“Actually, it’s just you and Sergeant Armstrong tonight,” said Arthur, his voice muted by the wall. “Usually Officer Gordon Turk is on duty with the both of you, but he called in sick earlier this evening. This being a campus security office, you’ve never had ‘thirty cops on duty.’”
Gwen couldn’t see what was going on from her angle, but she knew there was no way someone so small could break down a steel-plated door, and Tammy certainly wasn’t about to let him in.
When the door swung open and Arthur calmly strolled in as if nothing were amiss, Gwen’s eyes widened and her jaw went slack. Tammy took the odd boy’s appearance much worse, belting out a high-pitched shriek and stumbling back over her chair. “What—how... I didn’t...”
“The problem with locks, Tammy, is they provide only the illusion of security, nothing more. Anyone determined to get past a lock most certainly will,” said Arthur, glancing around the office with his hands behind his back. “Now, you are very lucky that it’s me at your door and not my boss. He would not have been so kind. Ahh, there you are, Ms. Stone.”
No longer seeing any point in hiding, Gwen stood awkwardly to face him as he strolled toward her, handcuffs rattling against the wooden desk. Seeing how small he was, she decided not to be intimidated by him. She would tell him that she had no intention of going anywhere with him.
Before she could say anything, though, she found herself lost in his eyes, words stuck in her throat. They were very pretty eyes, a deep dark brown with the tiniest specks of amber that seemed to sparkle the longer she stared. The smallest of smiles began to creep onto her face as if they were sharing some secret joke, neither one of them able to speak, his smile mirroring her own.
Before either of them could say a word, from the corner of her eye she saw Tammy, face beet-red with rage and embarrassment, charging like an enraged hog. “Watch out!”
Arthur, without breaking eye contact, neatly sidestepped the big woman’s clumsy charge, leaving only his foot in place while she rushed past. Time slowed to a crawl as the portly woman became airborne, appearing to hang in midair, a wide-eyed look of utter shock plastered across her face, before crashing painfully to the office floor with a loud, meaty thud, whimpering. Gwen couldn’t help but wince in sympathy, the memory of falling on the ice still fresh in her mind.
“Hello, Gwen. My name is Arthur,” he said finally, extending a small hand to her as if nothing had happened and a fat woman hadn’t just flown across the office. Gwen was speechless as she took it. His hand was soft, warm, and he had a firm grip.
“I’m not going anywhere with you!” she blurted suddenly, finding her voice at last.
“I’m afraid you lost that privilege the moment Mr. Armstrong took a sample of your blood,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “If it were up to me, you could go anywhere you wanted, but it’s not. Sergeant Armstrong said you had to make a choice about your future, but that choice has been taken away from you. Right now, outside, my boss is waiting for you.”
“How do you know what we talked about?”
Arthur shrugged, eyeing the cameras scattered around the station before continuing. “Just to give you fair warning, he’s going to dress it up, to make it sound like you have a choice, but you don’t. As of 11:55 p.m. today, being a minor, you are now a ward of the United States Government, Special Forces, Divinity Corps. You can try to fight it and fail, or see it as an opportunity to make a difference in the world.”
His words made her feel like she was on a bad trip, her world suddenly spinning out of control. “Listen, man, you got the wrong girl here; I’m nobody. What would the government want with me?”
Before any more could be said, Armstrong came around the corner, fresh coffee in hand. “What the hell—”
Gwen could see the surprise on his face as he surveyed the room, Tammy sprawled out on the floor, a strange boy chatting her up. He rushed past them to the big woman, quickly checking her vitals before standing and placing his hand on his service revolver. “Alright, kid, hands up, back away from the girl. You have two seconds to explain what’s going on here before I put you down.”
Arthur did as he was told, raising his hands and moving away from her. “May I explain, sir?”
“Are you armed, son? Any weapons, guns, knives?” demanded Armstrong, his voice tight and controlled.
“No, sir, no weapons, at least not...in the traditional sense.”
