The Tragedy of Power

by Ian Withrow

  Chapter Fourteen:

  The rest of the flight was uneventful. Lauren drifted fitfully in and out of sleep, haunted by storms in her nightmares every bit as real as the one raging outside the plane.

  Finally giving up the pretense of sleep when the plane began its descent, Lauren turned her red, tired eyes to her caretaker.

  He looked worried.

  “What happens when we land?”

  “Honestly, I'm not sure.”

  He chewed his lip.

  “There will be other Marshals there, local police as well. Don't be surprised if there are crowds. Things like this rarely stay as secret as we'd like...”

  Her pulse quickened, the press of crowds seemed so much more menacing in the wake of Rome. As if to underscore her concern the plane lurched wildly, dropping a few hundred feet as it hit a dead spot in the air.

  She looked out the window. The aircraft was swimming through a rough sea of dark thunderclouds. Lightning flashes illuminated the wings and heavy rain pounded the thin aluminum of the hull.

  As she watched, they broke through the low cloud-cover and the city opened up below her. Towering skyscrapers dotted a bleak, concrete wasteland far removed from the open country she called home.

  Lauren's thoughts turned to the Shawnee, to the only place that seemed to hold comfort for her anymore. But those thoughts were tainted, too, poisoned by the nightmares that haunted her. The forest had been a dream as well, perhaps. A misguided illusion that she could somehow live apart from all the madness of the world.

  A loud peal of thunder dragged her back to the present. It shook the skies and she gripped the armrests of her seat as the plane rocked and swayed in the sky.

  I wonder if I'd die if we crashed.

  She tried to shake the morbid thought, but it stuck stubbornly in her mind. Looking at Dustin she realized that to find out he would certainly perish as well.

  The thought of it was terrifying.

  He was her only remaining tether to sanity. Lauren made a pact with herself, she wouldn't let harm come to him. She had failed too many times before to protect the ones she loved.

  She would be his guardian, she needed to be.

  “Wheels down in five.”

  A steward, clearly still frightened by Lauren, poked his head into the cabin to deliver the news.

  Dustin said nothing, simply nodding his understanding.

  The plane tore through the sky, buildings and streets whipping past as they descended into the heart of the city. The dimly lit streets below were fairly empty, for Chicago. The weather, it seemed, was keeping most drivers at home. As they neared the airport, however, traffic picked up. Lauren was left with a frightened, sinking feeling that word had gotten out of her arrival.

  The last few minutes of flight were harrowing, the aircraft bounced and bucked through the high winds like a stallion. At last the tires hit the runway with a screech and the plane slowed.

  Dustin's phone rang immediately.

  “Yes... how many?”

  Lauren tried to read his tone, his body language, but he was back to his poker-faced self. He motioned wordlessly for her to stand as the plane neared the terminal.

  “Got it. Understood.”

  He ended the call abruptly, dropping the phone into his pocket and looking over his shoulder at Lauren. She examined him, his proud chest and wide shoulders. His face was so much more expressive than Lauren had first thought. She had learned to notice the differences in his eyes, the way he held his chin. Her eyes were drawn to his split lip, it was still puffy and red.

  “You should let me fix your face,” she said, tactless as ever.

  “And what exactly is wrong with my face,” he actually smiled a little.

  “You know what I meant.”

  “I do, but I like it. Reminds me not to mess with you,” he winked warmly at her.

  He's never this... open, she thought darkly to herself. He must be worried.

  “Lauren, no matter what happens you need to stick with me. We'll get you through this, ok?”

  She nodded.

  A pair of marshals met them at the door to the plane, they had stopped short of the terminal and the staircase had been lowered to the rain-slick asphalt.

  “Ma'am, for your safety we need you to remain behind us at all times, do you understand?”

  Lauren nodded again. Beyond the officers was a ring of armed police, they had surrounded the aircraft in the moments since it landed.

  Her eyes widened with fright as she gazed upon a massive, ever-growing crowd pressed against barricades that had been erected at the edge of the tarmac.

