The Scales

by Paul Sating

  “Serenity told me about something else, too.” Rodgers said. “There’s a group, government or some sort of para-military agency? They’re wrapped up in this somehow. What do you know about them?”

  Patch’s eyes brightened. Patch had been rejected by this community for longer than she’d been alive. The deputy represented the authorities who treated him unkindly for decades. Even if he wasn’t the one committing those acts, Serenity couldn’t blame Patch for not instantly opening up.

  “Patch.” Serenity cupped one of his dirty, liver-spotted hands in hers. “He can help. He's trustworthy. Please?”

  Patch did. He told the deputy everything, sharing his own story. And Rodgers listened, without interruption or indication of doubt. He was giving Patch a chance. When Patch finished, Rodgers did exactly what Serenity hoped he would. He asked more questions.

  “CIA?”

  Patch pinched his lips. “All I know is that this group have operated outside the law. Back in the days at the factory, they were much more out in the open than nowadays, but still ain’t ever seen them held accountable. Ain’t never seen them up on trial for the things they done. And they know too much, too easily, about a lot of us. Showing up on young Serenity’s doorstep, frightening her mother, asking after the kids? Who does that? I’ll tell you who. Powerful men. So powerful as to be comfortable. If’n that doesn’t scare you, I don’t know what will.”

  “It does, Patch. All of this scares the shit out of me. It’s the last thing this town needs, especially after this.” He motioned at the wreckage around the Scales. “But I’m not going to bury my head. We’ve got a small force and no idea what we’re facing, with them or this damn Screecher. Hell, that thing wasn’t even bothering us until recently. These guys, the Black Suits.” Deputy Rodgers rolled the name around as if he was trying to taste it. Then he laughed. “They should be easy to find if they’re walking out in this heat dressed like that.”

  “All due respect, deputy,” Patch warned, “I ain’t so sure you want to be finding them. They’re dangerous men.”

  “I understand, but I’ll be damned if they think they can just roll into this town and run it.” Deputy Rodgers took a long, deep breath. When he spoke again, he sounded exhausted, almost fragile. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I do know I owe you an apology, Patch.”

  Patch blinked, hard. “For what?”

  Deputy Rodgers clapped sand off his hands, offering one to Patch. “I failed as an officer of the law. Instead of giving you the opportunity to share your story, I listened to peers and people who feared you. I let them form my opinion instead of doing what I should have been doing. I don’t accept half-ass efforts from my peers, so I shouldn’t accept it in myself. I’m truly sorry.”

  Patch shook the deputies’ hand before he tilted his head at a group of volunteers moving one of the deceased. “We’ve got work to do if’n you want to stop this. Lots of work. And sitting here ain’t gonna get it fixed. Now, now—” He shook his head when Deputy Rodgers started to speak. “I’m not saying I don’t appreciate what you mean by fixing the wrongs of yesterday. I do. But we don’t have much time. The Black Suits will be squeezing down on this town with today’s tragedy, starting with Serenity and her family. And the Screecher? Well, I’ll bet it’s resting right now, but it is awake and that ain’t something you or I can fix.”

  “What do you mean it's awake?” Serenity never heard Patch use that phrasing before.

  Patch stiffened. “We need to see George.”

  “Why can’t you tell us? George just sits out there in the desert, not bothered by the Screecher, while the rest of us are dying!” The heat in her voice wasn't meant to target Patch, more at the realization that she would have to entertain George again from the sounds of it. The absolute last thing she wanted to do. “There has to be another way.” It came out like the plea.

  “No.” Patch’s tone was firm, not harsh, but immovable. “This is the way. Listen, Serenity, when you found the Screecher, it did more than tag you. You woke it and that set a connection with you on a different level than anyone else, even Jerrod. You were the first. Things are…different for you. George can answer everything, if’n you'd just listen to him. You haven’t so far. None of you have and…” He turned toward the dystopian landscape emptying of victims and volunteers. The unspoken conclusion was clear.

  “Okay.” Deputy Rodgers understood as well. “Let’s go see him then.”

