by Karen Diem
Weren’t you trying to give people their privacy? Andy interjected.
Wyn sniffed. If they dislike us, they can imprison us or recommend we stay here forever. A little eavesdropping is acceptable; I’m not digging through their brains for information.
Your flexible morality is inspiring, Zita sent.
“Division of Metanormal Services, for now,” Justin mumbled. He glared.
With a quelling glance at Justin, the older man showed her a badge for the same organization. “After the attack on the hospital, a special division was formed from select Homeland Security, FBI, and Department of Corrections personnel. I’m Special Agent Soper.” He nodded at big man. “That’s Specialist Miller. Apparently, you know Dr. Smith.”
“Unfortunately,” Justin muttered.
Zita offered the government men her best company manners. “Seats? Drinks?” With a glance at Justin and the older man, she added, “Ice pack? Aspirin?” Reminder how I saved your ass?
Soper shifted position, favoring his one side. He lifted an eyebrow at Justin. “Is history going to be a problem?” He paused. “Dr. Smith?”
The look Justin gave her was anything but amiable. “No, no problem, sir.”
Wyn, snooping again, added commentary as if Zita cared. He despises you. Thanks to whatever happened with you and a jewelry store, Justin has to pass a gun safety course before he can carry again. Due to the mugging, he was unhappy even before he discovered you here.
Zita laughed and tried to aid the floundering doctor. “Don’t worry. It’s only fifteen to twenty minutes of history, most of it not very memorable.”
STOP HELPING! Wyn shouted mentally as the burly specialist snickered and Justin’s cheeks and ears turned rosy again.
Turning aside to give an unconvincing cough, Andy covered his mouth. Seriously, Zita, are you trying to piss him off? Andy added. Let Wyn charm the nice government agents while we sit by in silence, and by we, I mean you. He gave her a squinty-eyed look.
The older man nodded. “No food, thanks,” he said, easing himself into a seat at the end of the table. Soper tilted his head at the seat next to him. The young doctor sat and fiddled with his clipboard.
Zita opened her mouth and then closed it again. Would it help if I mentioned that he didn’t score?
Wyn choked, and tears came to her eyes.
Justin leapt to pat her back.
Andy rubbed his eyes. He turned to get himself a drink from the fridge. His mental voice conveyed the laughter he was smothering. That’s even worse. Please remain silent.
“Thank you, I must’ve swallowed the wrong way,” Wyn said. Listen to Andy’s sage advice.
The older man waited until Justin had reseated himself and the specialist—whatever that was—had resumed his lean against the yellow dining room wall. “If you’re better, Miss, we should start these interviews. We will speak to each of you individually, and you will need to segregate yourselves in your rooms for the interim. We will get you when it is your turn.”
Andy gave a cough. “This is my room. I mean, I sleep on the futon. The girls share the bed in Zita’s room.” Her futon, a model that folded out to a double bed, had a red frame and white pillows. A blue and yellow lamp next to it threw light across a rainbow of interesting pillows clumped at one end. He gestured at the untidy jumble of bags beneath it.
Miller and Justin looked at Wyn, and then Zita. The specialist smirked. Justin turned pink again. The older man seemed nonplussed.
Ah, great, the younger two are perverts. Soper just wants to avoid litigation or extra paperwork. Wyn complained.
Andy stuck his hands in pockets. “It’s tight quarters, that’s all I meant. Since someone lacks decent cable, our biggest excitement is watching the cops break up Bingo at the church across the street when it gets too feisty on Tuesday nights. I never knew the game could be so hazardous.”
Zita rubbed her hands over the uneven scrub of hair on her head and reveled in the fact that she was not a telepath. She focused on the talavera knobs in the kitchen while she schooled her face to pleasantry. “I call dibs on the treadmill. You can take the computer. That should keep us separate?”
Andy smiled. “Be happy to take the computer.”
Wyn gave them a beatific smile and inclined her head.
Seizing on Zita’s words, Soper nodded. “That works. Now, we will take Mr. Cristovano first, and then Miss Garcia. Miss Diamond, you’ll be last. Please close the doors behind you when you go in the other rooms.”
