He switched the light on since the door had a nasty habit of shutting by itself. He picked through the files until he found the nonprofit. Opening the file, he began to read silently:

  AIR Fund: Airship Injury Recovery Fund

  Establishment: Swollock Season, 3241

  Stated Purpose: To assist those injured in airship accidents

  Designated Beneficiaries: Those injured by airships

  Manager: Lloyd Bentsen

  “Lloyd Bentsen again?” David said, his words dampened by the stuffy file room. First Braxton Industrial Investments and now the AIR Fund.

  He scanned the rest of the folder, but there was nothing else of note. He shut the file and slid the box back onto the shelf with a thud. He turned to walk out of the file room, but as he did so, the door swung open and an enormous man pointed a hand cannon at him, a revolver so large that any other man would need
to hold it with two hands. David froze and looked at the man—his black eyes and scruffy face … and his coat could probably fit three of David.

  On instinct David put his hands up. This was it; they’d finally come for him. The man backed out of the doorway and waved the massive barrel of his revolver out into the room, directing David to follow suit. David walked slow but thought fast. The others had been tortured first. If it were up to David, he’d rather be shot than beaten to death. Perhaps if he lunged at the man right as he passed him, he might be able to grab the gun. He’d have to be very fast. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his back as his heart rate increased. Another three steps and he’d tackle the brute.

  “David? What on earth are you doing in there?”

  David looked up from the thug with the hand cannon and saw a very perplexed Blythe standing in the middle of the office with another enormous man beside him, this one shouldering a compact gas rifle, though other weapons were clearly visible on his person.

  “Mr. Blythe? … I … I was just looking up some records, sir.” David looked back at the man with the gun and raised his eyebrows. “These friends of yours?”

  “Oh for goodness’ sake, put the gun down, Gerald,” Blythe said, waving a hand in frustration. “Come on out of there, David. Where on earth have you been? We’ve been worried sick.”

  “I needed a little time for … you know, to recover,” David said, looking at his shoes.

  Blythe nodded. “Mercy’s death was a shock to us all. After we found out, I gave the rest of the staff—rather, what’s left of the staff, time off until the census was over.”

  David nodded and moved to the middle of the room, still eyeing the two giant men. “And your companions?”

  “Oh, well, matters being what they are, I decided a little extra security wouldn’t go amiss.”

  David nodded, only now feeling comfortable enough to relax. “I’m sorry I was away so long. I was the one that … found Mercy. It was quite messy. I just … needed …”

  “David, it’s quite alright. You’ve been working like a dog these past few months. Even if Mercy hadn’t passed on, I would have told you to take the time off regardless.” Blythe put a hand on David’s shoulder. “I’m where I am now because of you. The cost along the way has been greater than expected, but our victory today will set many wrongs right.”

  David nodded and wiped away an unbidden tear. “I know.”

  Blythe clapped David on the shoulder. “Good man. You should go home, son. We aren’t doing anything today.”

  “What? And miss your appointment as speaker? I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

  Blythe smiled. “Well then, I guess I’ll see you at tonight’s Assembly,” he said as he turned and walked toward his office. “No sense in being here, though. I just came by to collect my wallet.”

  “I won’t stay long,” David called after Blythe as the representative rummaged around in his office. “I’m just checking Mercy’s desk to see if I can find out why they killed her.”

  “Oh?” Blythe said, returning from his office. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard or not, but as it turns out, Mercy was the one who funded the census fraud. The Oversight Committee told me the day after she died.”

  “Yes, I was there when the Oversight Committee arrived at her place.”

  “Well, given that, isn’t it obvious why they killed her?”

  David shook his head. “I just can’t help but think it’s more complicated than that.”

  Blythe nodded as he put on his coat. “Well, don’t stress yourself over it too much. Remember, nothing you do will bring her back. Speaking of stress, how is your mother doing?”

  “Fine. Same as always.”

  “Good, I hope those checks are helping. I wish there were more, but times being as they are, people just aren’t interested in giving to the poor.” Blythe sighed. “Well, I’m off. See you tonight.”

  “Oh, before you leave, there’s something I wanted to ask you about. On my first day at the Third, you were meeting with a man—a Bentsen,” David said.

  “Yes, Lloyd … wonderful fellow. What about him?”

  “I was wondering what exactly it is he does. During the donor audit I found his name associated with both a nonprofit and an investment company. Between the two he donated almost 120,000 sterling.”

  “Well, he’s a businessman … a damned good one too. Probably one of the wealthiest men I know.”

