Taker

by Patrick Wong

  After the president had signed some paperwork and Shona had embraced Nicole in a motherly way, everyone left the president and Nicole alone in the boardroom. They sat at either end, each resuming their normal, real-world role. President at one side, regular teenager at the other.

  “I personally owe you a great debt, which I will never be able to repay,” the president began in his executive tone. “Our country is fighting a war against a silent few. Those who rise up every so often to keep us afraid. Those who threaten our freedom. I could sure use your help. Maximilian Karakov, DuBois — they’re still out there. They mean our way of life a great deal of harm. Will you help us?”

  Nicole looked down at the floor and sighed. In the few moments she’d had to herself, she knew what she wanted. It was so clear.

  “I’m not sure I can.”

  “Nicole, I have seen firsthand the power you have, and I for one will never have your intentions questioned again.” His tone was decisive, reassuring.

  “But, sir. I’m not a fighter like Max. He’s so strong. And fast. I’ve seen the video footage — he can kill 10 people in the time it would take for me to heal one. I’m no match for him.”

  “We could train you.”

  “I can’t … have that. I’m sorry.” She searched the president’s face for some reaction of anger or disapproval, but she found only a questioning expression. He was listening, so Nicole continued. “The thing is, I want what you wanted in the moments before we went up there.” Nicole gestured to the forested room eight floors up. “See, I know how precious normal is now. It’s something I no longer have. It’s cost me my friend Drake, and I may have even lost my best friend over this gift. Now,” she took a deep breath, “I’ve given you back your life. Please give me back mine.”

  “Of course, of course.” The president bowed his head. “But can you really go back? You’re going to attend classes and go to college now. Your name and face have been plastered all over the news. Have you thought about how we might redress that?”

  “I think I need to try.”

  The president rested his chin on his open palm and sighed.

  “OK. I would never knowingly put you in danger against your will, Nicole. We will find another way to fight Max. But for you, I think a return to your old life will be next to impossible.”

  “I’m good at impossible,” Nicole ventured. The president smiled.

  “Nicole, you have a gift. Millions of kids dream of having a superpower, and you would consider walking away from it?”

  Nicole took a moment to consider. “Professor Barnard talked of Balancers who refused their calling. I could do that. When I was locked up, it was the little stuff that got me through. DuBois and the feds kept me far underground, and all I wanted to see was the stars and the sunshine. I wanted to walk with my parents, have fun with my friends, and go to college. When you were laid out on that gurney, was there for one second the notion that you would swap your presidency for the chance to be a normal, healthy man?”

  The president regarded her with an awed silence.

  “You have a wisdom beyond your age, Nicole,” he said finally. “But I stand by my comments. I think we need to consider you for a witness protection program.”

  “Change my identity?”

  “You say you want a normal life? Well, you can have it. It may cost you your friends, but you and your parents could start again. I’m not sure there’s any other way at the moment.”

  “OK. I’ll consider it.”

  “OK, Nicole.” The president stood and held out his hand. Nicole took it. “Oh, and one more thing. Given what we’ve just agreed, chances are we won’t be meeting again, so I have a final parting gift for you.” He nodded to his security detail, who relayed his message to somebody just outside the room.

  Moments later, Bishop entered. He was solemn-faced at first, but before long he shot Nicole an almost indiscernible wink. In his hands were official-looking papers. In bold letters near the top of the first page, Nicole caught sight of the word “Pardon.”

  Did He Just Say the Presidential Suite?

  Nicole was moving through hallways and elevators again. She traversed through four or five already while remaining mostly in silence, and not quite knowing what to expect. The hallways opened up into a lobby staffed with several security guards and administrative-looking people.

  As Nicole and her friends approached the security desk, some of the guards moved their hands toward their holstered guns. But as soon as Agent Bishop waved his badge, they returned to their previous relaxed posture.

  Passing through the lobby and two sets of imposing double doors, Nicole realized she was not in an office building as she had assumed. Rather, she found herself in a busy commercial kitchen large enough to prepare food for an enormous banquet.