Zita escaped to the exercise room. Flipping on the TV, she settled in for a light workout. Andy told them the brunt of the questions, but he did not give the women a word-for-word exchange. She suspected Wyn might be using her telepathy to listen in. I can do this. I’ll be calm and collected, and win them all over with my charm. I got this.
When her turn came, she grabbed more carrot sticks and gnawed those between questions. For the events at the hospital, she stuck to their story, adding only what seemed relevant. The older man, Soper, questioned her regarding the attack on the hospital; Justin probed life before and in the quarantine. Miller continued leaning against a wall. Based on the evidence, a “Specialist” did not talk much, though her identification of the gun types used by the attackers drew him into brief conversation. Justin grudgingly confirmed Miguel’s military service when she mentioned her brothers had taught her guns. When Justin pried into her personal life, she discarded her good intentions.
Soper and Miller seemed pleased with her version of events. Justin needed a smack upside his head, perhaps with his own clipboard. Zita held onto her temper when he asked if she had any depression, anger management issues, or heard voices. She abandoned hope of winning him over as he continued to press, repeating previous questions.
“Seriously? How do I feel about the quarantine again? You’re supposed to be a prodigy, but you can’t remember the answer to a question you asked five minutes ago? Like I said before, cranky. The government confines us in a worthless quarantine so a politician can tell reassuring lies. We’ve got bills piling up, but no way to pay them because we’re here, and I haven’t had a challenging workout in a while!” Zita narrowed her eyes and looked at Special Agent Soper. She tapped her fingertips on the table. “Speaking of bills, where is the reimbursement for all the unpaid time off work we’ve had to take for the quarantine?”
Justin immersed himself in his clipboard. Specialist Miller hid a smile behind a fake cough. Soper gave her a flat, unblinking stare and stayed motionless. His words held the echoes of an oft-repeated line. “Remuneration for fiscal hardship is under discussion, but is handled by a different department so I can’t speak as to the exact status. Doctor, please finish up.”
After shuffling papers, Justin complied. “Have you noticed anything different about yourself or the others quarantined here? Do any of you require special accommodations now?”
Zita pursed her lips. “No. Again.” Her brow furrowed, and she carefully formed the words she wanted the others to hear. Justin keeps rewording the same questions. Was it this bad with you? Did they keep at you this long, Andy?
No, he sent, but I didn’t piss off the shrink.
Justin stared at her; his eyes were bulbous evil in his youthful face. “Are you certain none of you have exhibited any new powers or other changes?”
Zita reminded herself that he wasn’t worth the penance her priest would give her if she gave in to her urges. “We’re closeted here all day, every day. One of us would have noticed anything strange. Are your ears having problems? I’ve answered that before.” She maintained her civil tone, even if her words sharpened at the end of the sentence. Biting off half a carrot stick, she narrowed her eyes at him.
When it’s my turn, I’ll smooth things over. Miller voted you the second best interview, though, Wyn added.
Competitive instincts prompted her to ask. Second best? Who got first?
Trust me, it’s unimportant, Wyn replied.
“How do you feel,” Jus
tin began.
Soper held up a hand, cutting off Justin. “We’re done, Doctor. Miss Garcia, the government issues full apologies for the inconvenience of the quarantine. Should you have any repercussions from your illness, the government offers free medical care and counseling for the next year. If you would sign the documents verifying our discussion and your acceptance, we will depart.” He dumped forms from his briefcase. Digging through the mess, he selected a few forms and proffered a pen.
A hasty mental conference when he had made the same offer to Andy had told her what her answer would be. Zita folded her arms across her chest, and bit off another bite of carrot with a snap. Bright flavor flooded her mouth as she considered her next words. She swallowed. “I’ll sign a paper confirming this debriefing. No thanks on the medical care or counseling. The only government help I want is an end to the quarantine and a check for my bills.” Taking his papers, she sorted out the ones she wanted. As she read every word, she ignored the way they fidgeted, glared, or seemed to nap respectively.
