by Drew Hayes
“If that’s your idea of a threat, you need to step it up a notch. I’ve been put under the gun by people way scarier than you.”
“Dear Mr. Smitt, you say that with such certainty. It would only be polite to at least allow me to show you how fearsome I can be before making such a judgment. I might surprise you.”
Smitt let out a weary breath and sat down across the table from the kid. “So, what’s the deal? You’ve got the big guy stashed in the apartment, and the girl covering the exit with a gun?”
“Right strategy, but you flipped the positions,” Nicholas informed him.
“Meaning it’s just you and the girl in here with me?” Smitt felt a surge of confidence at that prospect. He might not need to play games after all. This guy looked spry, but there was no way he could match the years of experience Smitt had earned in hand-to-hand combat.
“Yes, though ‘the girl’ as you called her was really unneeded. I could easily deal with you alone; she’s here at her own behest. Seems you’ve quite thoroughly pissed her off.” Had he been wearing sunglasses (though why would he when it was late at night), he’d have tipped them down ever so slightly.
“My ex-wife can attest that I usually have that effect on women.”
“Can she? That’d be quite a feat for someone who doesn’t exist.” Nicholas took a long drink from the scotch in front of him, savoring the weakly suppressed surprise coursing across Smitt’s face. “No, you’ve never been married, Smitt, though you went to a lot of trouble to dummy up the fake paperwork to appear that you had been. You even created a fake family for her, a nice pairing to the imaginary parents you invented for yourself. Quality work all around, must have set you back a fair bit. All that effort to create an imaginary identity, just so that you could hide your real one; you must have some people you dearly want to protect, Mr. Smitt. You know, what the hell, we’re all friends here. Why don’t I just call you Ryan Sumter, since that’s your real name?”
Smitt felt the creeping sensation of cold terror beginning to clutch at his gut as he stared down this intruder who’d easily broken through his layers of protection. Whoever he was, Dig Bixby wasn’t just good: he was connected. The hacker Smitt had paid off had been top-quality; no one should have been able to unravel the cocoon of digital lies shielding Smitt’s real history. This guy, this kid, had done it in the span of weeks. Maybe less, depending on how long they’d known Smitt was watching. His eyes darted about, figuring out what the best avenue of attack would be. Odds of a peaceful resolution were pretty much out the window. In the meantime, he had to stall.
“Nice work, I’m impressed. But now you’ve got me at a disadvantage, since I don’t know what to call you. Seems impolite, really.”
A thin, dangerous smile slowly sliced its way across the young man’s face. “You can call me Nicholas, Nicholas Campbell. And yes, that is my real name.”
“Sure it is. All right, Nicholas Campbell, why don’t you tell me what it is you want? I’m pretty sure you didn’t violate my privacy and break into my home just to steal some mid-range scotch.” Smitt was pinning every hope he had on goading the kid into a specific action. If it worked, he had a shot. If not . . . well, Smitt didn’t want to dwell on that.
“What, this?” Nicholas raised the glass a few degrees. “Don’t be ridiculous. I brought this from home. No offense, but I’d sooner drink anti-freeze than the sort of rot-gut liquor you stock.” He punctuated the sentence by taking another sip.
As soon as the glass was raised, Smitt sprang. He slammed the table forward, catching Nicholas just below his bottom rib. Without waiting to confirm the hit, Smitt rolled out of his chair and scrambled to a nearby wine rack. In a silver tub at the bottom was a clear vase filled with corks, which Smitt grabbed and slammed to the ground. It shattered, sending glass and cork everywhere. His hand frantically searched the remains, getting sliced up as they combed the debris. It should be here; it had to be here.
“Ahem. If you’re going to surprise attack me, you should work on not telegraphing so much. I had plenty of time to catch the table with my free hand.” Nicholas stared down at the older man, glass of scotch still in hand as he wore a look of unmasked condescension. “Also, we stripped every weapon you had stashed, so you can stop rummaging through the glass.”
