Red and Black

by Nancy O'Toole Meservier

  “Just wanted to keep you on your toes, old man.”

  I frowned; the voice was familiar, but the camera wasn’t picking it up in full, so I couldn’t quite —

  “What the fuck?”

  I jumped as Dana spoke aloud. I had half-forgotten that he was even here. His eyes were glued to the screen.

  I looked back to the computer and had to stifle a curse myself as none other than Dana Peterson walked onto the screen.

  Like Arthur Hamilton, this was a younger version of Dana, maybe even college age. He was thinner, his brown hair just long enough to fall into his eyes in a very Matt-Smith-Eleventh-Doctor style. He wore a leather jacket over a white oxford shirt and jeans, with black-and-white Chucks on his feet. His face was set in a toothy grin that made my skin crawl.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve invited Callie Saunders to this meeting,” he began. “Didn’t see the point in—”

  “What the fuck are you trying to pull?”

  I turned my attention back to present-day Dana, who glared up at me. I blinked in confusion.

  “Trying to pull—”

  Dana jumped to his feet, sending the chair crashing to the floor behind him.

  “Obviously, bringing in some weird tape with my twenty-two-year-old self on it,” he said, voice rising. “At a meeting I never attended.”

  “Are you saying you don’t remember—”

  “Of course I don’t remember this! I’ve told you. I’ve never met Arthur Hamilton. This…this has to be altered in some way.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “You were supposed to bring me answers. Figure out a way to keep these assholes from trying to snatch me off the street at night. I thought you were one of the good guys.”

  “I am,” I said, caught off guard by his rage.

  “Then why are you messing with me like this?”

  “I’m not! But someone else clearly has.”

  Dana’s words died on his lips. I caught something very much like fear rise in his eyes as my words began to sink in.

  “Just think,” I said. “This makes sense. I suspected that some sort of mind control was at play. And now we hear that this Amity Graves can erase memories? You may not remember this meeting for a reason!”

  “What about the fact that Hamilton seems to think that I know how to manufacture Empowered people? I don’t know anything about that.”

  “But you see,” I said, taking a step forward, “if Amity altered your memories, you wouldn’t remember—”

  “Getting involved in some shadowy deal to manufacture Empowered people? I mean, I was kind of a dick pre-Bonnie, and I’ll own up to that, but Christ…this Hamilton guy seems like he’s afraid of me. It’s one thing to forget doing something but that’s…” He paused, turning around and pointing at the computer. “That’s not me.”

  And with that, he spun back to the computer and pressed a key on the tower. The disc popped out, causing the video feed to cut off. Dana grabbed the disc and spun toward me.

  “You take it,” he said, cutting off my protests. “Motherfucking just…take it all away. No more freaky videos, or kidnapping attempts, or this Mistress, or…chatty Costumes with super strength. I’m done.”

  I shook my head. Dana wasn’t being fair. He wasn’t even being logical. If I could just stop him from being so angry. From being so…

  Scared.

  Dana wasn’t angry, not really. He was terrified. And could I blame him? Weeks ago, he had been snatched off the street by strangers, beaten, and almost kidnapped. And days ago, it had happened again. Dana just wanted answers, answers that the police weren’t giving him, answers that he hoped to find through me. Unfortunately, the answers that did exist were ones that regular-guy Dana couldn’t process. So rather than deal with them, he was lashing out.

  Better to take the disc and figure out the rest of this mystery on my own.

  “I’m sorry I upset you,” I said, reaching for the disc.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Dana replied.

  He turned back to the dual screens. He rested his hands on his desk, hunching his shoulders in place.

  “Thank you for your help tonight,” I said.

  And with that, I left. As I stood outside of Dana’s run-down apartment building, I couldn’t help but give one last glance at the disc in my hand. The sharpie letters, “D.P.,” stood out more starkly than they had before.

  Answers. I held answers in my hand. Answers that would hopefully help me untangle what was really going on in Bailey City.

  And show me how to act.