“Are you certain? Anything the doctors or counselors find is confidential. Your brother won’t know,” Justin tried. He scribbled on his clipboard.
Like I want to be a guinea pig for The Man. Zita looked at him, and bit off another large chunk of carrot. Her tone was flippant. “Positive. I’m healthy and got insurance. Why deal with the extra paperwork of a government health program if I don’t have to?” She scribbled her signature on the debriefing acknowledgement and drew lines through any references to the health program.
Soper shrugged, though his eyes were watchful. “If she doesn’t want free health care, then it’s her loss. Please get Miss Diamond.”
She rose, setting her empty plate by the sink. “So when you leave, is the quarantine over?” she asked. Andy had asked the same thing, but she had to try.
Soper shook his head. “No, Miss. We will inform you when the quarantine ends. These interviews should hasten the end, however.” Justin was straightening his tie and smoothing his hair with his hands. Miller straightened up and tugged his shirt down. Soper shuffled the forms into his briefcase and brought out a new set.
Zita rolled her eyes and tapped on the door to the exercise room. “Wyn, they want you.”
Many do. Few succeed in their goal. Wyn opened the door and stepped out. She gave a saucy grin and waved the remote control. As she sauntered toward the kitchen, she called over her shoulder. “Your brother’s on TV, Zita.”
Stepping inside, Zita closed the door. She shook her head as the camera changed focus from Miguel to a smiling reporter. Teeth shouldn’t be that white; perhaps the reporter was part shark? Unaware of her speculation, the reporter concluded his story. “Special Agent Miguel Garcia assures us that the FBI is following all available avenues in the search for the serial killer terrorizing the D.C. area. They will release more information as the investigation progresses. Our sources tell us that the male victims participated in the illegal drug trade, with the female victims either related to or involved with the male victims. So perhaps the real question is—Are these torture murders the work of a deranged vigilante or part of a bloody drug war?” The cameras returned to the news anchors at their desks, wearing their best sober looks. After the female anchor thanked the reporter, her saccharine partner picked up papers and began speaking.
“In other news tonight, a fatal car crash claimed the head of the D.C. region quarantine, Dr. Amun Singh and an assistant. After a distinguished career in infectious disease research, Dr. Singh was the head of local efforts studying the coma sickness and the second emergence of individuals with superhuman abilities. A spokesperson for the Division of Metanormal Services says that both will be missed and research will be set back by this tragic loss.” A picture of the doctor and Nurse Mouse flashed on the screen while he spoke.
Zita concentrated. Dr. Singh died, and so did that nurse who followed him around!
That must have just happened since I hadn’t caught that. Ooh, Soper has a phone call so important he has to take it outside. Justin is trying small talk, and the other hasn’t said a word, Wyn commented.
Andy sounded resigned. So you’re going to listen in? It’s probably his wife wanting him to pick up milk and bread or something.
Or tampons, Zita sent. At Andy’s mental groan, she added more. Just keeping it real. Sick of news, she slipped in a classic movie and started the treadmill. As the first fight scene of The 36th Chamber of Shaolin played, her muscles began to relax.
Wyn ruined the moment of respite. Oh no! she exclaimed. After a moment, her mental voice returned, more composed. Soper and Miller are going to Singh’s tomorrow to seize his notebook and computer! The doctor and nurse were transcribing his notebook contents, and the government is salivating to cross-correlate names and medical files with the most extreme divergences from normal. They want to isolate anyone with major deviations, but the hospital fire destroyed most of the records, so his notebook is their best chance.
Zita blinked and slowed. I don’t know about you, but Andy and I fall into that category since we were the last to wake. Singh also mentioned irregularities with my blood work when he was trying to convince me to join his study.
My migraines gave him extra data on me, Wyn fretted.
Andy’s mental voice was unhappy. Maybe I should move back to Canada. Mom’s nation would keep me safe, but I’d also have to give up physics unless they need a teacher.
Zita ran her hand over her head. I’m going to Singh’s tonight after they leave. Can you find his address?
Let me try. Singh is a common last name, but with luck I can get his township and full name from the news reports. Oh, and you are not going alone. That’s a statement, not a question, Andy sent.
