The Girl in the Box 01 - Alone

by Crane, Robert J.

  All I wanted was to go home, back to the simple world of Mom, and when I was bad, the box. Nobody but me got hurt there. Nobody died.

  But Mom was gone. My house was forfeit; it was Wolfe’s domain now, he owned it, and every thought I had of it from now on would be tainted by the memory of how he beat me, broke me in that basement in a way my mother and the box never had. I had nothing left but the Directorate, and no one to trust but these two people that I didn’t even know.

  I looked from Old Man Winter to Ariadne, each in turn. Winter was brooding and quiet while Ariadne was waiting with patient expectation. I choked on my words, but finally they came out, filling my ears with the sound of my cowardice, drawing a nod from Winter and a smile from Ariadne.

  “You win.”

  Twenty

  Two days and twenty-eight dead bodies later, I wished I hadn’t listened to my fear. I had been stewing in a basement room of Headquarters, walls made of reinforced concrete and plated with steel or some other metal that didn’t bend when I punched it out of fury or frustration or sheer pitying despair. I punched it a lot.

  Ariadne had done everything in her power to make me comfortable in my oversized room. I had my own bathroom, they’d brought in a bed from one of the dormitories that felt like it was cushioned with air – not that I’d been sleeping, but I lay down on it a lot while I watched the news.

  They’d brought me a big TV and it was tied in to all the networks. I flipped back and forth between three different local channels and the national news stations depending on who was on commercial. Having never been able to watch TV for more than an hour a day, news was never on my to-watch list. I always caught a smattering over Mom’s shoulder at night while I studied at the table, but I much preferred sitcoms and dramas over news.

  I found myself glued to the goings-on. One network proclaimed: “Minneapolis: City Under Siege” while another network decried that Minneapolis was “In the Grip of Terror.” The third was speculating on the source of the violence and assigning blame politically.

  The local stations were somewhat less objective as the anchors seemed to be in fear for their lives. It was hard not to feel for them the same way I’d feel for characters on the TV shows I watched – sitcoms had the ability to bring me to tears, which I always hid from Mom. She would roll her eyes and make snide comments about “weakness.”

  As I watched the news hour after hour, as the days ticked by, I felt nothing but weak. I wished I’d told Ariadne and Old Man Winter to stick their offer of safety in a warm and uncomfortable place. I stared at the walls as the news showed photos of the latest victims, trying to avoid the looks on the faces of the family in the picture. They were all smiling, but it felt like they were silently accusing me of dooming them to death. This one was a family with a dark haired father, a blond haired mother and two little blond girls. All staring at the photographer with happy smiles on their faces.

  Now dead. Because of me. Because of my cowardice.

  The door slid open and the agent outside stuck his head in. “Visitor, miss.” He said it without a wasted syllable or any emotion. After two days and a half dozen such messages, I was beginning to suspect that the agents assigned to guard me had very clear memories of their fellows who died at my house, and what they had died for. There was not a drop of the milk of human kindness in any of the men I had interacted with while in this place. The only friendly face was Ariadne’s, and she had dropped in for conversations twice now – ones which I had kept civil by virtue of not wanting them to end prematurely.

  After twelve years alone and one week in the company of others, I found myself not wanting to go back to alone.

  I was sitting on the bed, t-shirt and pajama pants on, in violation at last of Mom’s fourth rule, the only one that I had been following lately, the one that demanded I remain fully dressed, down to my gloves and shoes at all times, ready to move. (When she wasn’t home I frequently took my shoes and my gloves off, among other things, which led to punishments if I wasn’t quick enough on the days she’d arrive unexpectedly early).

  I had been enjoying the feel of the soft bed against my skin, something in great contrast to the marked discomfort I felt on the inside from what I was watching. Self-consciousness came over me as I realized I wasn’t dressed for visitors, then tried not to care.

