The Tragedy of Power

by Ian Withrow

  Dragging her wings behind her, she crossed the floor and found herself in front of the TV at last.

  The channel hadn't changed.

  The news was still playing.

  It was a live feed from the streets of the city. Rioters were burning cars, throwing bottles and bricks and screaming at a too-small police force that had surrounded a building with SWAT trucks and squad cars. Kent was there, bleeding from a small cut on his forehead, and providing running commentary as law enforcement clashed with the angry mob.

  “...you're just now joining us, the heart of the chaos is the Fourth Season Hotel here in downtown St. Louis. Crowds have been gathering for hours, ever since Lauren Corvidae ceased her healing activities earlier today...”

  Oh God, her wandering attention was pulled to the television as if on a leash. Kent's voice continued, an ongoing accusation for a crime in progress.

  “...the peaceful gathering turned ugly when accusations began to surface of racial and economic bias, voiced by members of various human rights groups in the area. Corvidae's activities today were limited to the relatively wealthy Central West End and Debaliviere neighborhoods. More than fifteen people have been hospitalized with serious injuries so far during the protest and that number is expected to rise as the night continues. Police are urging citizens to remain indoors and avoid the area if at all possible. There has been no official response from from Ms. Corvidae at this time...”

  The camera panned out across the ever-growing crowd. Masses of people, especially the poor and disenfranchised, as far as the eyes could see. Worst of all were the faces, they were angry, sure, but the ranks were filled with the sick. The disabled. The dying. Mothers and fathers held their crippled children up above their heads, begging for help. Her help.

  And here she was. Drunk. Reeking of expensive booze and slitting her wrists to drown her own problems. She looked at her arm, a handful of faint lines crossed it now, a pitiful mockery of Erin's. A testament to her continued weakness.

  Bracing herself against the coffee table she stood unsteadily and stumbled to the shower. Five minutes of icy water later and her head was a little clearer. She slipped back into the clothes she'd stripped out of a few hours ago and walked to the balcony of her suite. There below her, by the light of a hundred flashing lights, she could see the people clamoring for her.

  Wings raised, she took off into the night, swooping down to the instant joyous outcries of the people. She landed about a dozen feet behind the police line. The people who saw her were driven to silence, and a hush began to spread through the crowd. It lasted only moments. Murmuring started to spread, building slowly at first and then rising to a frenzied crescendo as the onlookers made renewed efforts to reach her.

  Lauren caught the eye of a nearby police officer, he couldn't have been older than 25. He looked at her, terrified, a riot shield in his hand and his knees visibly quaking. She tried to smile reassuringly at him but she knew her eyes were hollow, devoid of warmth.

  Taking a tired, defeated breath she strode out to meet them.

  Chapter Ten:

  Lauren was exhausted, her mind and body had long-since gone numb. She didn't know how long she had been walking. How far she had gone. Even what day or time it was.

  For what seemed like an eternity she had been moving through the crowd. Their faces blurred together and though her eyes were open she wandered unseeing from one to the next.

  At last though, her outstretched arms met nothing, no one. She stopped, her inertia finally grinding to a halt. She blinked with surprise, bleary eyed from her efforts.

  She was surrounded by a sea of people, all kneeling. Some had their heads bowed low, others were staring raptly at her, hands in the air. Men and women, children and the elderly. The crowd stretched around her and as far as her eye could see. She was the focal point of ten thousand stares.

  She found herself once more in Forest park. Reverent, silent onlookers filled the open space. Even the helicopters circling above her sounded dull to her ears, deadened by the same thick hush that blanketed the rolling grounds.

  She exhaled, overcome with relief, and her breath seemed oddly loud in the quiet. She didn't know the way back to her hotel even if she had the strength to walk back under her own power.

  She hung her head, realizing that even now with her work seemingly finished, she was probably miles from a warm bed.

  A man spoke from the crowd, his voice low and earnest, as though he were a child addressing a respected teacher.