Smitt pulled himself slowly off the ground, eyes unwavering from the eerily calm young man in front of him. Without a word, he darted forward, throwing his meaty fist toward that smug expression. His eyes couldn’t track what happened; all Smitt registered was a pain in his arm, a sensation of spinning, and then the hard edge of the table digging into his gut as he was pinned against it.
“What did I tell you about telegraphing? Now, Ryan, or Smitt, or however you identify yourself after all these years, we’re going to have a long talk. You’re going to tell me everything I want to know, in more detail than I could ever use, because by this point, you’ve realized your situation. You can’t beat me physically, and that means you can’t get away. If I were an amateur, I’d threaten you with torture, but we’re both experienced enough to know the fruitlessness of such actions. Besides, why would I bother? I know who you are, Ryan. I know who you love. And I know where they sleep.”
Nicholas set the empty glass down on the table, inches from Smitt’s nose. His face was dripping on the table, though whether it was sweat or tears was hard to determine.
“So, let’s talk.”
113.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing, sir.” The aide sitting in front of Ralph Chapman was not dressed in the standard business attire required for all who worked in his office. Instead, the young man was in jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and sneakers. Normally, such infractions would have resulted in immediate dismissal, as well as purposeful tarnishing of the employee's reputation, but today’s ensemble was covered by the umbrella of special circumstances. After all, for what the aide had been doing, a suit would have stood out far too much.
“Not even any furniture?”
“No, sir. The office was completely bare. I sat around the front of the building for a while and overheard the landlord talking. The tenant paid off his entire lease, packed up in the middle of the night, and drove off. He said the man looked desperate to get out of town. Maybe he knew you were looking for him, sir.”
Whoever Smitt was running from, it hadn’t been Ralph Chapman. Truthfully, Ralph hadn’t even realized something might be wrong until the third day he couldn’t reach his employee. When he sent the aide over, he’d expected to find out that Smitt was deep in surveillance, or had drunk himself into a stupor. Vanishing in the night . . . that spoke to Smitt having crossed someone terrifying. Of course, he couldn’t tell the aide any of this, not after working so hard to keep his and Smitt’s arrangement a secret.
“Yes, I suppose he must have,” Ralph agreed. “Though it’s a bit of an overreaction; I just wanted to ask him some questions about his continued presence on campus. He might very well have had a perfectly good reason for being there, but then again, I suppose his midnight fleeing tells us quite clearly that that wasn’t the case.”
“It does seem awfully incriminating,” the aide agreed. “Why would an innocent man run the minute you started looking at his activities?”
Why indeed. Why had Smitt run? Was it because of Blaine and his flunkeys, or could it be related to that trio he’d been looking into since Halloween?
“I can’t think of a good reason for it, but I suppose it’s one problem that’s solved itself,” Ralph said. “Why don’t you go ahead and take the rest of the day off? By the time you got properly dressed for work, it would almost be day’s end anyway.”
“Thank you, sir.” The aide took the cue and headed out the door.
This wasn’t much of an office compared to Ralph’s space in Washington, just a generic building the DVA leased a few floors in. They liked to have resources near any HCP, just in case the need for intervention or examination cropped up. It did come with a few perks, thoug
h. Good security, cubes for the lackeys, and well-furnished rooms to set up shop in.
Ralph leaned back in his chair and set his feet up on the desk. He would never have done a thing so improper on his own furniture, but with a rental, he showed significantly less care. At the moment, all he cared about was figuring out why Smitt had vanished. He’d taken a large risk paying that man without DVA approval, but it had been necessary. Everyone he used officially had been hoodwinked by Blaine and his people, coming up dry with dirt on Reynolds time after time. Ralph had been certain that someone off the grid would uncover the truth. Now, it seemed highly possible Smitt had done just that, and said truth had sent him running for the hills.
