March Forth (The Woodford Chronicles Book 1)

by Deirdre S. Hopton

  As he took his plate from the raised square, Steven told her, “You just have to think about what you want for breakfast, believe you can have it, and put your hand on the square.”

  “I’m not generally a breakfast person,” Deanna replied.

  Steven looked at her in a way she thought was very condescending as he said, “You need to have breakfast. We have a long day ahead, and I don’t know when you’ll get another chance to eat.”

  She looked at him, shrugged, and looked at the squares. She pictured her usual mornings at home and, feeling a bit silly, put her hand on one of the squares.

  A pack of Marlboro Lights, a lighter, a cup of coffee, and what appeared to be her cell phone appeared on the raised square. They both stared at it for a brief moment before Deanna reached for her bounty. Steven grabbed her hand, stopping her, and said, “Really?”

  “I told you, I’m not a breakfast person,” she replied, sweeping up the cigarettes with her other hand. “I usually have a cigarette and coffee and screw around on my phone for a few when I wake up, before I meditate and get started with my day.”

  He shook his head in disbelief and grabbed the cell phone with his free hand, then released her hand. “I’m afraid you can’t use this here. No service, and we don’t need to be tracked. But after I eat, I will bring you outside so you can smoke a cigarette. You really do have to eat, though.” As he said this, he put his hand on a square and produced a breakfast very similar to his own.

  Deanna nearly forgot all of the hostility she had developed toward Steven in her anticipation of a cigarette. “Thank you,” she said. “I can’t tell you how much I would appreciate that. I’ve been dying for a cigarette since I got here.”

  “I used to smoke,” he said, with an air of confidence as he walked toward an unoccupied table. “I gave it up when I joined the Navy. Well,” he said thoughtfully as he pulled out a chair and sat down, “I still have one every now and again. Mostly if I’m drinking. Not that I’ve had a chance to do that for over a year now.”

  “Why?” Deanna asked.

  “I’ve been on assignment,” he replied.

  “Looking for this David Carver guy?”

  Steven’s spine straightened and he looked tense for a moment, then gave a perfunctory nod. He shoveled food into his mouth; Deanna assumed he was trying to avoid further conversation. She felt like she was learning more about her captors by the second, though. She now knew that Steven, at least, was in the Navy, even though Larsen had said the day before that they were not. She wasn’t sure if that information was important, but at least she had learned something.

  Excited by the possibility of an imminent cigarette, she dug into her breakfast.

  Steven

  Steven was finding Deanna remarkably easy to talk to. Almost too easy; he wasn’t sure he should have admitted he had been on assignment looking for Carver. He had not yet conferred with Larsen to ascertain what he was or was not allowed to tell her. It had been a long time since he had been in casual conversation with a woman, though, and he realized his guard was down. He filled his mouth with food to prevent himself from blurting anything else out without thinking.

  As he chewed, he looked Deanna over. For the first time, he was looking at her as a woman rather than a test subject. He had to admit, she was really pretty.

  “So tell me about yourself, Deanna,” he said lightly after he watched her eat for long enough that he was starting to feel awkward. “What do you do when you’re not hanging out in libraries and violating laws of magic?”

  She studied his face for a second, as if she were trying to figure something out, before answering, “Little of this, little of that.”

  “There were a lot of paintings in your apartment. Do you paint?”

  She shrugged a shoulder and said, “I dabble.”

  “How long have you been living in Woodford?”

  “A while,” she answered. Steven was beginning to realize she wasn’t going to be very forthcoming with information, so he finished his breakfast in silence. He was kind of surprised to realize that he really wanted to find a way to put her at ease. He wasn’t sure why he cared. He figured it was because he had found her and brought her here, almost as if she was a stray cat he had become responsible for.

  As she finished her last bite, he said, “Come on, let’s get you your cigarette.” The smile she flashed warmed his heart. He found that he, too, was smiling as they left the cafeteria and strolled down the hall.

  As they approached the exit, he had a sudden urge to give her his jacket. He proffered the black pea coat and said, “It’s cold out, wear this.”

  She looked at him strangely and said, “Thanks,” as she put it on. He wondered what she was thinking.

  Once outside, he watched with amusement as she lit her cigarette and inhaled it deeply, closing her eyes in pleasure as she did so. When she exhaled, she nearly moaned, “Dear God, I needed this.”

  Feeling genuinely relieved by her pleasure, Steven decided it was a good time to make conversation. “You really should think about quitting, you know.”

  She shot him a look that made him rethink the idea of conversation, so he just quietly watched her smoke. After a few drags, she asked, “What are you guys going to do to me today?”

  “I actually haven’t been briefed yet,” he explained, “but I imagine it will be very much like yesterday.”

  She nodded, and finished her cigarette in silence. Hours later, as Steven watched the General interrogating Deanna on his Wand, he would remember that moment and realize how incredibly wrong he had been.

  He realized something was different when they walked into the testing room, but it took him a moment to realize what it was. One wall of the room had been transformed into a pane of glass. On the other side of the glass, there was a new, tiny room in which the only furniture was a very small, uncomfortable looking chair under a hanging lamp.