  “I need to get home,” Serenity muttered. She’d been away all day. What the hell was I thinking? “My mother…”

  The deputy slapped the side of his head. “Of course, let me take you home. I’ll explain everything.”

  “No,” Serenity answered quickly. “I appreciate it, but I left our Gator at your station, and I need to get that home. If it goes missing and my father finds out, he’ll be upset.” No need to share any more than that.

  The issue resolved, all three stood. “Patch, will you come back to the station with me? I’d like to get your thoughts on our next step.”

  Serenity spent the ride into town in silent reflection. The sobering nature of the events today convinced her that her future, were she to live long enough to have one, was outside the Tri-Counties. But not just hers, her mother and Jerrod's as well. Jerrod would leave tomorrow if there was an attractive prospect, but her mother would fight tooth and nail. Even though there was nothing in the Tri-Counties for her, Ida Dorsey would refuse to leave.

  I’ve got to convince her. Rotisserie wasn’t safe anymore. Her mother needed to understand, beyond question, how dangerous it was to stay. Living in fear wasn’t living.

  As the town sprung up around them, the weight pressed on her chest as her hope faded to real expectations of her mother’s reaction.

  “Let’s get going, Patch,” Deputy Rodgers said as they parked at the back of the station.

  Even in the darkening evening, Serenity couldn’t ignore that few of the assigned parking spots had patrol cars.

  “Serenity, I’d feel much better if you’d allow me to drive you home.”

  She tried to put on her friendliest expression. “I know, and I appreciate it. But I’ve got to get the Gator. I’m lucky it’s still in your lot. My brother needs it to take to work in the morning.” The lie came off her tongue easily. Lately, it was simpler to fabricate reality. Just like Jerry. Serenity turned away, no longer able to look the men in the eyes.

  Deputy Rodgers caved. “Okay, I’ll give you that head start, but I need you to prepare your mother. I’ll bring Patch by, and we’ll sit down and figure out where we go from here.”

  “Thank you.” At least that came out sincerely.

  Exhausted and disgusted, with herself, her world, Serenity said goodbye and headed to the Gator, back to her mother and the million questions that would be waiting. A half-hour ride was the only thing separating her from the tongue-lashing of tongue-lashings that awaited. The energy to fight was sucked away by the death of almost thirty people.

  Something behind her—a garbage can?—crashed. Serenity jumped, spinning to see a cat scurrying down the tight side road only wide enough to fit one vehicle. She winced when it darted across the street in front of a car coming up the narrow path.

  Lucky ass cat. She shook her head, turning to jump on the Gator and running smack into the thick chest of a man wearing a black suit.

  23

  The house was in chaos, Serenity’s world thrust into panic.

  “Leave my babies alone!” Ida swung at the man. He moved aside, grabbing her wrist and wrenching her arm behind her in one fluid motion. Ida yelped.

  Jerrod lunged to his feet. “Get your fucking hands off my moth—”

  He didn’t finish the threat, thanks to the balled fist thrust into the side of his face, sending him sprawling into the countertop and knocking the coffee maker to the floor. The glass pot shattered when it struck the tile, its lid spinning in a wobbling circle until one of the Black Suits stepped on it. The plastic snapped un
der his foot.

  For a moment, everyone assessed the situation. Three men, each dressed in black suits, filled the kitchen, an air of threat about their rigid expressions. Stoic, though they were, the men who’d grabbed her outside the sheriff’s building, who hadn’t said more than a handful of words on the drive back to the house, still provided no direction. One hovered over Jerrod, one stood to the side, as if supervising the scene, and the remaining man assaulted her mother. Now, everyone watched each other, gauging the situation, anticipating the next move, or, like Serenity, trying to figure out what was about to happen.

  Ida's face twitched, her arm still pinned behind her. It took everything Serenity had not to go to her, but she didn’t trust these men. Who knew what they would do.

  “Please, let go of her,” she pleaded from the safety of where they had instructed her sit. “You’re hurting her.”

  The man holding Ida grunted. “Tell her to calm down first.”

