Mark rolled his eyes before Michael had a chance. “Aw, you gotta be f...” The rest was muttered under his breath, but Michael was pretty sure he was quoting John Carpenter’s The Thing this time.
“Mark?” Michael said as he stared at the civilians, who were beginning to file inside through the metal (and other attributable) detectors.
“Yeah?” his partner replied.
“We’re here, it’s her birthday, visiting hours just began, and we can’t leave for another thirty minutes.” He looked at Mark. “Any chance some higher power is trying to tell me something?”
“I can’t vouch for that, young’n. All I can say is, if you wanna go in, I’ll go in with you. Or if you wanna get the hell outta here, I’ll fly us back to headquarters — if you don’t mind piggybackin’.”
Michael avoided commenting on Mark’s flying record. He stared at the small crowd as they disappeared inside the building ...
Michael drew a deep breath, sighed “Goddamn it ...” and headed that way.
PCA
Once Michael and Mark made it through the line into the large visitors’ room, instead of telling the guard in charge whom they were there to see or taking a seat at any of the many metal rectangular tables, Michael instead indicated his PCA badge, then moved along the wall until he was standing in a corner; Mark trailed him.
Michael watched, waited, his heart hammering in his chest. Why was he doing this? He couldn’t give himself a satisfactory answer, and that was driving him crazy. Wasn’t he supposed to be the “sensible” one and Mark the impulsive partner? Yet when it came to Christine, they seemed to have swapped roles, and that was driving him bat-shit, too.
He soon spotted her, and if his heart was hammering before, it skipped a beat now. An ECD-armed guard escorting her in, Christine wore a standard orange jumpsuit, her blond hair in a simple ponytail, no accessories except for the gunmetal-grey psi-jammer wrapped around her forehead, and no makeup ... and she was, if anything, more attractive to him now than when they first met.
Goddamn it ...
Christine was led to a table where three adults — a man and two women, one older and one young — and a little girl about eight years old waited; this would have to be Christine’s sister, Amanda, her husband and their daughter, and ... her mother? The visitors rose as one, and all of them fell into a clumsy, emotional group-hug. Christine’s escort tensed up, but chose not to interfere.
A few minutes passed, with Michael just watching the family chat with gushing enthusiasm. After the initial hug, Christine was seated (gently but firmly) on her own side of the table, but she reached across and both hands were shared by all four family members.
Mark leaned closer to him and said, “You know I’m not rushin’ you or anything, ‘cause I’m not, but ... if we aren’t leaving, shouldn’t we head over there? Just get it over with — like rippin’ off a Band-Aid, you know what I’m sayin’?”
“Yeah,” Michael sighed.
Slipping his hands into his coat pockets — to hide his clenched fists or their trembling, he wasn’t really sure which — Michael walked, very slowly, toward the White table.
As he drew near, he saw Amanda produce a small cupcake (which had certainly been scanned upon entry), and the little girl was allowed to light the single candle atop it. Christine laughed and applauded when the girl finally got it lit, then closed her eyes and blew it out. Her family applauded, and Christine had just started unwrapping the bottom when she saw Michael ... and dropped the cupcake.
It took considerable force of will for Michael to not bolt from the room like an overwhelmed pre-teen. Instead, he clenched his fists tighter still and kept walking toward the table.
After a moment of stunned disbelief, Christine’s face lit up. She started to rise from her bench, but her escort placed his hand on her shoulder with a soft “Please stay seated, ma’am.” Amanda and her husband looked over their shoulders to see what was causing this reaction.
“Michael!” Christine finally blurted. “You— you’re here! But how ... how did ...?”
Oh, God, he thought. She didn’t know, Amanda was trying to surprise her, she had no idea I was invited. I ... I don’t know if that’s better or worse.
Michael now had the attention of all her family, and with the exception of Christine, their expressions were not welcoming — even the little girl was giving him the stink-eye. Amanda in particular was staring daggers at him, but he knew that was his own fault.
He reached the family’s side of the table and said, “Hello, Christine. Happy birthday.”