  “My lady, why are you crying?”

  Lauren looked at the man, he appeared to be in his late thirties, maybe early forties. His short, brown hair was just starting to be flecked with gray. He looked healthy, but thin, like he may have been recovering from some long-term illness.

  Her eyes must have conveyed some of the confusion she felt, because he asked again when she didn't answer. This time his words were better able to penetrate the haze of her mind.

  “Y-Your grace?”

  “Please, please just call me Lauren.”

  “Lauren, what can we do? How can we serve you?”

  The man's genuine plea took Lauren by surprise. How could he serve her? The thought had literally never crossed her mind. In her stupor she allowed herself to speak frankly.

  “I-I’m just. I’m so tired. I just want to sleep,” she concluded, the tiniest whimper crept into her voice as she spoke.

  He bowed deeply, for some reason it irritated her more than it might have if she were in her right mind.

  “Stop,” she said, not meaning to speak as harshly as she did. “Stop it! Quit bowing to me, get off your damn knees would you?”

  She raised her voice.

  “Stop! Stop bowing to me! Get up, go home! Every one of you has a life to live! You shouldn't be spending it following me around.”

  Instead of being offended, the crowd seemed even more pleased with her. They mistook her frustration for passion. Her words were filtered through made-up minds and twisted into humility by the listeners. Murmurs spread like wildfire; Lauren wanted the people to live, she didn't want to be bowed to! Her ‘instruction’ was heeded, and many in the crowd began to rouse and wander away from the park, feeling blessed by her presence.

  The man she was speaking to was not among them.

  “Lauren, you... don't know me. But I know you.”

  The man's quiet intensity was beginning to unsettle Lauren. He stared at her with a light in his eyes and his fists clenched.

  “I-I'm sorry?” she said, shaking her head and trying to clear her groggy mind.

  The hairs on the back of her neck began to raise. Something about this man was familiar, yes, but also somehow... she struggled to find the word for it in her present state.

  “You won't remember me, you were just a baby after all. I was younger too, of course, I-I was in hospice care at St.-”

  “Ma'am, Ma'am!”

  A commanding voice interrupted him, from Lauren's left. A half-dozen men in dark suits were approaching her, muscling their way through the crowd. Beyond them, a few dozen yards distant at the edge of what must have been the road, a pair of black Range Rovers with flashing red and blue lights were idling.

  “Lauren,” The man in front of her grabbed her attention once more, raising his voice desperately.

  “You do remember me, don't you? Eric? I was your first! The first who felt your gift! I-I've been searching for you every day. I knew y-you wouldn't abandon us. I never doubted you, my faith was strong!”

  He was on his knees again, grabbing at her hand, pulling it into his own and petting it softly.

  He slid a hand up onto her forearm, rubbing her skin with his fingers. She yanked her hand away, deeply disturbed at the liberty he had taken.

  She was speechless. She felt violated by his over-familiarity.

  His face was heartbroken for a moment, but he turned his attention to his hands as the group of men intercepted her. As they surrounded her she noticed they were all w
earing sidearms, heavy-looking black pistols in hard plastic holsters.

  She gave Eric one more startled look, he was rubbing his hands to his face, smelling them deeply, before the largest of the armed men stepped in front of her view.

  He was tall. Huge actually. His broad shoulders, large chest, and short, military haircut were intimidating. He was middle-aged, but in the way that a lion, at middle-age, is at the height of its supremacy. His voice, when he spoke, was matter-of-fact and just a little too serious.

  “Lauren Corvidae, I'm Marshal James Dustin with the U.S. Marshal's service, we're here to escort you.”

  “Escort me where?” Lauren narrowed her eyes warily, she'd seen too many movies with dark vehicles and armed men to just trust them, and something about Eric had put her seriously on edge.

  “I'm afraid you don't understand, Ma'am. We are your security detail for the time being, until other measures are deemed appropriate.”

