We stand outside a moment and nod.
Travis and Steve kiss goodbye while I look out to the black of the water.
No one says anything, it’s all nods and Travis engaging us with fist bumps.
And we head off on our separate ways.
…Travis ventures with a group of two others to the four specific entry points in the underground water systems…
(He has to venture down there personally as he’s the only one with any baring of the labyrinthine sewer system, as well as the only person able to use the piece of equipment he’s modified to get through specific seal breaks in each individual buildings’ water filtration system and administer into each one a single fluid ounce of the thick pink liquid Steve had synthesized in the Drexel lab (with my help): It’s a compound that, when diluted with water, boiled, then drank, would result in a sleeplike paralysis within an hour; that, coupled with Travis’ finding the water passageways from the Public Works building, and we were administering a sedative into the water supply. Three of the four buildings were imprecise and had varying damage radiuses, where anyone that boiled tap water for coffee, tea, or anything else would have less than an hour before falling unconscious: the North Philly location had a damage radius of about 50 meters, including the second floor apartments, the pizza shop, and the book store; the location near China Town and the one near Walnut and Locust had a smaller radius of less than 15 meters, the chemical and water system precise to a select few outlets, most of which either unused or in the target destination; and the Spring Garden location had only one source of incoming water, and it strictly went to the target. We hadn’t had enough time to get cameras into each individual location and were unsure if every one of the three identical locations had coffee at the same time as the first location – in the end, the possible risk of casualties (if someone drove shortly after imbibing the liquid) was only a few percentage points less than the possible benefits of drugging everyone in the building; since we had time, and the math was sound, Travis’ objective was more a hopeful backup, a preemptive strike to render those unconscious in each building before the groups entered.)
…Steve goes back to the hotel to clean up the mess…
…And I enter the Center City Police Department and approach the front desk.
“I was told that I was wanted for questioning.”
“Name,” the older, balding front desk officer asks.
After I give my name and he types a moment, he asks me to take a seat.
After waiting thirty-five minutes, a young officer wearing plain-yet-fashionable clothes approaches and asks me to follow him back to an office. I pass the cubicles clustered in the center of the large foyer, several of which are overcrowded with people in handcuffs, half of the shackled people loudly insisting, pleading, justifying, and saying whatever else they can to exonerate themselves.
The plain clothes officer leads me to a back enclosed office and shuts the door behind us. The office isn’t occupied full-time as there are no pictures, no computer, no cabinets, the desk cleaned but for some coffee stains. I take a seat and the officer does the same behind the desk, slapping a manila folder onto the table.
“So why are you here?” he asks in a dominant yet dismissive way.
“An officer from my town told me I was wanted for questioning here in Philadelphia but he—I don’t know what it’s about, I just wanted to clear it up.” My voice is calm and upbeat; it seems that the friendlier and happier I am, the easier it is to act oblivious to details and remain believable; the moment I let my chin lower and gaze into someone’s eyes – reading them, knowing them – while speaking in my normal “robot” tone (as David and Chris sometimes call it), people often see me for the intelligent, manipulative person I can sometimes be.
“Well, there’s nothing much. You were wanted for questioning in a robbery and attempted homicide in your residence but we never found you—just says you left the country, doesn’t even…” he looks through the papers in the folder closer, “…doesn’t even say where you went.”
He looks up at me.
“I left to check on investments and stayed for a bit,” I answer in the space he provides me to fill in the blanks. “My bro and I figured the robbers knew I was leaving but didn’t know my bro was staying with me. I didn’t even find out for weeks after and by then, my bro had recovered and the men had been captured—or found, whatever. It didn’t seem important to come back just for that.”
He makes a thoughtful “Huhn” noise moving his eyes between me and the folder.
I pull my phone from my pocket and begin unconsciously flipping it over and over in my hands.
“How’s your brother?” he asks finally.
“Good—opp,” I say, almost dropping my phone to the ground. “Close. Yeah, my bro and I run a school together south of here.”
“Where?”
“Georgia. Is that all this was about? My bro being wounded?”
“No, there was some stuff about an arson…” he reads, “…but it’s been closed now, forever ago it looks like. And the people that robbed you and shot your brother were found dead shortly after the robbery so it’s been closed for years now, too…”
“So…are we done?” I ask.
“Looks like it. This’ll be taken off the…computer system, I guess – I’m surprised someone mentioned this to you. Actually, I’m surprised I found it – took thirty minutes to find our old computer logs. We switched the system two years back. You say you teach in Georgia?”
I nod.
“And an officer in Georgia told you that you were wanted for questioning? In Philadelphia?”
If I hadn’t already figured it out, this would have been the point when I would have realized that I had been betrayed.
“Yeah…why?”
“It’s just—there’s almost no way someone could have told the officer unless they gave him the contents of this folder,” he holds it up, “this exact one right here. Because it hasn’t been registered on our new file system, which means it hasn’t been relevant for at least two years. And no one has this folder but me, right now. I didn’t find this on our computer system and crimes of this nature aren’t shared between states unless it’s FBI or we’re extraditing for something serious but…we weren’t actively pursuing you in any sense, at all. If you hadn’t come here, we’d never have known.”