  Serenity locked eyes with her mother. A moan from the floor let her know that Jerrod was stirring. She needed to fix this before he launched a second round. Large armed men outnumbered them.

  “Momma, please do what he’s asking.” Less of a request than a demand. She’d never asked much of her mother, and never told her what to do, but extraordinary circumstances called for extraordinary responses. Even if it meant reversing roles.

  Ida dipped her shoulder. The man yanked her arm higher, soliciting a second yelp, this one hoarse with pain. Serenity winced.

  “Lady, I’m not playing. Either calm down or you lose use of this for the next few weeks.”

  “Momma, please!” Serenity’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t dare move.

  The Screecher was restricted to the desert. The Black Suits had no such limits. The threat from them was less defined, and that made them even more dangerous, something made clear the second they grabbed her in the sheriff department’s parking lot.

  “Let her go.” The voice came from a tall man who walked into the kitchen.

  He was pale and lanky, well over six feet. His gray hair gelled to perfection as if he’d given individual care to each strand. In his sixties, he still had a look of vibrancy.

  A long few seconds passed before the younger man complied. Free of his grasp, Ida stumbled forward, looking every bit like she was about to gracelessly face-plant into the pressed wood table. Serenity held out her arms to stop her. Jumping to her feet to grab her mother would probably result in a bullet in the head for her troubles. Ida didn’t need saving, catching her balance after only a few steps.

  Jerrod groaned again, this time with more energy, as he rolled onto his back and pressed his hand against his cheek. He rotated it in small circles, checking to see if it still worked.

  “Stay there, son,” the older man with perfect hair warned.

  “I ain’t moving,” Jerrod said through a snarl.

  The lanky man cupped a hand in front of him as if he was holding something precious, watching Jerrod. Calm as a Sunday service, the leader of this group gave no indication of his thoughts.

  He approached the table, and one of the Black Suits moved to pull out a chair for him. He waved away the offer and dipped his finger and thumb into his cupped palm, retrieving a long stick of gum and sliding it between two rows of perfect teeth.

  “Sit, son,” he ordered.

  Circling around the Black Suit who’d held her mother, the man with perfect hair moved out of sight. A chair scraped behind her. Serenity didn’t dare turn.

  But Ida held no such fears. “Who are you? What do you want with us?”

  Serenity closed her eyes, holding her breath, waiting to see if her mother’s questions elicited more violence.

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” the man asked.

  Serenity found the perfect blemish in the wood on the table’s surface.

  “My name is Lawrence Hilliard, and I oversee a special operation of incredible sensitivity. My men call me Sir, but you can just call me Hilliard. You might have a lot of questions, I imagine.” He pressed his elbows on the table. Ida bit her lip. “I also believe you know more than most people in the Tri-Counties about our common interest. More than you should.”

  “What are you talking about, mister?” Ida held her injured arm close against her chest.

  Searing anger boiled inside Serenity at her helplessness, her utterly incapability to help.

  “Your children are curious, Ida,” Hilliard said with a hint of humor. “And I’m curious about them. Curiosity can be a wonderful attribute, but it is dangerous as well. After all, isn’t that what got you in this mess? Poking noses in places better left undisturbed. If you hadn’t, you would be safe. Uninvolved.” The man made a steeple with his fingers, pressing so hard the tips turned white. “Jerrod could have focused on his plans. Serenity could have enjoyed the last few weeks of high school. And you, Ida; you wouldn’t have had to worry about Jerry coming back into your life and disrupting it. Doesn’t that sound like a much more attractive reality?”

  “How do you know all that?” Ida’s eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t fault any of you.” Hilliard eyed Serenity and Jerrod evenly. “I was curious when I was young. Who isn’t?” He chuckled without amusement. “Exploration, in and of itself, isn’t the damning action here. What happened after was. Your choices have been—” He snapped the gum. “Less than desirable.”

  “I don’t understand, mister,” Ida said, the fire in her voice extinguishing.