“Decided to come visit the girl you put in here after all, did you?” Amanda spat through clenched teeth.
Confused, Christine looked at her. “Amanda?”
Amanda’s husband started to rise, fire in his eyes. “If you think you’re welcome now—”
Mark stepped forward and put a hand on the guy’s shoulder — much like the escort had done to Christine, but not as gently. He leaned over on the side away from the little girl and said in a low voice, “Eyes front, asswipe.”
Amanda’s husband turned to glare at him, clearly offended and ready to pursue the matter, but then he either saw something in Mark’s eyes or maybe recognized Mark’s face from news coverage. Regardless, he chose to back down after all, but he wasn’t happy.
“Okay, everybody,” the escort said, “let’s all take a deep breath and calm down, or I’ll have to cut this short.”
“Amanda?” Christine asked again. “Curtis? What’s going on?”
“It’s my fault, Christine,” Michael said. “Your sister is right to be upset with me.” He turned to Amanda. “I sincerely apologize for the way I reacted on the phone. I was just ... well, it doesn’t matter. I was rude, I’m sorry.”
The clouds over Amanda’s head thinned a little, and the girl and older woman took that as a cue to cool down a notch. Curtis remained tense, but Michael suspected that was now more related to Mark.
Christine, on the other hand, had become agitated. “Amanda, you talked to him on the phone? When?”
“It’s all right,” Michael assured her. “It’s fine.”
“Can I have your names, please?” the escort asked them, probably to consult a pre-cleared list.
Michael pointed to his badge. “I’m Lieutenant Michael Takayasu; this is my paranormal partner, Shockwave.” He knew the extra adjective for Mark was a bit excessive, but from the corner of his eye, he saw Curtis shrink further, and forced himself not to grin about it. “We’d like permission to join the visitation.”
The escort shrugged and asked Christine, “That okay with you?”
Christine’s family all shook their heads, but the escort wasn’t asking them.
Having gotten past the initial surprise and joy of Michael’s appearance, Christine now behaved somewhat shyly as she looked up at him — after all, this was the ex-boyfriend who arrested her, testified against her (via affidavit; he had arranged not to have to show up in court), and then ignored her letters for almost a year ...
But whatever she was searching for in Michael’s face, she found it. “Yes,” she told her escort, much to the open annoyance of her family, “I’d like him to stay.”
And as Michael looked down at this vulnerable young woman, he asked himself one last time: Do I really want to stay?
And for better or worse, the answer was: Yes, I do.
Squeezing in next to Christine’s bristling sister, Michael sat down. Christine, all smiles and teary eyed, reached across the table to take one of his scarred hands in her own, and he found himself holding hers back ...
PCA
Perry Cooper was sitting on the floor of a bare detention cell, waiting to be processed into the wing for those detainees awaiting trial. His manacles had been removed and the drugs they gave him were starting to wear off — which meant what was left of his seared right ear was starting to sting again — but his psi-jammer was still in place, nice and tight. The guards who had escorted him from t
he armored truck had deposited him here, then backed out and left him alone. Very little had been said to him, and he’d said even less back.
How the hell, Cooper wondered, did he come to this? Sure, his life never would’ve been confused with the land of milk and honey, but how the hell did he go from a man with financial troubles to a man with a half-dozen stun guns pointed at him? Oh, and don’t forget the goddamn headband they kept on him around the clock, with its constant, low-level buzzing (which the PCA paramedic insisted he shouldn’t be able to hear or feel — bullshit!) and what felt like a rash developing under it, but that he couldn’t reach to scratch because it went off if he so much as looked at it funny. Some punk spray-painted his car and he lost his temper — that was all. Things got out of hand, he could admit that now, but if that other lowlife hadn’t shot at him — shot at him! — none of this would’ve happened.
But here he was, and here he would almost certainly stay. A paranormal, a rogue. Now his old penny-pinched life didn’t seem so bad, not compared to life in prison, being treated like a freak.
The only question on his mind now was, would he find an opportunity to end it all sooner or later ...?