He closes the folder.
“Oh well. Tell the officer in Georgia the case is closed. Waste of both our time.”
His face shrinks with irritation, as if he had expected this to end with an arrest, and he gets up to escort me out. As I stand to follow him, my phone drops off my lap; it shatters into several pieces, scattering across the floor and under the desk.
“Shit, sorry,” I say, bending to pick up the pieces.
“Find your way out, Mr. Ridley. Have a nice…” the officer says, more annoyed at the time I’m wasting. He rounds the corner, giving me ample time to plant the square metal EMP emitter right under the empty desk.
LIVINGSTON COUNTY – 3:45 P.M. TUESDAY
The area looks barren, deserted. There’s a large field overgrown with weeds, one that hasn’t been plowed in close to a decade. There’s a collapsed two-story house on the opposite side of what was once a farm, unchecked honey locust lining the parameter of the area. Chris pulls the car to the side of the road, stepping out onto the waving grass between the road and the derelict farm. The passenger door opens and Lizzy hops out, following. There are darkening storm clouds filling the sky in the distance and the wind is beginning to pick up speed; it’s not distracting yet, the sky overhead a ceiling of white cloud, but rain is on its way. It appears to be a passing thunderstorm, violent and quick.
“Lizzy, there’s—I…I would like to talk to you for a moment.”
Lizzy looks at him, anxious.
Lightning strikes the ground in the far off horizon.
Thunder softly bellows from over four miles away.
She crosses her arms
in front of her, defensive against the storm.
Chris pushes his hair behind his ear, the nervous habit when he doesn’t know what to say.
“I’ve…I’ve never been much of anything until I met you, pickle. You look at this place—I loved this place. The people here. I learned to play two songs on a Spanish guitar. Met girls, made friends. I met Traycee’s pop here – he worked here one summer and he offered to take me back to his home, back down to ‘Bama to finish school…”
It starts to sprits a small amount of rain mist, as if a humid fog surrounds them.
“Pickle, I ain’t never done much good. I tried but it just—it never seemed to come natural, never amounted to nothin’. And I need you to know…” the wind picks up a small amount but it carries the cool rainy mist, “…I’m…never gonna leave you.”
He finds himself unable to tell her.
“Great!” she says sarcastically, giving a thumbs up and then motioning to the car.
“No, pickle. Here,” he motions to a dead tree stump, “take a seat. There’s a conversation I’ve been meaning to have with you since I first met you.”
“When I was four?” she asks.
“No, I lied. I actually met you when you were a tiny baby…
You’er mother introduced us when you was a few months old.
She uh, she wanted me to meet you.
Why?
Because…she wanted me to meet…her daughter.
[laugh; pause]
What?
This trip…I wanted you to come ‘cause I wanted you to know me—I didn’t know my pop. I asked your daddy to let me take you—I wanted to take you on this trip so you could…I don’t know, so you could know me. And…and if something happens tomorrow or the next day, I want you to remember me.
I’ve just, there’s so much I want to say to you…
[lizzy reaches up as if instinctively knowing her mother’s involved in the conversation]
My broach! The hairpin my mommy gave me – it’s gone!
Okay, okay, calm down. Where was the last time—
Camping. When you made me go camping in that stupid—we have to go back! [begins crying hysterically] I just wanna go home! I miss my daddy…[has more but stops]
How about we go back to Alabama.
Let’s get your hairclip.
[walks over, puts arm around her; balls into his shoulder]
It’ll be okay, pickle.
It’ll be okay. I promise.
PHILADELPHIA – 3:59 A.M. WEDNESDAY
The Center City Police Department dispatch computers blink twice and turn black. The two dispatchers switch their computers off and on; it begins to boot up again, blinks twice, and shuts off. The main area is mostly empty, an officer at the front and another at his desk; their computers blink twice as well, then turn black.
(Travis tried to find ways to theoretically improve the EMP pulse emitter during the short time he had to test it, but there was nothing to find: it was the first time I ever heard him describe something as structurally and conceptually flawless. Since I couldn’t use Augustus and his resources, the mercenaries [at an outrageous cost] introduced me to a trades’ dealer selling black market Asian technology, and the trades’ dealer introduced me to a device called the E.M.P. C.P.U. Disruptor; the size of a phone battery and silver. He said a continuous pulse would disrupt the CPU chip in any modern computer motherboard within a 30 meter radius for ten minutes exactly; the best feature was that it left no damage to the computer – the pulse would just cease to emit – so people often dismissed it as a momentary glitch.)
The dispatchers switch their computers off and on once more to the same results, then use the landline to call nearby districts to see if they’re encountering problems; no one is. Since there aren’t any sparks, the electricity is fine, and I.T. is asleep, Center City dispatch hub is rerouted temporarily to the surrounding districts farther north and west while they alert the Sergeant, who’s on patrol.
Ten minutes pass and, miraculously, the computers reboot normally.