  “I see. Thanks,” David said as Blythe walked toward the door with his two oversized bodyguards.

  “Don’t mention it. Until tonight.”

  The door shut, and David walked back to his desk, puzzling over Mercy’s circling of the nonprofit and wondering if it was just chance that her circle coincided with his own notation on Bentsen. As David shouldered his coat on, Bethany’s phonograph whistled, pulling David out of his reveries.

  Technically the office was closed and he didn’t have to answer the phonograph. But as it continued to whistle, David gave in. He walked over to the device and keyed it on. After a moment the steam projector formed into Inspector Winston.

  “Mr. Ike? Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you for over a week. What happened? Did the whole office go on holiday at the same time?”

  “No, um … I’m so sorry, Inspector. I’ve been unwell, and the office shut down after last week’s murder.”

  “What murder?”

  “Well, I assumed you knew about it. One of our aides was killed last week. You actually met her the day you came into the office—the girl with the auburn hair.”

  “Half-witted records office! Another murder associated with my case and I’m the last person to hear about it. Well, maybe I can order that evidence while you go through Paula’s evidence.” Winston’s face moved out of the projection as he mumbled to himself.

  “Actually, Inspector, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just review Paula’s evidence. You see, I was the one who found Mercy’s body.”

  “Oh. Never mind, then. You still want to see the other evidence, though?”

  “Yes. Is it available? I can leave right now.”

  “Had it drug up from cold cases a few days ago,” Winston said. “I’ll wait for you here, then.”

  The steam projector dissipated. Evidently Inspector Winston wasn’t in a chatty mood. David walked through the orbital toward the air-taxi landing. The whole orbital was abuzz with news agencies and reporters in anticipation of the census, and David had to squeeze through more than one crowd of people. After an uneventful taxi ride David walked into the Capital City Police Department foyer. Miranda was not at her seat, and David knocked on the glass for a full five minutes before the portly woman waddled into her reception room. After an additional few minutes of cajoling and insisting he had an appointment, Miranda finally let David inside.

  Moments later Inspector Winston was leading him down the cold stone stairway, through considerably more people than he’d seen the last time, and toward an evidence room. This room was different than the one David had visited before. For one, there was no dead body … and the room was a decent temperature. Stone walls enclosed a moderate but not well-lit room. It was small, with only two chairs and a table. Half a dozen boxes lay to one side. Inspector Winston motioned to one of the chairs and David had a seat.

  “You go ahead and work through the evidence,” Winston said. “I’m having a spot of bad luck locating that most recent murder you mentioned. Mercy, wasn’t it?”

  “Mercy Lorraine—um, Mercedes Eleanor Alexandra Lorraine, actually. Everyone called her Mercy.”

  Winston touched his head where a hat would be and walked back out of the room. David lifted the first box and removed the lid. One glance at the titles on the folders inside, and the lid was back on. He didn’t need to see any autopsy photographs. However, before he slid the box off the desk, he decided the medical examiner’s report couldn’t hurt. He slipped that folder out and perused it. It was Samantha all over again, and Mercy too. Strangu
lation marks around the neck, blunt force trauma to face, head, and torso. However, Mercy was the only one who had a stab wound. David shut the file as images of Mercy’s mutilated body flashed back into his mind. He slid the folder to the end of the desk and lifted another box onto the table.

  This box contained numbered photographs detailing Paula’s apartment. The only thing it told David was that Paula must have made considerably more sterling than he did. Blush carpets matched soft couches in an artistic color scheme. As he closed up that box and slid it aside, Inspector Winston returned.

  “Nope. No entries under that name either. I swear, sometimes I think they do this on purpose.”

  “Strange,” David said, “I even told the other inspector you were investigating a series of murders associated with Mercy’s. Would it make a difference if he was an inspector with the Census Oversight Committee?”

  Winston frowned and gave a short nod. “Some. That might explain why the evidence is late in arriving, but still—a whole bloody week? Incompetence. You see anything interesting?”

  “No. Well, actually, I did notice that Paula and Samantha didn’t have any stab wounds. Mercy did.”

  “You’re sure?”

  David looked down. “Positive.”

  “Hm. Well, that can mean a variety of things. Usually it means the murderer got what he wanted and ended the … inquiry, as it were.”

  “Maybe,” David said, gritting his teeth. “I wish I knew what it was he wanted to know from Mercy. I knew more than she did about the campaign. Why didn’t they come after me?”

  “Who knows? Could have been something she discovered recently.”