  16

  Dawn

  I tripped over a stack of unread comics and textbooks as I made my way to my desk. I was still costumed up, the disc clutched in my right hand. From my bed, a sleepy Lockheed looked up and blinked in confusion at my…atypical choice of dress. I sighed. Looks like it was best to change back. Sure, it was after midnight and the streets were pretty quiet, but windows were still windows, after all. I closed my eyes and transformed, shedding my mask and cape for dull, boring Dawn. I opened them again just in time to see Lockheed stretched out in the classic Halloween cat pose. He jumped off the bed with a light grunt.

  My laptop didn’t have a disc drive, so I spent five minutes searching through a box of my brother’s old computer parts for an external one. My prize in hand, I sat down at my desk and woke up my laptop. After slapping the disk inside, a folder popped up on my screen, containing about a half a dozen video files. They were helpfully dated, making my path nice and clear. Sending up a mental thank-you to the organized lawyer, I clicked on the first one, and the same video from Dana’s place came up. I dragged the progress bar forward until the video looked to be close to where we had left off.

  “Merow,” Lockheed said impatiently from my feet.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said, backing up and giving him room to jump on my lap.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve invited Callie Saunders to this meeting,” young Dana Peterson’s voice carried over the speakers. “Didn’t see the point in putting it off any longer than I needed to.”

  Dana carried himself with an air of absolute confidence. He leaned back slightly, his lips twisted into a smug smile, hands casually tucked into his jacket pockets. I thought back on my few encounters with Dana. The guy sure as hell wasn’t shy, but there was a difference between outspoken and cocky, and the younger version of himself had the latter coming off him in waves.

  “Kind of a dick,” he had described himself. Was that what I was about to see?

  “You’ve invited Miss Saunders?” Mr. Hamilton said. “But I still haven’t agreed —”

  “Yeah. Yeah, you have.” Dana spoke over him. “I heard what you said before. Protection for Bailey City. For our…families.”

  I shivered slightly at the slow, deliberate way he said the word “families.” Before I could linger over that, Arthur Hamilton was speaking again.

  “Be that as it may, there is still so much about this procedure of yours, this Transference, that I have questions about.”

  “Not much to understand.” Dana walked over to the bookshelf, stepping out of frame.

  “Well, you’ve spoken about needing an isolated place?”

  “Can’t have any interruptions. It’s delicate work, after all.”

  “Which is why I’m concerned. How safe is this…really?”

  On the screen, Dana walked back into view as he drew closer to the camera. His gaze swept across the shelves, moving closer and closer to me…

  A sharp knock could be heard in the background.

  “Looks like she showed up early too,” Dana said, turning away. “Quite the eager beaver.”

  Dana walked off-screen and to the front door. As he did, Mr. Hamilton cast a glance toward the camera. He hesitated, then strode purposefully toward it, reaching up for the device once more. Scratching noises could be heard over the speakers.

  “Mr. Hamilton, it’s so nice to meet you.”

  “Ah! Miss Saunders.�
��

  Mr. Hamilton spun from the camera, his large frame now blocking the lens. I found myself craning my neck as he stumbled over his greeting. Eventually, he stepped to the side, and I saw her.

  And as cliché as it sounds, I gasped.

  She seemed to be around my age. Her long, golden hair was a mass of soft curls that looked effortless but probably took a good forty-five minutes with a curling iron to pull off. She wore a pale-green button-up and gray dress pants, like she was going in for a job interview. She gave a radiant smile.

  The expression couldn’t have been any different, but there was no denying the resemblance. This was the woman from the unfinished Hunter Davies cover, the sad figure who finished off the trio otherwise made up of Faultline and myself. Callie Saunders was the mystery woman!

  Well, at least she had been ten years ago.

  Who was she now?

  “Mr. Hamilton, I hope it’s okay that I’m here. Dana said it was fine, but I know you must be so —”

  “It’s fine.” The lawyer waved his right hand. “I wanted to meet you anyway. Why don’t you take a seat?”