Before that line of thinking could go much further, Cooper heard an odd thump outside his cell. It was the first real sound that had made it through the reinforced door, so despite his depression, it piqued his curiosity. It had sounded kind of like—
With a creak and squeak, the door to his cell slowly swayed open. Not far, just a couple of inches, but it sure as hell wasn’t a trick of the eye.
After waiting a moment for whatever might happen next, Cooper wet his lips and called out, “Hello?”
No one answered; the hallway beyond remained silent. What—?
Bzzzzz!
That sound came from a lot closer, causing Cooper to jolt. What the hell was that?!
Another softer, shorter Bz! followed, and, with a brief spark, the psi-jammer fell from his forehead. It fell onto his lap, prompting him to swat it aside and scramble away from it as though it might explode — his experience with psi-jammers was fleeting and unpleasant, but even he knew this couldn’t be normal.
Panting heavily now, Cooper again waited, but nothing else happened.
So ... now he was in an unlocked detention cell, with no power-blocking headband. What was the catch here? Was he being tempted? Was this a test? Were the guards just waiting for him to poke his head out so they could shoot him and claim he had been “trying to escape”?
Go, a little voice in the back of his head urged. Go! Move your ass! Or would you rather stick around and plan your suicide some more?
Cooper climbed to his feet and inched his way toward the open door.
PCA
Talking with Christine again, holding her hand from across the table, was gratifying, nerve-wracking, and more than anything else, surreal. The subject of her betrayal and subsequent desire for forgiveness was never broached — it would come later, surely, but not now, not in front of her family, not on her birthday.
Most of the conversation was driven by Christine’s family. They weren’t happy about Michael’s presence, but with the exception of Curtis, they seemed determined not to allow it to ruin their visit. The older woman (who turned out not to be Christine’s mother, but her Aunt Sidney) asked how her tutoring program had been going, which led to her explaining it to Michael with warm enthusiasm: Christine had been working in the prison library, tutoring inmates who were interested in getting a GED.
“It’s not like the movies, though,” she conceded. “They aren’t exactly showing up in droves. Out of this whole prison, only two inmates have signed up. We know from the warden’s office that more of them are dropouts than that, but I guess maybe they’re too embarrassed to let other people know, or something.”
“Or they just don’t give a shit,” Mark chimed in, one of the few times he had spoken up from his position on the bench behind the family. Amanda and Curtis stiffened noticeably, but Mark ignored them — instead, he said to the little girl, Harmony, “Pardon my French,” which prompted her to giggle.
Disregarding the swearing, Christine said to Mark, “You could be right. And if so, I guess it’s all for the best. If they don’t want to be there, it wouldn’t do anyone any good to force them to attend. It’d just be a big headache for everyone. And it gives me plenty of one-on-one time with the two who do want to learn.”
The conversation carried on, highlighting the positive wherever it could be found. Once the family ran out of easy topics, Michael talked a little about his and Mark’s ongoing successes.
Harmony perked up on this. “In school, I heard about this bad guy who was a rogue who tried to rob a bank because ...” She giggled. “... because his B. O. was sooo bad, it knocked people out!”
Amanda shushed her, but Michael told her, “Yes, there was indeed a rogue with that very ability. But we cut him off as he was trying to leave that bank. Shockwave here was able to protect himself with a force field, and I carry an emergency face mask for situations just like that.” He reached into one of his coat pockets and pulled out the mask for her to see.
Harmony’s nose scrunched up as she looked at it. “It’s flat.”
Michael tapped the bottom of the light plastic on the table twice, and much to the girl’s delight, it popped out into the shape of a little face mask. He reached past her parents to hand it to her.
“Wow,” she marveled as she turned it over and over. “Did you beat the rogue?”
“We sure did.”
“Did you have help from that Powerhouse guy?”
Michael heard Mark grumble at that, and he told Harmony, “Nope, we took him out all by ourselves. I tried to shoot him with my stun gun, but he was pretty spry and I missed. So I kept him distracted and focused on me, and Shockwave here zapped him right in the chin with a one-fingered shockwave. Pow! Knocked him right out.” He neglected to mention which finger his partner had used.