“Start off by getting on your knees and placing your hands behind your head. Once you do that, you can talk to your heart’s content.”
“I don’t think I can do that,” said Arthur, holding his arms up. “In my hand is a transfer order signed by the governor earlier this evening. The prisoner, Ms. Stone over there, is to be remanded to my custody.”
“Your custody? What are you, like, ten?” said Armstrong, shaking his head, baffled. “Toss the data pad over; let me see that.”
Taking the data pad in hand, Armstrong muttered under his breath as he scanned the order. Gwen grew more confused each passing moment. Why would her name be on an order from the governor? And why would they send a child to get her?
“Alright, you can put your arms down, son, and you sit tight right there,” said Armstrong, pointing to a spot on the other side of the office. “I’ll have to call for a confirmation, and it may take a while. I would prefer not to put a kid in a holding cell, so in the meantime, I’m gonna cuff you and seat you away from the girl. If everything checks out, I’ll release the girl to you. Understood”
It took a little over an hour for Sergeant Armstrong to secure her release, but before trying to confirm Arthur’s orders, he took a few minutes getting poor Tammy back to the waking world and on her feet. She had some minor cuts and bruises, but for the most part she was fine. More than anything she was furious, wanting nothing more than to strangle Arthur, but a stern look and some harsh words from Armstrong were enough to return her to the reception desk, throwing the occasional snide look in Arthur’s direction.
The sergeant for his part got to working the phone, doing his best to get to the bottom of Arthur’s strange order, pacing the length of the office while keeping a watchful eye on the both of them.
Arthur sat on the other side of the room, his focus on his data pad. She caught him staring at her more than once, a small smile touching his lips. She did her best to ignore him but to her irritation she found herself staring back. It bothered her so much that she turned her chair away from him. She was just curious, that’s all. It wasn’t every day some weirdo came knocking at your door to take you away. Besides, there was something about him that didn’t quite fit, and she couldn’t put her finger on it. He was just so skinny, like his parents had never fed him, and too short; she would never be able to wear heels around him. But she had to admit his eyes were captivating: dark and full of mystery. The more she thought about him the more upset she became. Why was she thinking anything about him at all, much less his eyes or his hands that had felt so soft and warm when he introduced himself. How would they feel on her skin, she wondered. Peeking over her shoulder, she stole a glance, trying not to stare. He had the biggest curls, and she just wanted to run her fingers through them, curious to know if they were as soft as they looked.
Shaking her head to clear it, she decided that he must have done something to her, some kind of trick or mind control to make her want him. She would beg Armstrong to keep her here—there was no way she was leaving with that boy.
After a few minutes of staring at the wall, her curiosity got the better of her. She glanced over her shoulder, trying to be discreet, to find him shamelessly looking at her. Waving gingerly at her. At the end of her rope, she turned the chair back to face him. “That’s it, weirdo, quit looking at me and stop whatever you’ve got going on here! You couldn’t afford me anyway, so just turn around and look at your wall and leave me alone!” she said, raving.
Surprised at her sudden outburst, Arthur jumped in his seat, raising his hands in surrender. He turned
away from her and went back to studying his data pad.
Satisfied that this would be the end of this silliness, she took a deep breath, doing her best to calm herself. She needed to figure a way out of this maddening situation. What she needed was a hit: one hit, and she would be able to focus, make sense of things. Sitting up, she inspected the sergeant’s desk, trying to be inconspicuous, looking for the baggie that had started this mess.
She was so focused on the bag that she didn’t notice Armstrong was right beside her unlocking the cuffs.
“I’m so sorry, kid. I did my best,” he said, bowing his head. His freckled face was red and his nostrils were flaring. “Whoever this kid’s boss is, he’s got a lot of pull. I called everyone I thought could help, but the minute they found the order in the database, they clammed up. Governor himself called me, told me to drop it. The man was terrified.”