  In a panicked moment, Serenity feared her mother was giving in to Hilliard. “He’s saying we shouldn’t have talked to Patch,” Serenity said, her eyes never lifting from that spot on the table.

  This time, the man’s laugh was genuine, almost human. “Is that what he’s still going by? You’d think a man his age would have grown away from ridiculous nicknames. Ah well, there’s a lot about Patch that’s a mystery. His name is the least interesting. For example, why does he continue telling these tall tales of his past to anyone who will listen? Something to do with loneliness. I mean, all those years on his own? Sitting alone in that house…waiting for life to happen. Can you imagine? Well, I can understand how it would drive someone to lose their mind.”

  “Patch isn’t crazy,” Serenity grumbled.

  “I know you want to believe that,” Hilliard said. “But that doesn’t make it true. Unfortunately, your friend isn’t reliable. Or safe.”

  “What do you mean?” Ida asked.

  “Trouble follows him, and he has a tendency to get good people in bad situations. Just look at what has happened to your tiny family since he came into your lives. All these problems, all this death. Serenity running around the desert, getting involved with the Indian tribe and doing who-knows-what at their reservation. They’re engaged in manufacturing illicit substances. Did you know that? I mean, it’s all so dangerous, especially for a girl with such…promise.”

  “What are you talking about, mister?” Ida’s eyes shot up. “There’s only been one death.”

  Hilliard raised an eyebrow. “She hasn’t told you? Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. If I was a disobedient teen, running around town with old homeless men, skipping out of school, hanging out on a reservation where alcoholism and drug use is rampant, I would keep a lot of things from my mother too.”

  Serenity couldn’t believe it. This man knew everything! And now, as he shared, her mother did too.

  “Patch was helping me get answers about the Screecher!” Serenity shouted before her better sense held her tongue.

  Her mother’s eyes bore into her, but Serenity refused to look her way. If she did, she’d crumble.

  “Ah, yes.” Hilliard clapped his hands. “The Screecher. Patch’s life obsession. The thing that drove him mad, made him a violent man.”

  “You liar!” Fire for today’s dead burned inside her. “He wasn’t obsessed with it, he was trying to live his life, and your organization took that away from him. Plus, he just wants to help. The Screecher is
real, it’s dangerous. I’ve seen it! Jerrod has too! It killed people today. Lots of people!”

  “What are you talking about, Serenity?” Ida said in a panic.

  “Another thing she hasn’t told you.” Hilliard sneered, provoking the situation, trying to create a separation.

  “It’s not like you gave me a choice!” Serenity snapped.

  Her mother pulled away, arm still clutched to her chest.

  “Some things are a higher priority than your comfort or schedule, Serenity,” Hilliard said. “Ms. Dorsey, I imagine your children have left you with a lot of questions. I’ll fill in as many as I can along with my request for your assistance.”

  “Assistance?” Serenity roared. She clung to the control she still had, which was infinitesimal, at best.

  “We didn’t do nothing.” Jerrod finally came out of his stupor to support her. If he corroborated her story, her mother would have to believe them.

  “Yet I’m here, sitting at your tiny kitchen table,” Hilliard bragged, leaning back in an assured cockiness of a man in control. “The evidence does not favor your claims. Patch is a verifiable liar. A delirious man who will do anything for a free meal and a place to sleep. Tell me you haven’t felt those very things from him, Ida. I’d risk saying you have, because you know what he is.”

  “That’s because everyone in town lies about him,” Serenity growled.

  “Strange,” Hilliard mocked, “That everyone except Patch is lying. That would sound completely reasonable to unreasonable people.” Hilliard wagged a finger. “Or is it more likely that you’re rationalizing because you don’t like what it means, for him and everything he’s told you? If one thing Patch has said is untrue, then how can you believe anything? Scary, isn’t it? How easily it can all unravel.”

  Serenity wanted to punch the smirk off his face.

  Hilliard sat forward, toward Ida. “Surely, you see the silliness in this pursuit?”

  Her mother’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

  “Humor me,” Hilliard said. “What’s it like to have actually seen this beast your children claim has caused all these problems?”