  The people were rendered inhuman by the weather. Their motions made jerky and strange in the eerie, intermittent flashes of lightning that illuminated the darkness. The airport’s floodlights battled the crushing blackness of the stormy skies and the torrential downpour soaked Lauren to the bone and obscured her vision.

  “Why aren't the vehicles here on the tarmac,” Dustin questioned the officers angrily, shouting to overcome the volume of the thundering rain.

  “There was no way to keep-”

  “I don't have time for excuses. We need to get her inside a vehicle and moving right now.”

  The policeman chafed at Dustin's tone, but he nodded curtly. He turned back down the stairs, starting down them with one hand on the rail and the other on his sidearm.

  Lightning flashed, setting half of Dustin's face in deep shadows as he turned once more to Lauren.

  “Remember. Stick with me, no matter what.”

  Together they hurried down the stairs, the rain coming down with such force that it stung Lauren's skin. The closer they got to the crowd of onlookers the slower Lauren walked, and the wilder the people became. More than a hundred officers in riot gear were holding the crowd back when Lauren and her entourage reached the perimeter.

  The crowd lulled briefly, like a deep breath before a plunge. Dustin cast Lauren a grim look, then turned back to the crowd. He pulled his sidearm and put his off-hand hand on the back of the officer in front of him, taking firm grasp of his bullet proof vest and helping him push into the crowd.

  The riot police folded in around them, a dense bubble of security that forced it way into the madness.

  Lauren swiftly lost all sense of direction, the crowd seemed to tower over them, pressing the group tighter and tighter. The frenzied faces of the masses were dark and shadowed, lit only briefly by brilliant flashes of lightning. Their drenched hands reached past the officers, clawing at the air to reach her.

  Dustin was yelling something over his shoulder to her, but the roar of the people was too loud. She couldn't make it out. The only sound that could compete with the din of the crowd was the earthshaking blasts of thunder that tore through the sky.

  Lauren tried to focus on Dustin's back. She tamped down the fear in her heart, sealing it off with grim determination and total faith in his leadership. He alone seemed taller than the crowds. He was a mountain in the sea, a lighthouse taking her to safety.

  Another flash lit the crowd, this one less bright but much closer. The voices surrounding her took on a different tone; an angry buzz like ten thousand hornets. The flash was repeated three more times in rapid succession and Lauren knew it wasn't lightning.

  She watched with terror as officers at the edge of the group were dragged into the crowd, flashes of light and the reports of gunfire flickering out into the crowd before being extinguished like candles in the wind. Their group picked up the pace, muzzle flashes breaking apart the thickest part of the crowd before them. They were just shy of a sprint as they pressed forward to some unknown destination.

  Lauren could see flashing lights ahead, she could see fire trucks with high pressure hoses blasting into the crowds, knocking people off their feet and sending them tumbling across the asphalt head over heels. They were only a few dozen feet away when the crowd surged once more, a crashing wave desperate to reach her. They pushed in from every direction, undeterred by th
e threat of violence and fighting to reach her.

  Suddenly, strangers were among them, three and four people per officer, dragging them violently to the ground while others made their way in closer to her innermost guardians.

  A man loomed in front of Lauren from her left. His familiar face was illuminated in bizarre flashing red and blue. He was wiry, middle-aged, and his salt and pepper brown hair was buzzed into a sort military cut.

  He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, his eyes wide and manic and his voice shrill with passion.

  “Your Grace, it's me!”

  He shook her like a ragdoll, so hard she couldn't speak.

  “It's me, your disciple, Eric! I found a way to save you from this, from these people! I'm going to set you free, so you can return to heaven and leave us who are unworthy of your gifts!”

  He had a terrifying, cheek-splitting smile plastered on his face. The hairs on Lauren's neck stood straight out, and she had goosebumps completely independent of the freezing rain. She finally overcame her speechlessness, letting out a piercing scream.