Gwen felt the weight of it all crash down on her, tears spilling down her face before she could stop them. Armstrong hesitated for a moment before putting an arm around her shoulder. Just one hit, she thought, it would make it all better. Whatever was about to happen, she didn’t want to face it sober.
“My stuff, I’m so scared…please. It’ll help,” she said, biting her lip. Gwen could see a twisted frown on his face as he looked from her to Arthur, his hand drifting to the gun at his side. As she watched, something seemed to break inside him, and nodding reluctantly, he pushed away from her, grabbing the baggie and dropping it into her hands before storming across the office and drawing his gun.
“You little prick. I’m going to put a bullet in your head, then I’m going to find your boss and put a bullet in him too. What you people are doing just isn’t right. She’s a kid, for god’s sake,” he said, pointing his weapon at Arthur, shaking with indignation.
Arthur watched him in silence for a moment before standing suddenly, his handcuffs snapping off and clinking to the floor. “Sergeant Armstrong, I’m afraid your bullets wouldn’t accomplish much. Shooting at me will simply make my boss upset and as I told the lovely Tammy earlier,” he said with a smirk, throwing a glance at the red-faced woman, “you really are lucky to have me here instead of him. The governor had good reason to be afraid. You’re a smart man. You should be afraid too, and you know it.”
They glared at each other for a moment longer before Armstrong lowered his weapon, defeated. Gwen let out a breath she had not realized she was holding, her lips trembling.
“Take her and get out. If I see you in Ann Arbor again, I will put two in your head. You got me?” said Armstrong, slamming his gun into its holster and stepping aside.
Seeing it all unfold, Gwen quickly shoved a pill in her mouth, sighing in relief as she felt it slide down her throat. Standing to face Arthur, she tried to muster her courage. What could one small boy do?
She had dealt with the worst kind of men in the months since Brandon had left her. How could this be any different? She would keep her wits about her, just as she’d always done.
“I will do my best to keep you safe,” said Arthur, trying to lead her away by the arm.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me!” she said, pushing him away. “Let’s just get this over with. Take me to your leader, shithead!” Raising her chin, she did her best to sound brave but felt childish the instant the words left her mouth. Arthur put his palms up, looking hurt before bowing his head, indicating that she should follow. Armstrong didn’t take his eyes off them, staring bullets as they quietly made their way out into the cold November night.
“It’s just this way,” said Arthur, leading her across the empty university parking lot to a mammoth, black SUV that sat silently waiting in the darkness. Gwen was thankful that Marco’s oxy worked as fast as it did; the thundering of her racing heart was reduced to a dull ache by the time they reached the darkened vehicle. Nice Lincoln; she was grateful to at least be traveling in style.
The door swung open. Just as she began to climb into the dark interior, she balked in terror. Panic sent her blood racing even through the numbing haze of oxy. Adrenaline surging, she turned to run, desperate to be anywhere but here. Arthur blocked her way, and quicker than she could react he effortlessly threw her into the truck with one hand. Grunting in pain, landing hard on her hands and knees, her eyes fell on the object of her terror: the pale-eyed man in crimson silently watching her.
Arthur slid in behind her. Dread filled her as the car door slammed shut with a hollow thud.
Sitting on the floor of the SUV, breathing in short spurts, she trembled as the old man gave her a mirthless smile. “Hello, Gwen. Please be calm. I am not here to hurt you—quite the contrary. I am here to help.”
“Bullshit, go fuck yourself.”
“Did we not just free you from the police with no charges filed? Does that not merit at least some good will?”
“Not for you. You’re all murderers,” she whispered harshly, “kidnappers...monsters. Please... I don’t want to die.” She had stories, the worst kind of stories, always the children, tortured and broken bodies returned home after being mutilated, all in the name of God and Country.
“You will not die tonight, child, you have my word on that. In fact, we have great need of you. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe,” he said, trying to calm her, speaking in a soft voice. “Please, sit. We can talk.”
Gwen remembered the small plastic bag that she held on to for dear life. Ignoring the beast sitting in front of her, she reached for another pill. A hit would help calm her. She could barely open the plastic baggie, she shook so much.