  Jason gave Nicole a puzzled look. She shrugged her shoulders and squeezed his hand.

  The aroma of delicious food hit her senses almost immediately, and the focused activity of the chefs bustled all around them. Ben barely missed being knocked down by one chef wielding a large platter of braised pigs’ feet. Elsewhere, kitchen staff executed orders with clangs and clatters, and “Yes, Chef!” reverberating through the high-ceilinged room.

  Knowing she was just hours away from total freedom, Nicole could soak in and savor the moment in the midst of all the energy fizzing about. Bishop led them through the kitchens and then through a restaurant, and they eventually arrived in a magnificent marble lobby with vaulted ceilings and balconies surrounding the center. Piano music tinkled from the corner, drowning out the clatter of plates and other activity.

  “It’s a hotel? PRESS has its secret offices below a five-star luxury resort?” Amy remarked, aghast at the opulence surrounding her.

  “Correction: This resort has a nuclear and chemical bunker that houses — among other things — PRESS secret operations,” Ben responded. “Saw it on a forum. Didn’t think it’d be true. Myth confirmed.”

  Bishop nodded. “Correct. Welcome to the Bluegrove Resort. As you saw, the bunker downstairs is large enough to hold a functioning government in times of emergency, such as a nuclear or biological attack. Most of the guests have no idea it even exists. And, if you don’t want bad things to happen to you again, let’s keep it quiet, OK?”

  “OK.”

  “Got it.”

  “No problem.”

  Amy had to prod Ben to make sure he understood. “Ben? Got it? Keep it secret, OK?”

  “Right. Got it. This is fantastic. The only thing that might alert people would be those guys.”

  Ben indicated to the distinctive gray uniforms and hats of the State Police. Now that he’d mentioned it, police seemed to be everywhere — standing inconspicuously, yet primed. And for a resort, there did seem to be a large number of men in suits sporting dark sunglasses indoors.

  “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on here,” Amy chimed in.

  “Well, any luxury D.C. hotel may have the same odd mix of characters. It could be foreign dignitaries, government officials or even Hollywood celebrities,” Bishop explained. “I’ve actually seen rappers here whose entourages had enough hidden firepower to rival the president’s.”

  Bishop held out his hand and began to read from a sheet of paper. “Now, at the pleasure of the president, the presidential suite is booked for you.” Bishop paused as he glanced at the official Oval Office memo. “In his words, ‘Order whatever you like, go mad and don’t scratch the mahogany. This one’s on POTUS.’” He cleared his throat then, as though from the distaste of having issued such a directive. “Nicole, your parents requested for you to check in with them.”

  “Sure.”

  “My colleagues will be returning you all home later this evening, so make the most of it.” He handed the door keycard to Nicole and, with a brief smile, headed back to the kitchens.

  “Did he just say the presidential suite?” Jason piped in.

  “Lead the way,” Nicole gestured.<
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  Amy and Ben followed Jason, and Nicole lingered behind them as they mounted the grand central staircase.

  Nicole dialed on Ben’s cell phone, zoning out from her friends’ chatter. Her dad answered.

  “Mouse?”

  “Hey, Dad.” Nicole felt a smile rise to her cheeks. She had never been so pleased to hear his voice.

  “It’s so good to hear you. How you holding up?”

  “Oh, you know. They keep trying to kill me. But I’m still standing.”

  “So I’ve heard. Your mom and I just spoke to the president. You’ve got to give me the detailed version later.”

  Nicole thought she caught a lilt of excitement in her dad’s voice. “You sound like you’re a little star-struck,” she joked.

  “No. I’m just pleased you’re OK. For a while there …” He sounded choked up again. “Anyway, he told me about your conversation. About the witness protection program.”

  “I’m not sure about it.” The words raced out of Nicole’s mouth.

  “You, your mom and I will talk about it when you’re safe at home with us, OK? Oh, your mom wants a word.”

  “Nicole?”

  “Hey, mom.”