  “Lauren, Lauren! I'll protect you I won't let these men hurt you!”

  Eric tried to muscle past the Marshals. Lauren shot an alarmed look at him at took an involuntary step backwards.

  The Marshals took the cue immediately. Two of the men restrained Eric before he could get close to her again.

  “Ms. Corvidae. If you'd like to come with us, it's very important that we speak with you...”

  Lauren snapped. She was tired, confused, and growing more pissed off with every passing moment.

  “Well all I want is a freaking bed!”

  “Yes ma'am no need to yell.”

  Dustin's sober, even tone only ruffled her feathers more. She stalked past him towards the vehicles.

  The men followed her from the respectful distance of about two feet. Thankfully, as she walked most of the crowd parted like water around a rock, reverent gasps followed her every footstep.

  It was maddening.

  As she approached the vehicles their doors opened, making Lauren jump at the unexpected movement. Two more men exited the vehicles, one each. They had their hands on their holsters. Lauren halted abruptly, causing Dustin to nearly run into her.

  “It's alright ma'am they're with us.”

  “Um, ok, thank you. I- never-mind. Just, which car do I get in? The front one or the back one?”

  Her voice was barely above a whisper, embarrassment overcoming anger. Lauren didn't really know how this worked, and she was feeling the limelight as she was put on the spot.

  “Either is fine,” the officer's voice was also low, for which Lauren was very grateful.

  She chose the front vehicle, it was closer.

  Inside, the large SUV was spacious and comfortable. She sat awkwardly in the back seat as two of the Marshals got in front, leaving her alone in the rear.

  Dustin turned from the front, addressing her in a lower, but no less intimidating tone that he clearly considered his ‘inside voice.’

  “Ma'am, would you like to return to the Fourth Season? Or would you prefer somewhere else?”

  They were going to have to work on his volume control if this was to be a long-term arrangement, Lauren thought to herself, her head was still pounding in pain.

  “Whatever is fastest.”

  The man nodded, turning back to his driver and speaking with him quietly. The vehicle rolled off, proceeding slowly ahead as the crowds parted.

  “Um, Mr. Dustin?”

  He looked back.

  “Thank you,” Lauren knew she had been rude. Suddenly free of the crowd, her body was screaming at her. Her head hurt, her stomach was rolling, and her eyes were barely staying open.

  He nodded, then returned to looking through the tinted windshield at the passerby.

  She was asleep before they made the next block.

  “Ms. Corvidae,” A man's voice, soft but insistent.

  “Shhhhh,” she mumbled, hoping the intrusive noise would stop.

  It did.

  In her dazed, half-dreaming state she felt herself flying, but the wind was strong and buffeted her badly. She tried to compensate, to stretch her wings wider in the cloud-filled skies she found herself in. Her wings were restrained by an unseen force, and she could feel herself rocking, bobbing up and down in the sky uncontrollably.

  She started to panic.

  She looked around for the ground, but couldn't even tell which direction was down and which was up. She tried to roll, but found herself blocked once more by an invisible restraint. Her sense of direction careened wildly until she felt certain she was on her back, plummeting to the earth.

  Lauren jerked awake with a short, startled scream. As she raised her body she smashed her face against a hard, dense object. Flicking her eyes open and pulling her hands to cover her badly broken nose she heard a grunt and felt herself wobbling just as she had in her dream.

  Dustin was carrying her in his arms, trying to keep his balance and looking a little dazed. A red mark over his left eye gave evidence to the source of her collision.

  He wobbled unsteadily a moment, a task made harder by the fact that he was currently negotiating a set of stairs sideways, and then steadied himself.

  “Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “Are you injured, ma’am?”

  Lauren's nose realigned itself with an audible pop while he spoke and she squeaked in pain, snorting a bit of blood out onto her hands.

  He stood there, holding her as if she were weightless, and waited for her response.

  She nodded slowly, still confused as to where she was. He correctly interpreted her startled look.