  “Drisbane. Bring the subject in there,” the general said by way of greeting, gesturing toward the room on the other side of the glass. He did not even glance at Deanna.

  Steven opened the glass door and ushered Deanna in, noting the fear in her eyes and giving her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry,” he whispered before he shut the door. “You’re going to be fine.”

  She did not look convinced.

  Once he shut the door, Steven turned to his commanding officer and said, “Can she hear us?”

  “No. Can’t see us, either. One-way glass,” Larsen explained.

  “What’s the purpose of all this?”

  “Well, Drisbane,” the general began, “I was up all night trying to think of new methods of testing Ms. Flanagan to understand her abilities. At some point, it occurred to me that she may have been compromised by Carver in some way, with or without her knowledge. Perhaps that would explain her unique abilities; perhaps it’s something he did to her,” Larsen paused, taking a long sip from the cup of coffee he carried with him. “I don’t know, though, and I don’t know if she knows. All of our tests for physical evidence of any anomalies are coming up blank, and I don’t know her well enough to be able to tell if there are any mental anomalies at play. So I thought, we have to see what makes her tick. What’s going on in her head. Only then can we know if Carver did anything to her, mentally.”

  “I…..” Steven was at a loss for words. “How?”

  “Simple interrogation, boy. The old good cop, bad cop routine. You’ve already got a good start on your role, the way you reassured her just now.”

  Steven felt an inexplicable flicker of guilt as he realized his attempt to make Deanna feel better was playing into whatever new game this was. “What exactly is my role, sir?”

  “Today, you just observe. There are cameras in there, so you don’t have to sit here; you can watch on your Wand, if you like. You won’t have any direct involvement with the interrogation until tomorrow. I will let you know when I need you.”

  With a growing feeling of unease, Steve
n nodded, and watched as the General entered the tiny, cell-like room where Deanna sat. Although he had deep misgivings about this new tactic, he knew better than to question orders.

  Benjamin

  General Benjamin Larsen had spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, in his quarters. He felt terribly, inexplicably lost. It was a feeling that had been growing inside him for years, ever since Carver had left. He felt utterly disconnected, as if he wasn’t really sure who he was or what his reason for being was. He had channeled it, as well as he could, into keeping the organization going and trying to find his old friend.

  Larsen had given his entire life to the organization. He never married or had children, or even much of a social life at all. Carver had been his only real friend, and Benjamin was fine with that. He believed so strongly in their work and their mission, he didn’t feel he needed friends.

  Of course, his loneliness had been magnified during the years in which he unsuccessfully searched for Carver. He pushed it to the side, though, and rationalized that he was simply upset about his former friend’s status as a possible threat to the organization (and the world at large).

  For some reason, though, this woman, this Deanna, exacerbated the feeling of being lost. He could barely think straight; it was almost as if his thoughts were not his own. He found that as his feelings of displacement and disconnection worsened, so too did an inexplicable feeling of hostility he was developing toward the woman. He found that the more time he spent with her, and the more research he did on her, the more he felt she was simply not worthy of having met Carver. She had somehow, through some trick of life, been able to achieve by accident what he had strived for for so many years – she had found David Carver. Benjamin resented her deeply for that.

  Carver had not only been his only friend, he had been his mentor. Benjamin had almost worshipped the man, spending every waking second trying to soak up his genius. He had lived in constant amazement at his superior’s ideas and methods. He strove daily to be more like Carver. When he learned Carver meditated, he took up the practice. When he learned Carver had stopped meditating, he also stopped. If he learned Carver enjoyed a food, he would incorporate it into his diet; if Carver didn’t like something, Benjamin would reject it, as well. He modeled every aspect of his life after Carver’s example.

  When Carver began to inexplicably deteriorate, Benjamin felt like his world was falling apart. He researched the other man’s symptoms and tried to formulate magical cures, but nothing worked. He recruited doctors and healers from around the world to examine his friend, but no one seemed to be able to find a cure. He knew that if he had even a tenth of the knowledge and ability that Carver had had, he could solve the problem; however, he also knew that he, Benjamin Larsen, was no David Carver.

  He had not yet been able to forgive himself for that failure. However, he tried to channel his anger toward himself into finding Carver. He thought that if only he could find him, he would have another chance at saving him. He could make up for his earlier failure.

  For nearly eighteen years, now, he had been searching for Carver. At some point, his intentions started becoming cloudy. He found that he was afraid to hope he would find his friend, because his hope kept getting shattered. The constant heartbreak and self-doubt he experienced were getting to be too much. He started to fear that Carver was no longer the man he had known, and that he could even be a threat. In some ways, it was easier to accept that his former mentor was now a threat than it was to accept that he, Benjamin, had failed his friend.

  Of course, there were other responsibilities to keep him occupied, to distract him from his feelings of guilt and heartache. For one thing, he had to keep the organization going, so that Carver’s work would not have been in vain. Then, in his minimal free time, he had to keep Carver’s motorcycle running and road-ready, so it would be ready for him when he got back. He just had to keep busy, be productive, and work for the greater good. Then he would be forgiven for failing his friend.