  I jumped to my feet as the door slid open again to admit a familiar face. Zack walked in wearing a leather jacket, his hair tousled, and gave me a smile. I breathed a sigh of relief; I hadn’t seen him since Wolfe attacked the Directorate. Then I felt a stir of embarrassment for my attire; I would have preferred to greet him in something more presentable. Or presentable at all, really. I stood in place, ummoving, the bed between us. His arm was immobilized in a sling and his face was flecked with cuts. A bandage still covered his nose but otherwise he looked fine.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked after he’d seated himself at the table in the corner of the room. I sat across from him, reminded of the last time we had talked like this, in the cafeteria a few days earlier.

  “Me?” I asked, breaking through the dark clouds of emotion. “I’m fine, physically. You still look wrecked, though.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Physically, huh? Yeah, I look pretty rough. Us humans don’t heal as quick as you metas. I wasn’t asking about how you’re doing physically, I can see you’re fine.” He sat back and winced as he bumped the back of the chair with his elbow. “How are you holding up…in other areas?”

  “You mean emotionally?” Two days of beating the hell out of myself for my cowardice left me without the strength to lie. “I feel like crap. Lower than low.” My voice came out so matter-of-factly, Zack blinked in disbelief. “I feel like I’ve sacrificed the lives of everyone who’s died so I can save my own ass.”

  His disbelieving expression spread from a cocked eyebrow to the downturned corners of his mouth. “Do you think you can beat him?”

  “No, I don’t think I can beat him.” The sterile air of the room washed through my nose as I took a breath. “I don’t think I can even come close.”

  “Then why try?” He looked at me with incredulity. “You made the smart play. Wolfe’s a psycho killer; he’s lived way longer than any of us; he’ll outlive us all unless M-Squad can kill him. You’re crazy if you don’t let us protect you.”

  “How long?” I asked, the emotion breaking into my voice. “How long do I keep watching them report person after person dead? How long can I hide behind you guys? Don’t you think at some point Wolfe will get tired of slaughtering innocent people and come back here for another round?” I stared at my hands, pressed palm down on the cold surface of the metal table. Everything in this place had the feel of sterility, of having never been lived in.

  “Old Man Winter doesn’t think that’ll happen.”

  “Then Old Man Winter’s crazy.” I pulled my hands up and folded them. “Wolfe loves to kill and he loves pain. He’ll come back here sooner or later, when he gets tired of the slaughter. He’ll go through the dormitory building before you drive him off again, or try to get through HQ – he’ll find me eventually, and all that’s going to be different is how many people he kills between now and that day.” The quiet certitude of that thought filled me, and I watched Zack’s expression deteriorate as he pondered it.

  “It’s not gonna happen like that. M-Squad is coming back. You’ve never met them: they are the toughest metas you can imagine. They’ll set a trap for Wolfe and they’ll punch his ticket. That’s if the Minneapolis cops don’t get him first.”

  “He’ll go through them like a boat through water.”

  “Yeah, in ones and twos – but they’ll be deploying in big numbers and call in state and FBI for a case like this.” Zack’s eyes were animated. “My degree is in criminal justice. Once they get a taste of him, they may even call in the National Guard. Mark my words, this town’s about to get too hot for Wolfe. He’ll either bail or—”

  “Decide it’s not worth the trouble
waging a campaign of terror and turn right back to attacking the Directorate.” I stared him down. “And we’re back to the same place – how many die before he gets me?”

  Zack almost seemed to retreat. “He’s not some invincible god creature. He’s just damned strong and canny.” Suspicion clouded his features. “You almost sound like you’ve given up. You eager to get raped to death by him?”

  “That’s so stupid I’m not going to dignify it with a response,” I shot back. “But he seems unstoppable! So the alternatives are run and hide somewhere else – which lets him slaughter a whole bunch more people so I can get away or keep hiding here, which again leads to the slaughter of more people and eventually me. Or I could just get it over with now.”

  My fingers crept up to my face, lending it support. I was more tired than I was willing to acknowledge. “The idea of him slaughtering more people is wearing on me. It’s wearing on my mind. My conscience. What did any of them do to deserve this?”