  “Are they treating you all right?”

  Nicole surveyed the impressive marble pillars, high-vaulted domed ceiling, and deep, rich red rugs alongside antique vases stocked with fresh flowers.

  “Yeah, it’s not so bad.”

  “I can’t wait to see you.”

  “Me, too,” Nicole replied, feeling a little embarrassed. “Mom, I gotta go. I’ll see you.”

  “I love you.”

  “You too.”

  Nicole hung up and caught up with the rest of the group.

  “So, it turns out the presidential suite has its own elevator.” Ben pressed the button, and the friends hustled in.

  An hour later, four silver-domed platters lay discarded on the floor as the friends finished eating around the impressive mahogany dining table. It was incongruent for them all to be there, amongst all that splendor, especially for Nicole. She wondered whether she’d ever be able to forget how it felt being locked up in that bio-glass cage.

  Nicole noticed that Amy had just picked at her steak, and half of it was left on the plate. This seemed a world away from the girl for whom shoes came a close second to food. Then Nicole recalled Amy’s updated list of desires — Drake, shoes, then food.

  Jason picked up on Nicole’s concern for her friend.

  “Ben, can you help me work out how to get the flat-screen TV to come out. I think it’s behind that painting.” Jason pointed at the huge landscape gracing the wall.

  “There are some instructions on the corner cabinet. It’s just a standard fixed flip mounting,” Ben replied, not getting the hint.

  Under the table, he felt a small prod from a foot. Realizing it was from Nicole, he looked up and saw she was miming the direction he should be heading in with her eyes.

  “Sure.” Ben got up almost immediately and followed Jason to the sitting room area.

  “Subtle,” Amy remarked, spearing a green bean and chewing on it.

  “I know. I wanted to talk to you. This is the first chance we’ve had.”

  “Mm-hm.” Amy emitted her mumble without looking up.

  Nicole sighed. “So, I guess I just wanted to say … I’m sorry about what happened to Drake. I really tried.”

  “I know,” Amy replied.

  “Agent Bishop thought it might have been something to do with the gas canister. That’s why I couldn’t do it.”

  Amy shook her head then, in part unable to stand talking about it. “I don’t know if this is the time to talk about it, Nix,” she sighed.

  “OK.” Nicole nodded. “But I wanted you to know, I wish … I wish I could have saved him.”

  “Yeah. So do I,” Amy replied softly.

  They sat there in silence, but it was different from the companionable kind they were used to. This one spoke of tension, iciness. Words unsaid. Feeling the weight of it too, Amy set her fork down on her plate and reached out for Nicole’s hand.

  Nicole let in a short, stabbing breath. She’d had no idea until that moment just how isolated she’d felt from Amy since arriving back from her imprisonment. She clutched at her friend’s hand.

  “Thing is, Nicole, you’re my girl,” Amy stammered, her head bowed. A teardrop released from her eyelash and splashed onto the mahogany below. “You’ll always be that. But Drake … Geez, Nicole, the way he died, it was … I can’t get it out of my head.”

  “I understand.”

  “No, Nicole. I’m sorry, but you don’t.” Amy looked at her now with what amounted to a hard stare. “We loved each other,” she continued. “We were good, you know? You were in danger, and I watched your back, and he watched mine. Except …”

  Nicole nodded, steeling herself for what might come next.

  Amy gave a little squeeze of her hand. “Except now, with Drake gone, I’ve got nobody watching out for me.”

  “I get it.” Nicole felt the tears surge up to her eyes.

  “You’re still my girl. And this is all still so new. And God knows what they put you through in DuBois’ lab. And that box …” Amy became choked up. “I will never be able to thank you enough for saving my life. I’m alive because of you. Again. But … I’m also now alone because of you.”

  There it was — the truth that Nicole had known in her heart.

  “I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to come to terms with that,” Amy pressed on. “So, while I’d love to be the old Amy, I just … I just can’t. It feels wrong. Like I’d be disrespecting Drake.”