  “You're in a witness protection program house that's not currently in use, still in St. Louis,” he began, resuming his walk up the stairs and leaving her awkwardly sitting up in his arms.

  “You said you wanted rest. We are approximately twelve blocks from Forest Park.”

  He seemed to think this was a satisfactory explanation and continued on in silence.

  The rest of the staircase was a brief but uncomfortable ride. When they reached the top it opened into a small landing where Dustin set her down gently on her feet.

  One of the other Marshals was already here, holding open a plain, unassuming wooden door labeled 139 in faded bronze numbers.

  “Thanks,” Lauren said quietly, uncomfortable with the number and size of her escorts and unsure how to conduct herself.

  She saw the mark above Dustin's eye again and reached out to heal him, but he moved away, avoiding her touch.

  “I'm fine.”

  They seemed to be waiting on her, so she crossed the threshold first. Inside was a simple apartment, a variety of old but comfortable looking furniture filled the rooms and the walls were painted in soft, neutral colors. The floor was worn wood that, combined with the decor, reminded her of Erin's house; it was small, but cozy.

  Wandering through the apartment, with a little more room to separate herself from the men, her confidence increased.

  “Why were you carrying me,” she called across the dining room as she examined a muted painting of a gazelle racing through tall grass.

  “You were asleep and...” he paused.

  “Uncooperative.”

  “Uncooperative?”

  “You told me to shush, and then swore at me when I tried to wake you up. It would have caused a scene to continue, and you seemed very tired.”

  Caused a scene? So that's a concern now? She smiled at her inner monologue, thinking that if he intended to avoid “scenes” he had definitely made the wrong assignment.

  She moved to the kitchen, it had a small window with dark green curtains covering it. Curious of the time, she strode over and pulled them wide open.

  What she saw below was a street scene like any other; Cars lined the small, residential road and iced-over puddles sparkled in the December sun. Something struck her as odd, though she couldn't put a finger on it.

  “What time is it?”

  “9:27.”

  Well, isn't he just a talkative fellow, she thought to herself.

  “9:30 what,” sh
e tried to remember the day. “M-Tuesday?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “That can't be right,” she was certain she had gotten to the hotel Monday evening. “I came down late-”

  “Monday evening. At approximately 1:30 a.m. Tuesday, actually. You then proceeded to, ah...” he seemed to be looking for a word or phrase.

  “Help people?” she offered.

  “Help people,” he agreed. “For the next thirty hours, leaving us at 9:28 a.m. Wednesday.”

  Thirty hours, no wonder I'm exhausted, she thought to herself. She tried to remember the past day, but it was a blur. The haze of alcohol had been replaced by the crushing numbness of exhaustion, leaving her little room for thought.

  Suddenly it hit her.

  “Where is everyone?”

  Silence.

  “H-hello?” She looked around the corner into the next room, Dustin was watching her.

  “Everyone who?” he asked evenly.

  “All the people, are they... are they gone?”

  “No ma'am. They've been ordered back behind a police security perimeter for the time being, for their protection.”

  Lauren was confused, again. She was beginning to think it was a new default setting she had discovered.

  “Why?”

  He paused, allowing the silence to lengthen and hang in the air before continuing.

  “One of the... individuals became violent when we removed you from the scene. As soon as the crowd realized you were gone others followed suit. For your protection, and the safety of police forces we ordered a temporary restriction on organized meetings in certain public areas.”

  Lauren was too smart for her own good, it seemed; she knew he was covering for something.

  “And everybody just up and left, peacefully, just like that?”

  Whether it was her tone, or his general honesty, he chose to tell her the truth.

  “No. As with most large gatherings, there were a small number of troublemakers.”

  “Trouble makers?”

  “A few protesters disagreed with your leaving.”

  “But why? I'm fine...”

  “They interpreted you being accompanied by law enforcement officials as you being taken into custody against your will.”