Honestly, Ralph didn’t blame Smitt for turning tail. Supers were a terrifying lot, when one got right down to it. They could do impossible things as easily as most men (or at least, most men Ralph knew) would put on a tie. In a world of logic, reason, and order, they set themselves apart by spitting in the face of everything humanity had learned about biology and science. They broke the very laws of nature, so it stood to reason they would show little regard for the laws of man.
Yes, the Heroes put on a good show, playing along to keep the masses placated, but Ralph wasn’t fooled. He knew they only paid lip-service, while doing whatever they pleased in the shadows. That was why he’d clawed his way into the DVA, that was why he refused to swallow the Supers' rhetoric like many of his co-workers, and that was why he knew Vince Reynolds was hiding something, probably a lot of somethings. No one could spend a life with someone as cunning as Globe and come out pure. Sure, the kid looked squeaky clean, but so had Globe, right up until he killed his teammate.
Ralph pulled his feet off the desk and stood up from his chair. He needed to find Smitt, to know what had spooked the man so badly he’d gone careening off in the night. It would be easy with DVA resources; they covered costs for sessions with Supers that had tracking powers, and even kept a couple on the payroll for emergencies. Unfortunately, the nonstandard situation regarding Smitt’s employment meant Ralph would have to handle things himself. It was one thing to lie to an aide; they were accustomed to running personal errands for the higher-ups. Falsely requisitioning or billing for resources was a far more serious offense. Not to mention all the paperwork involved, even when things were on the up and up.
No, this was a problem Ralph would have to handle on his own. It wouldn’t be easy, but as he opened his office door and headed down the hall, Ralph felt a sense of excitement rush over him. Smitt had found something, and if Ralph could run him down, this might just be the break he needed. Whatever magical guardian angel watched over Vince Reynolds would finally be outfoxed, and Ralph could tear down one more false Hero—this one before he even earned the title.
At that last thought, Ralph’s pace quickened by several steps.
114.
Nicholas expected it to come at night, under the cover of darkness. It was how he would have handled such a situation—carefully tailing a target until he was completely certain that neither he nor they could be seen. Only then would he have engaged, and only when the situation was totally under his control. Nicholas was always prepared for his opponents and peers to be as smart as, if not smarter than him. That was why he expected it at night; a mistake that Nick Campbell would not have made.
Nicholas was halfway to the dining hall, a necessary self-imposed torture that provided him basic nutrition while allowing him to keep a tight schedule, when Vince appeared. He was, obviously, unmistakable. That spiky silver hair would have given him away even if Nicholas had never seen the pictures of him in the file Nick kept. He wore the sort of smile that Nicholas associated with older Vegas tourists; too far gone for empty dreams of quick wealth, they were merely happy to see the sights and experience a new place. Nicholas had never particularly cared for those tourists; they were strange anomalies in a sea of sin and greed.
Vince made no pretense of pretending not to recognize Nicholas, instead, he strode purposely across the sunlit cement sidewalk, carefully skirting other students on their way to class or lunch or perhaps a strange reunion of their own. As Vince neared, Nicholas prepared himself mentally. From the notes, and the general context of his expulsion, Nick had clearly never gotten a firm handle on how to deal with Vince. While malleable in a general sense, he had bits of steely resolve buried throughout his personality, bits that were prone to popping up and wrecking carefully planned strategies. Nicholas would show greater care in handling this valuable, but unstable, asset. He had no intention of falling under the same silly delusions of friendship that had tainted the judgment of his previous incarnation.
In a few more steps, Vince would be close enough to speak with. Nicholas readied the carefully thought out greeting, one meant to set the tone of the conversation and lead them down the path of discussion he wanted. As soon as the silver-haired young man stopped, Nicholas would speak, and the situation would be firmly under his methodical control.