As the dispatch computers function once more, three calls prompt the board one after the other, and all three describe similar disturbances even though they’re blocks apart:
“Think someone’s playin’ with firecrackers. They’sa loud eksplosion. Then I saws a man come out and it lookt like he was’a shot in the belly or somethin’ maybe ‘cause it was dark, ya know,” and, “Think someone kickt in the door next door or somethin’, there’sa loud bang done woke me up an’ people shufflin’ ‘round there,” and, “Them damn kids’er thrownin’ firecrackers at my door—” to which the dispatcher asked:
“Are you sure it was a firecracker and not a gunshot?”
“Honey, I live in Philadelphia. I think I know the difference.”
LONDON – 3:30 P.M.TUESDAY
David’s hand gets a cramp.
He started the signing early and all staff had been divided between the front registers or dealing with David and the crowd. Without asking, they consistently brought him tea and finger sandwiches, always with an exceptionally bright smile. Book after book arrives in front of him. There’s a bin of notecard-sized blank paper attached to a large sign just before the front of the line, reading:
David Ridley is dealing with a personal issue and will be unable to hear any requests. If you have a request, please write it on a slip of paper before approaching.
People hand him notecards and most ask for simple dedications; a lot of women (and a fair amount of men) write their phone numbers for him to keep, some with descriptions of what they would do if he called. A mother and young child about Lizzy’s age step up and David gives them a beaming smile. They don’t hand him a card so he signs his name and adds a best wishes. As he hands the book back, the young girl starts hopping excitedly but, as David realizes, not for him. She’s staring out the large window overlooking the street. Her mother tries to scold her but her attention is also drawn to the window. There’s a camera flashing outside the window and David looks over.
A group of camera men snap photos behind what looks like a tiny floating person…it takes a moment to see that Kate is standing outside the bookstore’s front window, a crowd of paparazzi surrounding her…it takes another moment to see that she’s holding up a blue infant onesy outfit and pressing it against the glass…it takes another moment to understand that she’s holding baby clothes against the window…and crying…the paparazzi snap more and more photos behind her but she ignores them and they catch the stupid look on David’s face while he figures out what’s going on…slowly, gradually, as if unaware where his hand is reaching, he pulls the ring he had bought only hours before at the jewelry store down the street…he opens the case, the mystified look frozen on his face…setting it carefully on the table, his eyes never leaving her face, he turns the ring toward her…she can’t see the particulars but she can tell it’s a ring…and David takes the ring, stands, walks in a dumbfounded, zombie-type shuffle over to the window, bends to take a knee, and even with the glass between them, he offers her the ring…tears pour down her cheeks and she nods her head up and down, her eyes closed and her face covered by a bittersweet smile…she runs around the front and in through the door, past the line, and directly into David’s arms, where they embrace passionately, kissing for all the paparazzi to photograph from outside the store.
PHILADELPHIA – SIX YEARS EARLIER
In a hotel room in Philadelphia, Chris Young lets four-year-old Elizabeth Marie Dawson curl up against him while he looks into a TV Guide and tells her this story:
This is better than the horror book – let’s see…Okay…Simpsons are on later. And I Love Lucy.
That’s not’a story.
Sorry, you’re right. Okay, pickle. There’s something coming on called…April Mae Junebug. And it’s about a young couple—
Princess and Prince?
Sure. Princess April Mae Junebug. And Prince Elee. And they know each other all throughout their childhood and they beco
me best friends but then, one day, the evil Queen scares the Prince away.
Prince Elee travels far away.
And he does many things.
He fights in the Army and he starts many lives. But every life that Prince Elee starts – whether it be a…fisherman or carpenter or…student, filmmaker…no matter what life he picks, it’s never right. And he leaves.
People always miss Prince Elee but the Prince can’t ever settle.
And, one day, he decides he needs to find the Princess, that he’s strong enough to win her back and keep her.
So, on this one day, he returns to his old kingdom and finds everything’s practically the same.
Except, for one, the evil Queen’s gone.
So Prince Elee finds his Princess April Mae Junebug and he tells her, “I’ve loved you since the day I met you. Will you spend the rest of your life with me?”
And Princess April Mae Junebug says yes.
And they [checks lizzy, she’s already sleeping] don’t live happily ever after. Because he leaves again. They love each other and it’s awesome but…as always, he’s irresponsible and one day he gets bored and he just leaves. He’s just so used to leaving – it’s easy. As he always does. But you know what, pickle?
That’s one decision he regrets…out of every life he left, every person abandoned, he always misses Princess April Mae Junebug. He can’t have her back – it ain’t in the cards, but he misses her every day. And he wishes he were different – that he hadn’t grown to be so unreliable, so irresponsible…
And now that I have you, I’m not gonna ever leave you again.
I will not regret any more.
[caress her hair; tears well]
Your mother and I were…
I’d probably regret it if she hadn’t been the one to leave me.
I had no choice – she left. Straight up vanished. And it was sudden and I couldn’t get a hold of her and, it wasn’t ‘till some time later that I found out she had given birth to a beautiful young girl.
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