  He felt like he had been on the right track, starting this little team with Drisbane and Eric and John. Everything about it just seemed to fall into place so effortlessly, from finding Drisbane to recruiting the techs. Though progress wasn’t going as quickly as he’d like, he felt like they were getting close, somehow. At least he had someone to share his mission with, now. It helped to have other people working with him for a common goal.

  And then, this woman showed up.

  Why did she see through the shields? An anomaly, for sure. But then, more importantly – why had she been allowed, through mere circumstance, to achieve the goal that had been eluding him for so long? Why had she been allowed to meet and talk with David Carver?

  It was mind-boggling.

  As the night dragged on, Larsen formulated wild theories that whatever external forces had corrupted the mind of his hero may also be at work in Miss Flanagan’s life. Then, he remembered the many test results which showed her to be utterly ordinary, and he told himself he was being silly. He couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that she was somehow deceiving them, impossible though that may be.

  He wondered if Carver himself could have worked some magic on the woman, caused some invisible anomaly in her mind to prevent her from sharing information about him. That seemed a slightly more valid notion. He realized he didn’t know enough about her, and spent the rest of the night studying every detail of her life that he could dig up by either magical or governmental means.

  Every detail he learned about her life caused him to feel even more resentment and jealousy toward her, but he did not let his emotions deter him. He came up with what he saw as the most logical plan of action: they would simply interrogate her, and get to the bottom of what she had that he didn’t have… in the most rational sense, of course.

  Deanna

  It seemed to be an unreasonably long time that she sat alone, in that tiny room, staring at the dark, shiny panes in front of her. She knew, because she had just seen the room from the outside, that Steven and General Larsen could see her; however, she could see nothing but her own reflection. The light hanging over her head was intensely bright, causing her to squint a bit. She felt quite powerless, more than a little afraid, and utterly hopeless.

  The door opened and General Larsen entered, wearing a grim expression on his previously jovial face. He didn’t speak to her or even look at her, instead glancing around the tiny room and murmuring to himself, “This won’t do,” before producing a Wand from his pocket and tapping on the screen. A large, comfortable armchair appeared in the corner. The general sat in it with a contented sigh, arranged his clipboard and coffee around him, and finally turned his attention to Deanna on her tiny, uncomfortable plastic chair.

  “So, Miss Flanagan,” he said, in a tone that reminded Deanna strongly of the character Agent Smith in that movie “The Matrix” that Barb the librarian was always watching, “It is ‘Miss,’ isn’t it? No spouse?”

  “Correct.”

  “Why is that? Most women your age are married.”

  “Just never found the right guy, I guess.”

  “Really?” Larsen glanced at the papers on his clipboard. “You’re thirty-seven years old, and you ‘haven’t found the right guy’? Doesn’t that seem like a bit of a cop out?”

  Deanna was beginning to feel irritated by this line of questioning. She clung to that feeling, because it felt better than being lost and afraid. “What exactly are you trying to say, General?”

  “Just seems to me there may be a deeper reason for your solitary state. How long has it been since you’ve been in a relationship?”

  “A few years,” she answered, defensively.

  “It’s been a few YEARS? Doesn’t that get lonely? Haven’t you dated at all?”

  “There was…. Someone… last year. We didn’t really date,” she admitted. “It’s kind of a long story.”

  “Well, Ms. Flanagan, we have all day.”

  “What exactly is the point of talking about my rom
antic history?”

  “We need to understand who you are as a whole, in order to understand why you have these strange gifts. This seems as good a place to start as any. So tell me, who was this ‘someone’ you didn’t date last year?”

  She heaved a deep sigh. “His name is Louis.”

  “And where did you meet Louis?” Larsen asked, drawing out the two syllables.

  “He was the head bartender at the restaurant I worked in at that time.”

  “Ah, an affair with your boss. Always a good plan,” the general said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “It wasn’t an affair. It was an ill-advised one night stand,” Deanna’s voice was hollow. Her anger was being drowned by a sea of hopelessness as she realized her only way out of this place was to comply with the General and answer his questions. “I had liked him for a really long time. He texted me one night to come over. Things happened. When he thought I was asleep, he kept chugging from a glass he hid under the bed when I rolled over. Turned out to be straight vodka. He was relapsing after four years sober.”

  “I see. You think his decision to have relations with you stemmed from the same thought processes that caused him to relapse? Perhaps some need to punish himself resulted in inviting you over that night.”

  Deanna shrugged, feeling very small. It was deeply uncomfortable discussing all of this with a stranger; it wasn’t something she had discussed with anyone else. The fact that Larsen’s line of questioning closely aligned with the sense of self-loathing she had so often tried to tune out did not help matters.

  “Have you ever had a more serious relationship? Long-term? Or has it been all one-night stands and flings?”

  “Of COURSE I’ve had long-term relationships, and I don’t appreciate the implication that I am in any way promiscuous.” She embraced the tiny spark of anger that made her feel as if she still had any power over the situation.

  “Didn’t realize I was implying that, but you do seem a bit sensitive about the issue. How many men HAVE you been with, Miss Flanagan?”