  The three moved to the desk area of the office. Unfortunately, this also placed them off-camera. I frowned.

  “I would normally offer you tea or coffee, but my secretary is out for the day, and working that machine is a bit outside my expertise,” Mr. Hamilton said.

  “What type of machine is it?” Callie asked. “I mean…I’m okay, but if either of you want any…I’m sure I could figure it out, if it’s anything like Mr. Kent’s.”

  “I’m fine,” Mr. Hamilton replied, not without warmth. “How is Edison’s campaign going?”

  “Oh, it’s still too early. Anyone’s ballgame, really.”

  “Sounds like something Edison would say.” The lawyer chuckled. “I see you found the office okay?”

  “I was a little confused at first,” Callie replied. “I mean, I’ve never been anywhere but the observation deck. One of the security guards had to show me the way.” She let out a light, almost musical laugh. “I was so nervous about being late, I think I showed up too early. I hope that’s okay.”

  “That’s perfectly fine. Your enthusiasm is appreciated.”

  “Well, it’s just…exciting you know,” she said. “Getting a chance to protect this city. I couldn’t wait.”

  “Yes…about that. How much has Dana filled you in on the actual Transference?”

  “Well.” There was a slight pause. “Dana explained that he knows a man who has enhanced powers of persuasion, but can’t use them, as he’s in a coma. The objective is to transfer his powers over to me.” Callie hesitated. “I must admit, it seems…wrong to take away a part of him like that, even for the greater good.”

  “His doctors say there’s no chance of him ever waking up, poor guy,” Dana said with an exaggerated sigh of regret. “His family just can’t let go. And those powers aren’t helping Bailey City locked in a corpse, after all.”

  He paused to laugh, and I frowned. His reaction to a family’s grief felt inappropriate.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want, dear?” Mr. Hamilton asked, his voice suddenly soft.

  “Oh, Callie’s the perfect candidate,” Dana jumped in. “Salutatorian of her high school class, graduated with top marks at Bailey U. Already involved in making her community a better place.”

  “That’s not what I asked…”

  I watched as Dana continued to chat over Callie’s supposed qualifications (including, weirdly enough, a “solid pedigree.” That sounded more like some sort of dog show.). In response, I reached forward and pressed the pause button.

  Because something about this just…didn’t seem right.

  Sure in a way, it filled in a lot of holes. People were being kidnapped by a strange woman referred to as “the Mistress,” a woman whom I suspected was in possession of some sort of mind control. Now, I was being presented with a woman who highly resembled the same person on the Hunter Davies cover, and could have “enhanced powers of persuasion.” That sounded like mind control to me.

  Only…this video was ten years old. And despite Mr. Hamilton’s clear goals to “protect the city,” Bailey City had never had an Actual. In fact, as someone who knew quite a bit (okay, an embarrassing amount) about Actuals, I couldn’t think of a single one who matched her description and power set.

  And why the hell would she be attempting to kidnap the two men responsible for giving her powers in the first place?

  The answer was simple. Something must have gone wrong ten years ago.

  With a sigh, I grabbed an old notebook and pen from my desk. With one hand, I prepared to write. With the other, I reached down to stroke Lockheed, who began purring at the thought of the oodles of pets he was about to receive.

  “Might as well get comfy, little guy,” I murmured.

  I wasn’t going to be moving for a while.

  I pressed play.

  Sunlight streamed in the widows behind me, causing a glare on the laptop screen as the final Arthur Hamilton video played for what must have been the, what…fourth time? It was all starting to run together.

  I reached back and yawned, glancing at the bed next to me. Lockheed was curled up among the blankets. After about an hour, he had determined that someone was going to get a good night’s sleep, and seeing as I wasn’t using the damn thing, it might as well be him.

  I winced at the stiffness in my back. Not much of a shock, given that I had been sitting in a wooden chair for hours. Maybe I should have moved to the bed. Of course, I probably would have fallen asleep there. But as I had class in, oh…about two hours, that wouldn’t have been a bad call.