He had only a few seconds to realize his miscalculation when Vince finally drew near, and even with that minor bit of forewarning, Nicholas failed to act. Instead, he stood there dumbly as Vince neither stopped nor slowed down in the slightest, barreling right into Nicholas and sweeping the leaner boy up into a crushing hug. The sudden display of affection surprised Nicholas, but not nearly as much as what happened next. As Nicholas tried to reassert some mental control and escape his former friend’s grip, he became aware that his body had acted seemingly on its own. Without even knowing he was doing it, Nicholas had begun hugging Vince right back.
“I knew you’d come back,” Vince said, finally releasing his grip. “You’re the most devious, crooked, ingenious person I’ve ever known in my entire life.”
“That isn’t as flattering as you might think it is,” Nicholas said, still trying to get his bearings. He’d been braced for this encounter. Mary had warned him it was coming, so why was he feeling so out of whack? It shouldn’t be like with Alice, when he was blindsided by Nick’s latent feelings for her.
“I’m pretty sure it’s flattering to you,” Vince replied. “And I meant it in a good way. If you used that mind of yours for evil, then I’d be scared for the world, but instead, you used it to find your way back to us.”
The two men were getting a wide berth on the sidewalk, one of the benefits of engaging in a sudden bear hug. If Nicholas thought Vince had the capacity for it, he’d have suspected that the HCP student had planned it that way.
“Vince . . . you know that isn’t entirely true. Mary called me; I know she explained what’s happened.”
“She told me what you told them,” Vince said. “And I have to say, I’m a little surprised by everyone. After living with you for two years, I’d have thought they would have learned to trust your intentions more than your words.”
“You didn’t live with me, though. You understand that, don’t you? I’m not Nick.”
Vince stared into the eyes of the man who had once given away his future, his chance at being a Hero, and even his very memories to save him. He took in every aspect of Nicholas Campbell, and his smile widened.
“Maybe you’re not Nick, but you’re also not not Nick.”
“Vince, that doesn’t even make sense.” Nicholas felt both exasperated and strangely comfortable as he tried to use reason on the silver-haired young man. He tried to focus more on the first sensation than the second.
“Sure it does. If you were really not Nick, as in all the way gone from him, you would have never come here in the first place. You were always too smart to need the classes, your old extra-curricular activity is gone, and your whole future is back in Las Vegas. The only thing that would bring you back to Lander is your friends. You came here because you need us as much as we need you. And going somewhere just to be with his friends is something Nick would do.”
“I came here because the sudden gap in my memory left me with a lot of questions, and I wanted to finish out my degree,” Nicholas protested.
Vince patted him on the shoulder, that damned smile of his never wavering. “Like I said, I know you. I know your intentions say more than your words. Deny it all you want, Nick, but I’m not pretending you aren’t who you are. And I’m definitely not keeping my distance from you any longer, so you better get used to that real quick.”
The two young men had to step aside briefly as a group of women jostled along the sidewalk, clustered together too tightly to be ignored. When they had passed, Nicholas spoke:
“The meeting-up thing shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I’m here as a legitimate student, and the minor surveillance concern I was dealing with has been handled.”
“I never had a doubt,” Vince said. “I have to lay low tonight, though. Tomorrow is a big exam. My biggest exam, actually. But tomorrow, you’re coming over to hang out in the dorm.”
“No.” Nicholas firmly shook his head. “Vince, for just so many reasons, no. I cannot go back in there. The security protocols alone are staggering. If you really want to hang out, then you all can come to my apartment. Mary, of course, knows where it is.”
“Awesome, plan on us showing up around seven, then. Just this once, I bet everyone will let you pick a bad horror movie without complaining.”
Nicholas knew he could still diffuse this situation, manage to convince Vince that hanging out in such social occasions was dangerous for all in involved. He knew he could do that . . . he just didn’t want to. The idea of spending an evening with everyone, of being around his friends from a former life, it sounded downright fun. He couldn’t have rationally broken down why, but Nicholas had a staggering desire to see them all, as soon and as frequently as possible.
“I’ll pick something so bad it borders on blasphemy.”