  “Deserve doesn’t have much to do with it,” Zack said in a gentle tone. “What did you do to deserve having this psycho want to gut you?”

  I paused before answering, and a steady flash of images rolled before my eyes, of all the times I’d ended up in the box, all the little crimes I’d perpetrated, all the little acts of defiance against Mom. All the punishments, all the times I was bad. “I don’t know,” I mumbled, lying.

  “Listen…” He paused. “Old Man Winter is sending me to South America with a couple other guys to track down M-Squad. Figure I’m going to be gone for a few days because we don’t know exactly where they are. While I’m gone…” He paused again and his eyes bored into mine. “Please don’t do anything crazy, like go after Wolfe.” He thought for a second and amended, “Again.”

  I sat very still, fighting not to make a sound. When I answered him, it was as bold a lie as I thought I could get away with. “I don’t think they’d let me out at this point.”

  His voice hinted that his disbelief at my last answer had carried over to this one. “I don’t think you’re the sort to ask permission after you’ve made a decision. Which is why I’m asking you…” A hint of pleading entered his tone. “Please let me get M-Squad. Just hold on until I get back.”

  The earlier picture of the family from the news, their accusing eyes, shot through me. “People are dying.”

  “I know.” He nodded and bowed his head in a sort of solemnity. “And I really, really don’t want you to be one of them. Old Man Winter says there’s a reason…something about you had Wolfe’s employer pull out all the stops and send him instead of anybody else. He says it means you’re important…maybe even vital…to what’s going to happen in the future.”

  At that moment I would have happily given up everything I had, including my so-called powers, whatever they might be, in exchange for a destiny that included me living a normal life where I never had to worry about people dying for me. Maybe a boyfriend, eventually a husband, a house I could leave at will, a job, friends…minor things. “I could stand to be a little less important at this point,” I said with muted interest. I was so down I didn’t even care much what that meant.

  “I don’t want to see you get killed.” Zack lowered his head to try and meet my eyes. I didn’t look away from him, but I didn’t have much energy left. “You’ve had a rough life so far, and I’d hate to see you get taken out before you had a chance to actually live it.”

  “Live it?” I echoed. “How?”

  “Have you ever been to a movie in the theater?” He stared back at me, slight smile lightening his face. “Or been out to a restaurant and then to a club? Done any dancing? Been to a concert? Gone to the mall? Comedy show? Theater? Been to Valley Fair?” I shook my head after each question, remembering commercials I’d seen, things I’d put on a list in a diary that had been under my bed for years, something I’d outgrown.

  Actually, something I’d put aside because Mom thought it was too close to breaking rule #5: no talking about the outside world. “No,” I said.

  “They’re all things I think you’d enjoy,” he went on. “I need you to hang on…just a little longer…til I get M-Squad, and they take care of Wolfe.” He said it with a reassuring smile. I could feel his confidence and I knew he believed to his depths that M-Squad could take Wolfe. I was less sure, but it didn’t matter. He believed it totally. “Will you promise me you’ll wait?”

  I didn’t know what to say. I felt the pressure of his eyes on me, so calm and reassuring, looking at me in a way I had rarely seen. “I…I…” I stuttered.

  Caring. That’s what his eyes were. And I realized again how good looking he was. And older. And I tried to keep in mind that he was spying for Ariadne and Old Man Winter, but that thought faded when I looked into his deep brown eyes. “I…I promise.”

  “Attagirl.” He stood, extending a hand to help me up. I humored him and took it, feeling a little dazed. I kept focused on him and watched his eyes swim for a moment, and he let go of my hand. “I should…uh…get going.” He took a step and seemed to trip, then cast a look back at me to see if I noticed. “Felt a little lightheaded there for a second.” His smile turned to a grin. “Must be the effect of being around you.” He walked to the door and knocked on it, then left when it slid open, sending me back one last smile.