  I paused, looking down at the pages of notes in front of me, lingering over circled words like “Transference” and “pedigree.” And at the top of the paper, five names had been listed and underlined.

  Mr. Hamilton was, if anything, a thorough note-taker. By the second video, he revealed that the coma’d-up guy went by the name of Bruce Martin, and that he was a patient at Bailey General. Given that kidnapping people who required medical attention was kind of complicated, Mr. Hamilton had reached out to two people he knew well: Johanna St. Pierre, who ran Bailey General and could secure Mr. Martin’s release, and Dr. Sylvie Bouchard, who could take care of him before and after Dana’s “Transference.” Edison Kent —who had been the mayor of Bailey City at the time—was also eager to use his influence to help.

  Dana continued to be cagey about the actual details of the Transference, which didn’t sit well with Arthur Hamilton. It was clear, from his demeanor in the videos to the carefully organized state of his house, that this was a guy who liked to be in control of a situation. And Dana wasn’t big on being controlled. Mr. Hamilton was scared, and, well…he hadn’t been the only one back then. Sure, at age ten, E-Day had been crazy exciting for me, but most people looked at Empowered people and saw dangerous weapons. Silver Shot and Golden Strike were model citizens, but there were Empowered villains as well as heroes. And then you had comic books, which, over several decades, had done a great job of laying out potential extinction-level events. What were once seen as narrative dramas were now potential predictions of the future.

  No wonder Mr. Hamilton had seemed anxious.

  Dana Peterson, Arthur Hamilton, Johanna St. Pierre, Edison Kent, and Sylvie Bouchard met a few times, usually without Callie Saunders. Unfortunately, the closer they got to their goal, the more…complicated things became. Everyone wanted something in return for their assistance. Ms. St. Pierre wanted Callie to use her abilities to gain greater funding for her hospital. Dr. Bouchard wanted her research—which was deemed “too risky” by her employers at SynergyCorp—to be approved. And Mayor Kent wanted his floundering political career to be righted. With every step of the way, this supposed quest to “protect the city” became more and more about helping the people involved.

  A problem that Mr. Hamilton was all too aware of.

  “The sad thing,” Mr. Hamilton had s
aid in his last video diary, “is, were I a younger man, I would have been asking the same thing: what’s in it for me? These powers will eventually make it into Bailey City, after all. Why shouldn’t I be one of the ones to reap the benefits?”

  And then, mere days before the Transference was to take place, the videos just stopped.

  The first time I realized this, I had been…well, upset was kind of an understatement. It was sometime between two and three a.m., and the lack of sleep was starting to get to me. I had nearly thrown the disc out the window in disgust. There was so much that I still didn’t know. What had happened during the Transference? Had this Amity Graves, with her strange mind-wiping powers, gotten to everyone involved? And how did this impact what was going on now?

  After ranting and swearing for a minute, I turned my attention to one question that I hoped at least Google could confirm.

  Who was Callie Saunders?

  After some searching, I found out that her name was actually Calliope Saunders, Callie being a nickname. Remembering that Dana had named her as salutatorian of her high school class, I managed to come across an old article about her graduation ceremony. I found out from there that she had grown up in Gainsborough, a small town up north, before being accepted at Bailey U. The article listed her age as seventeen, so she had probably been twenty-one around the time the videos had been recorded. She, like everyone really, had left a trail behind on the internet. As far as social media went, all I could find was a Myspace page, and its use had been pretty minimal (was Facebook even a thing back then?). At Bailey U, she had been mentioned in old listings for events put on by the Young Republicans, which explained how she had gotten connected to the former mayor’s campaign.

  And then, right around the time the videos had been recorded, her trail disappeared.

  It was as if she had fallen off the face of the earth, and no one had cared. Could that actually happen? Especially to a young, smart, beautiful, white girl like Callie Saunders? It certainly didn’t match up with my own disappearance. But the further I looked into Callie’s story, the more I realized how different our situations had been.