After a round of swearing, Zita considered the practical aspects. Any ideas?
Her mental “voice” sounding distracted, Wyn added in her opinion. Your brain has a terrible potty mouth, even if you hide it in multiple languages. What are we doing if we locate his abode? You are not doing this on your own.
Zita gazed at the fighting on-screen. Alternatives stampeded through her mind, but she could see only one workable solution. We take the notebook and the computer, and destroy them. I don’t like stealing, but I don’t see any other peaceful way to avoid attention. We also need a list of quarantined people so we can warn them of the government’s interest.
Andy’s mental voice was troubled. Do we have a choice?
She jabbed at the treadmill button to increase the speed to a run. Movement always helped Zita think. Always, but none of the other choices will have better results. Do you want to be locked up for study? This way protects us and the other people with powers they’ve overlooked.
What, Zita? Wyn added, her tone worried.
Zita tried hard to keep the Aideen’s flaming form or the grisly sight of Jerome’s back from her mind. Don’t poke your nose in, Wyn. It’s not our business.
Wyn’s mental voice was apologetic. Sorry, wasn’t meaning to do so, but I’ve been a little more open listening in on everyone so I caught the bit with Jerome. Wow. Just, wow.
Upping the treadmill speed again, Zita digested that and made her suggestion. Let’s grab masks and go get Singh’s computer and notebook after dark.
Sounds like a terrible plan, Andy replied. I’m in.
Chapter 10
With Zita clutched in his massive talons, Andy flew that night, landing in a park near Dr. Singh’s home. For whatever reason, the indirect route he took to avoid flying over D.C. required them to soar over the Mississippi and back again.
An hour later, Zita jimmied open an upstairs window and slid into the cooled air of the vacant two-story Colonial house. Singh’s backyard was small, but dense with the stout evergreens that proliferated throughout the neighborhood, almost hiding the closeness of the houses. The plantings hid Andy, back in human form, from the streetlights and occasional car. Indirect light gave her enough illumination to see, but not well. An alarm panel glowed in the fo
yer, and she sped to it. Gracias a Dios for cheap security systems, she thought, one gloved hand dancing over the box, while she dug in her small tool bag. Trepidation and excitement warred in her stomach, almost making her regret the loaded pizza dinner.
I don’t know how you talked me into this, Wyn complained from her safe spot at home.
Andy’s response was reasonable. Someone has to answer the phone on the random check-ins and bail us out if necessary. Look on the bright side, you aren’t doing any breaking, entering, or stealing. The white half-mask he wore gleamed in the poor light.
The thought slipped out. She couldn’t help it. You’re also the least stealthy of us, and these giant houses are all right on top of each other.
The witch’s tone was grudging. Thanks, Zita, for your tact, as always.
Zita tapped her headlamp to get a better angle, readjusting again. Her ski mask, inverted to hide the pink pattern and pompom on the black knit fabric, prevented the light from staying in position. “Clear,” she whispered, “Let’s get this party started.” The air was redolent with rich seasonings and beans, with an undertone of char, which she traced to a Crock Pot on a speckled counter. An ordered army of spices stood guard. Sympathy made her pause and unplug it. When done, she padded to the patio door and unlocked it. “Patio door’s the only safe entry. Anything else will set off alarms. Hurry!”
Andy slipped in, closing the door behind him. As his flashlight flicked on, she pulled drapes shut. Their beams played over one of those fancy kitchens with the double wall ovens and an immaculate supersized refrigerator. Her light stopped on that while Andy turned to investigate elsewhere.
“You sure he was single?” she whispered, eyeing it. She took a step closer to the monolithic food storage of her dreams. Mi amor, Zita thought, you are perfect.
Andy hissed, “We don’t have time for snacking! I didn’t check his personal life.” He opened white French doors to another room. His flashlight played over the room. “No cars in the garage when we looked, though. Oh, hey now, here’s his study, and I see a laptop.” As he raced into the room, his light and his step acquired a bounce. Curtains scraped shut in the study.