  I groaned when he left, mostly from the last cheesy line he’d said, but also from the fact that he’d extracted the promise from me that he had. My fingers tingled with pleasure from the feel of his touch on my hand and left me wondering about all the things in the world that I’d never experienced – but less about the ones he had mentioned…and more about the ones he hadn’t.

  Twenty-one

  Three more days, one hundred and thirty-two more dead. I was well past the point of sick and into the realm of deathly numb, if such a thing existed. If I had any doubt that I was the world’s worst person, it was dissolved when some unnamed individual slid a note under my door that I found first thing in the morning. I didn’t bother to ask the guards how it got there. It read:

  People are dying by the hundreds and you’re hiding. If he comes back here, you won’t find much help from any of us because everyone here pretty much hates you and we’re all rooting for him to turn you inside out.

  Ariadne hadn’t stopped by in several days and the guards hadn’t initiated any conversations, so my only human contact was when a cafeteria worker brought me meals three times per day. It was always the same person, a middle-aged woman who didn’t have anything to say. At all. I caught her scowling at me when she thought I wasn’t looking. Based on her attitude, I had to guess the letter was on target.

  The crisis in Minneapolis had gotten so bad that there were police and SWAT teams on constant call. Helicopters circled, watching for any sign. Wolfe had progressed from only slaughtering people in their homes to killing people in public places as he moved between potential victims – he had been caught on several automated cameras. When four houses in a row in one of the western suburbs was hit it started a louder clamor; previously Wolfe had restricted himself to working in Minneapolis proper.

  Since then he had jumped around, but the police always seemed to be a couple steps behind him, at least according to the news. Hundreds of witnesses reported seeing him, even just a flash in passing, and the police were overwhelmed because at the slightest hint of a noise people were calling 911 for help; as a result, instances of violent crime were up 142% (again, according to the news) and tons more were going unnoticed. As one reporter put it, “It’s a good time to get away with murder in Minneapolis because, amidst all the other bodies, who’s going to investigate one more?”

  All my fault. Every last one of them.

  I was still glued to the TV, watching every update, every bit of breaking news that really wasn’t breaking, every police press conference, every release of another victim’s name. I felt more powerless than at any time prior in my life, worse than any occasion I’d been locked away. When I was prisoner in my own h
ome I never had to worry my actions would cause harm to anyone or anything – except maybe Mom’s feelings, if she had any.

  I was waiting, hoping to hear that M-Squad had returned or that Wolfe had been run over by a garbage truck (maybe that would kill him) or anything – anything to break the twenty-four hour press of guilt.

  And then I did.

  “Breaking news,” I heard an anchorperson say for the one millionth time in the last few days. I was lying on the floor. It wasn’t as soft as the bed but I didn’t feel like I deserved the bed right now. “We go live now to Winston Haines, who is in a chopper above Southdale Mall, where Edina police have cornered the suspect in the slayings that have gripped the Twin Cities in a wave of terror.”

  I stood and moved closer to the TV. The angle changed to look down on a parking lot, where a lone figure raced across the pavement. My heart stopped, along with my breath.

  It was Wolfe.

  I watched as he hurdled a car, running flat out from three police cruisers and a SWAT van that were behind him. Two more cruisers cut him off and boxed him in. Cops opened doors and I saw them fire right away, not even bothering to say anything. It was a smart move on their part, but I had to wonder if it would be enough.

  Wolfe went down to a knee under the sheer volume of gunfire. The reporter was blathering on about civil rights but I silently cheered the cops on, hoping that they would put him down like the rabid dog he was.

  And maybe it would be over. And I could get out of here. And go…anywhere else. Somewhere that I wouldn’t have to think about any of this.

  The SWAT van popped open and black-suited team members swarmed toward Wolfe, who was now on all fours, and a moment of silence prevailed as the reporter shut up. They surrounded him and I hoped that maybe the bullets they had shot him with had more power than the shotgun rounds I’d seen him shrug off. They pointed their guns at him point blank, and then one of them stepped in, handcuffs at the ready, going slow, amazed that Wolfe was still alive and moving after the hail of bullets that had been thrown at him.