Amanda took the mask from her daughter and returned it to Michael with a succinct, “Thank you.”
Michael nodded, slapped the mask back into its flat shape, and returned it to its pocket.
They talked about a few other things— a promotion for Curtis; improved arthritis for Aunt Sidney — and then a soft bell rang three times. Amanda and Sidney, who had visited Christine before, stood and started a rushed goodbye, as did many of the other visitors around the room.
Christine’s escort, who had maintained a courteous distance during most of the visitation, stepped forward and politely took her by the arm. “Time to go, ma’am.”
Michael also stood and surprised them all (himself included) when he asked her escort, “Would it be possible for her family to have a few more minutes? It’ll take that long for the room to clear out.”
Her escort glanced toward the doorway, then down at Michael’s badge. “A few minutes. Keep it short.”
Christine thanked Michael, and the rest, even Curtis, nodded in agreement. They continued with their goodbyes, but not so rushed now. Christine hugged her sister, her brother-in-law, and finally little Harmony. Amanda promised to return next month, and Harmony said she would send Christine a picture that she’d been making for her cell.
With that, the Hopkins family moved toward the exit, but Sidney lingered. She hugged Christine and kissed her on the cheek, then caught Michael completely off-guard by hugging him as well.
“Would you walk me to the door, Lieutenant?” Sidney asked. “I’d like a word with you, if I may.”
Michael saw no way to politely get out of this, so he told Christine and her escort, “I’ll be right back.”
Christine smiled and nodded; her escort twirled his finger in a loop, indicating Michael should hurry it up.
Michael followed Sidney as she moved at a slow pace toward the exit. Once they were clear of the table, she said, “Lieutenant, I’ll admit I’m not your biggest fan, but I do appreciate your coming today.”
“And I do apologize, ag
ain, for how I reacted when Amanda called.”
“I’ll relay that to Amanda.” She shook her head. “I love Christine dearly, but I understand that you were doing your job when you arrested her, and that punishment was indeed called for, for the poor choices she made. I ... I just want you to know that, although Christine has put on a brave face whenever I’ve come to visit, this is the first sign of true happiness I’ve seen from her since her incarceration began. Even her cheerful bravado at the beginning of this morning’s visit — before you showed up, I mean — was, I suspect, for Harmony’s benefit.”
They were almost to the exit, and Sidney stopped.
“I understand that you two have many issues to work out,” she said, “much to consider before you can begin to forgive her for the things she did, if you decide to forgive her at all. But please believe me when I tell you: Christine does regret her actions, and she sincerely hopes to atone for her transgressions — against society and against you.” Now the last visitor, save Michael and Mark, Sidney touched his forearm before leaving. “Whatever you finally decide for yourself, please give her that chance.”
Michael could think of nothing to say; his feelings were too complex to explain to this women he had just met. So he settled for meeting her eyes with a pensive nod ...
Back at the visitation table, a very different exchange was taking place:
When Michael first stepped away with Christine’s aunt, Mark had moved from the bench where he’d been perched to the bench directly across the table from Christine. He didn’t look at her right away, both of them watching Michael and Sidney as they talked and made their way across the room.
As the two reached the exit and Sidney placed her hand on Michael’s forearm, Mark finally turned to Christine, who stared back at him with a trace of wariness.
Wariness which, it turned out, was justified.
“I’m gonna keep this short ‘n sweet, young’n,” Shockwave told her in a low voice, so that her escort missed most of it. “I’m here for Mike. Not ‘you and Mike,’ just Mike. Maybe you two’ll work something out, maybe you won’t ... but I’m makin’ you a promise right now.” He leaned a little closer, his posture relaxed and with a harmless-looking smile on his face. “If you hurt him again, I won’t kill you. I’ll make a nice, flat little shockwave around my fingernails and skin you alive. Literally. Understand me?”
Paranormals (Book 2): We Are Not Alone Page 14