  Dustin appeared, wading through the chaos untouched. He grabbed Eric from behind, clamping his arms to his sides and lifting him bodily from the ground. Grunting, he threw Eric to the pavement where he impacted with a dull thud.

  “Lauren!”

  She could feel herself drawing inward. The faces of the crowd were shifting back and forth between their own violent human visages and the grinning, psychotic wolves of her nightmares. She shut her eyes to their slobbering, gnashing, razor-sharp teeth as they tore their way through her defenders.

  “Lauren, we have to move right now.”

  She shook her head, still screaming. She could feel herself getting short of breath, but she couldn't seem to stop, an endless wail of terror left her lips as the world crashed in around her.

  “Lauren,” he lowered his voice, no longer shouting. “Lauren you have to trust-”

  Three loud bangs interrupted him, he was backlit briefly by three close-range flashes of light and blood sprayed out from his chest onto her stunned face.

  A confused look crossed his face as he slumped to the ground, revealing Eric on the ground with a stolen handgun and an even more maniacal grin.

  Eric was bleeding from a nasty cut on his forehead and one of his wrists was bent at an odd angle, but he seemed immune to the pain. His wide, bloodshot eyes were trained on Lauren.

  “See? See! I'm going to protect you, Your Grace!”

  He rose unsteadily, blood pouring into his eye and giving him a demonic appearance. He lifted the handgun, pointing it shakily at Lauren's chest.

  “I'm going to send you home, Your Grace. I owe you this, for the gift you gave me! This is the mission you saved me for!”

  He pulled the trigger twice, still smiling.

  Lauren felt the rounds punch through her frail chest. She felt a visceral tearing, then a white hot heat followed swiftly by an icy chill that worked its way through her body. Numbness was spreading quickly from the bullet wounds. She tasted copper in her mouth, and shuddered, not knowing if it was Dustin's blood or her own. She fell to her knees, clutching her shattered chest and taking gasping, gurgling breaths through unbearable pain.

  “I'll be there, waiting for you, Your Grace.”

  Eric put the gun to the side of his head and closed his eyes in obvious ecstasy.

  “Thank you.”

  He pulled the trigger again, the flash of light illuminated a spray of brain matter and bone fragments from the opposite side of his head.

  Lauren flinched as hot blood showered her face, but her mind immediately returned to Dustin. The rest of the world seemed to dull, and her vision swam as she crawled past Eric to Dustin, who was lying on his back. She could see his chest rising and falling, albeit shallowly.

  She still had a chance.

  “Dustin, Dustin,” she croaked weakly, pulling herself up to him.

  He didn't respond, his eyes were clenched shut, his breaths short and quick. Blood was draining slowly from his mouth. She could see clearly the three ragged holes where Eric's bullets had torn through. Every breath he took seemed to rattle and gurgle, much like her own. She could see a bloody foam bubbling up from one of his gunshots every time he took a breath.

  Lauren struggled to rip open his ballistic vest. From such close range it had proved ineffective against the powerful handgun.

  With every passing second she could feel her strength returning, so she fought through the excruciating pain.

  “Lau-” Dustin sputtered, unable to complete even a single word for the blood in his throat. He weakly reached a hand up. Lauren gripped his outstretched hand with all her might, willing her power to work and rescue him from the pain she could see written on his face.

  He blinked away the rain pouring down on them, mouthing silently at her. His eyes had the saddest expression she had ever seen. His body shuddered, and he winced as he was clearly wracked with pain.

  Lauren was confused. Her own wounds were healing as well as ever but nothing seemed to be happening to Dustin. His breaths were getting shallower, his pulse weaker, even the strength in his grip was fading. He reached a shaky hand up, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear, unintentionally smearing blood across her face as he did.

  He opened his eyes wide, drawing a strained, raspy breath.

  Revelation hit her like one of the bolts of lightning crashing down around her.

  She could hear his voice tugging at her memory, tearing her heart to shreds.

  “I chose this assignment you know. Volunteered for it, would you like to know why?”