“Here, let me, if it will help to calm you,” said the man in crimson, coming to kneel beside her. His hands were cool and dry as he gently took the bag from her. She watched in awe as he brought a pill to her lips as though giving her holy communion. “Here, water, drink. It will help.” She took deep gulps, the water cool and fresh on her parched throat, lacking the metallic taste of the recycled stuff she was used to.
As he helped her to her seat, she couldn’t help but stare. If Arthur looked odd, the man in crimson appeared downright freakish. His skin was pale, almost translucent, his face pockmarked. He was frail and thin with wispy, white hair, and he looked like he would break from a stiff breeze.
“My name is Major Bishop O’Connell, and I am here asking for your help. Your country has need of you, Ms. Stone. Children like yourself, and Arthur over here, possess divine gifts, great potential deep within you, and with my help, we can turn your potential into a weapon, a weapon that can help America turn the tide in this war that it has fought for far too long.”
“I’ve heard stories, things men like you do to children.”
“I mean you no harm, but what I am asking you to do will be dangerous. You will risk your life in service to your country, but no more so than any brave citizen who hears the call to service. You will receive great rewards, and the poverty you have known all your life will be a thing of the past. I’m here to offer you a better life. All I ask is that you do your duty and serve this great nation.”
“You can call me Gwen,” she stammered, looking to see if he was telling the truth. She always knew when men were lying to her; the signs were there when you knew how to look. He was asking her to risk her life, go to war. Michigan was far from the front and she rarely thought about it. Most Americans were isolated and knew only what they saw on TV. To her, it just didn’t feel real. “What would I have to do? I don’t understand how someone like me could be any help.”
“Have you never felt that you were meant for something more, something better! That deep inside you, you knew that you could have real impact on the world. We can do that together, you and I; we will make you great. Once we are finished, you will be a goddess. You have my word,” he said, placing a hand on his chest.
Watching him from the corner of her eyes, she wondered what she had to lose. Armstrong told her she had to make a choice tonight, stay on the path she was on or forge a new one, a better one.
For her whole life she had been adrift with no direction, from her shitty life with her crazy mother in Detroit to Brandon bringing her to Ann Arbor, to even being picked up by the police tonight. It was never her choice. For once in her life she would be the one to choose. An hour ago it looked like she was going to juvie or back to her horrible mother, and a few hours before that she had a disgusting, old man who hadn’t washed, on top of her. This was the best offer she’d had in a long time: no more struggling, no more dirty old men in the backs of cars and cheap hotels.
One of Brandon’s rich college friends had told her the difference between the rich and the poor was that poor people always wanted handouts, and rich people looked for opportunities. Running her hands along the plush leather and wood in the SUV, seeing the major bishop’s fine clothing, Gwen decided on opportunity, even if it was a risk. It would be better than drifting through life waiting for things to happen to her. Even if she failed, it would be her choice. She felt giddy suddenly, everything glowing as the second hit of oxy worked its magic. She had found her clear horizon.
“Alright, I’m in!” she said.
“Excellent,” said O’Connell, looking into her eyes. Raising a hand to stroke her hair, he smiled. “You’re such a pretty child; you deserve so much better than this. It is the greatest joy in my life to rescue children such as yourself from the clutches of poverty and mediocrity.”
Giving her a warm smile, he waved her closer, pressing a button to reveal a well-stocked bar. “We should celebrate. Here, this is my favorite,” he whispered, reaching for a bottle of dark amber liquid.
Gwen whistled in surprise, knowing the bottle: Glen Fiddich 40, one of the most expensive scotches in the world. Her horizons looked better with each passing moment.
She moved to sit beside the old man when Arthur, moving faster than she thought possible, reached over and grabbed the major bishop’s forearm, squeezing until the bottle fell from his grasp onto the plush carpet, staring at him with murder in his eyes. “No, not her. Never her.”
Ascension: Children of The Spear: Book one Page 7