  Nicole smiled and squeezed her hand.

  From the other end of the room, Ben let out a squeal, and a motorized whirring sound could be heard above the fireplace.

  Nicole turned to see the entire wall revolving to reveal a 96-inch, curved OLED TV. Ben’s eyes seemed to be popping out of their sockets, and he screamed again with delight. Jason turned around, grinning at Nicole and applauding at the spectacle. Ben immediately fell in love with the remote — a tiny, palm-sized device, one side of it was a touch-screen display, and the other side was brushed aluminum that sensed motion. Ben flipped through several different menus on the TV. “The president has access to just about every movie ever made. Just pick anything. How about The Avengers?”

  Jason raised his hands like Loki from the movie. “I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious knowledge.”

  Nicole and Ben cracked up. Jason’s Loki impersonation was spot-on.

  “‘Knowledge’? Really?” Ben asked.

  “Just roll with it. Nobody’s perfect,” Nicole responded.

  Amy, still not feeling able to put the sad memories behind her and enjoy herself, let herself outside.

  I Thought I Heard Something

  Minutes later, Amy heard the balcony door slide open. She didn’t look around, but instead kept her eyes fixed on the stars above the magnificent grounds leading up to the resort. There was a gentle breeze that night, and there was something purifying about it. She could be alone out here and yet not feel lonely.

  Ben emerged from the sitting room and slid the glass door closed behind him.

  “I come bearing brownies,” he announced, and he set down two bowls on the metal table.

  “Thanks,” Amy replied, taking a bowl.

  “OK if I sit out here?” he asked.

  “Assertive and confident. It’s new for you, but I like it, Ben,” Amy joked. For a moment, he could see a flash of the old, sassy, fun-loving Amy, but it disappeared rather quickly, replaced with sadness again. “Go ahead.”

  Amy took a bite of the dessert. It was as comforting as it could be right now. “Not watching the movie?”

  Ben sat down, stuffed in a large mouthful of sweet chocolate confection, and shook his head. “I left them to it.”

  “Things getting a little hot and heavy in there?”

  Ben sighed and shrugged. N
o worse than you and Drake, he could have said, but that comment wouldn’t be the best at the moment.

  Amy smiled. “It’s OK. Why do you think I’m out here?”

  “I figured you wanted to be alone.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s only so much of the Nicole and Jason show I can take right now.”

  “Understood.” Ben nodded. “You and Nicole good?”

  “We’re good,” Amy said, keeping the food momentum going by attacking the next bite of brownie. “But we just had to say some things.”

  “You’re still angry with her?”

  “No. Not really. I know Nicole didn’t do anything wrong. And I shouldn’t blame her, but I can’t stop myself. I just want all this strangeness to stop. I want to get back home, hug my mom, torment Troy and walk our dog. I want to go back to school and do my lessons and try … try to work out what to do with all this stuff inside my head. I don’t imagine it will go away anytime soon. I’m a serious candidate for some therapy.”

  “No,” Ben replied. He accidentally banged down his half-finished bowl.

  Amy jumped.

  “Sorry,” Ben responded.

  But Amy was sitting forward. The noise she’d heard hadn’t come from the impact of crockery on the glass tabletop.

  “I thought I heard something.”

  “Which direction?” Ben scanned the grounds. It was dark outside, and the tall trees surrounding Bluegrove were casting mischievous shadows on the night lawn.

  “There.”

  Amy pointed, and then Ben saw them.

  It was a lone figure, and behind him were six larger, beefed-up men. Max’s mercenaries.

  “It’s him,” Ben said, almost as a whimper. Fear glued him to the ground. Gunshots were becoming more audible.

  Max was here, and by the looks of it, the Secret Service agents hired to protect the president on the resort grounds were about to suffer the same fate as those who had gone before them at the hospital.

  Amy jumped up, and the metal chair fell away from her with a clang. She burst through the double doors and interrupted Nicole and Jason mid-kiss. Surprised, Nicole sat up and smoothed down her ruffled hair.