  She placed a hand on either side of his face, begging for her power to work, unwilling to believe that she would fail again. But he was already gone, his wide, vacant stare a hideous reminder of the treasure she'd lost without knowing she had.

  “Dustin... Dustin!”

  Screaming, she pounded her fists on his chest. The storm inside her rivaled and surpassed the one raging outside as she vented her anger.

  “Why didn't you tell me!”

  She was still there, oblivious to the carnage around her, shouting her rage to the heavens and trying to drag him back from the clutches of death, when a group of men grabbed her and started to pull her to the police vehicles in the distance.

  She fought them with all her might, clinging to him, unable to let go. When at last they pried her desperate fingers from his clothes she went limp.

  She was a silent, impotent prisoner in her own mind as they carried her body to the safety of the vehicles. Her heart felt like lead in her chest, or else a burning coal. A white hot searing pain that burned her mind clear of everything but the darkness overtaking her.

  What else do I have to lose, she had asked herself.

  Now she had an answer.

  The next few minutes were a dull blur, like the still-playing soundtrack to a movie on a screen gone black. The passage of time was meaningless to her, as was the world.

  She was loaded into a black SUV, one of a dozen, and driven at breakneck speeds away from the airport. Each of the SUVs had split off, no doubt an attempt to divert would-be pursuers.

  Lauren had been whisked away from the riot by a group of men in neat black suits who silently conducted her about the city. After a half dozen vehicle transfers in settings that varied from an underground parking garage to an alley between two homes, she had been loaded at last into a sleek silver sedan with tinted windows and driven to the heart of Chicago.

  They'd checked her quietly into a luxurious, high-rise hotel. She was taken in the back of the building and walked through conspicuously empty hallways until she reached an elevator that she took to the very top floor. The men left without introducing themselves, replaced, they told her, by anonymous, 'plain clothes agents'.

  She was free to come and go as she pleased, they said, but she was instructed not to try to slip her escort if she left the suite.

  In other words: Don't t
ry to avoid anyone suspiciously following you around after being attacked by strangers, because there's a chance it's the good guys who, while also anonymous strangers, will be there to protect you at all times.

  As soon as the men left she drifted through the empty rooms like a ghost, stopping only when she found the bedroom and fell into the deep embrace of her nightmares.

  She hadn't left the hotel since.

  To her crushing disappointment, Lauren woke up again. It was the third day of her isolation. She felt cold and alone, laying in the center of a huge king sized bed. The rich, cream colored blankets were thick and the dark ebony sheets were soft as silk, but they felt wrong. They felt hollow, like this vast, immaculate suite.

  She had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a full-sized kitchen, even a sitting room, all decked out in sleek ivory and black.

  But no one to share it with.

  She was an empty vessel, a husk of her former self. Heartless, dead, trapped in a prison of youthful vigor.

  For two days she had stewed in her emotions, not once leaving the suite, or even fully exploring it. They'd brought her a few boxes of clothes, and someone had ordered her room service a few times, but she'd only pecked at the food and left most of it uneaten.

  She had no appetite.

  The phone beside her bed rang, as it had a number of times since she'd arrived. She ignored it. Removing her head from under the covers she glared through the bright morning light. The message light on the phone was still blinking. She wondered absentmindedly just how many messages she had.

  Reluctantly Lauren crawled from her bed, the hardwood floor was smooth on her bare feet as she made her way to the bathroom. She still had the sheet wrapped around her, it dragged behind like the train of a mournful funeral dress as she traversed the massive room. The master bathroom was huge, it had a bathtub set into the smooth, tiled floor as well as a walk-in shower. Lauren desperately wanted to soak in a hot bath, but her wings had made it impossible to figure out, at least so far. Instead, she slipped out of the sheet and stepped into the shower.

  The hot shower did wonders for her worn, tired body, but nothing for her shattered psyche. As she scrubbed herself she dwelt on the fresh new scars from Eric's gunshots. So much for escape, she thought bitterly to herself, wishing the bullets had claimed her life, instead of her soul.