by Unknown
“Thank you for telling me.”
She leaned forward then, and our lips pressed together, so soft.
When she pulled away, I asked, “So why tell me now? Why tonight?”
She laid down on her back with her head on my lap and gazed up at me. I ran my fingers through her brown silky hair.
“Well, Guy’s coming around more often now. They’re happy together. But him being there, the nighttime noises…it’s bringing back memories. I haven’t been able to sleep.”
“You have to sleep sometime.” She rolled onto her side and let me cover her with my coat. I gently rubbed her back, and eventually, she slept.
When she stirred, my eyes fluttered open. My left shoulder blade felt tense, the conse-quence of sleeping in an upright position. I tried to rub it away but couldn’t quite reach. I stood and rolled my shoulder, trying to work it out that way.
“May I?” Aimee asked.
I nodded.
She took my hand and led me over to a chair. I sat. Pressing with her thumbs, soft at first but then harder, she worked the muscle. I began to relax and took a few deep breaths.
“Better?”
“Yes, much. Thank you. What time is it?”
Aimee pointed to an ornate wall clock.
“Is it really that late? I have to go. Shall I drive you home?”
“No.” She indicated the small bag she’d brought along. “I’ll stay. Thank you.”
I had just turned the key in the ignition when I heard a tap, tap, tap. I jumped and turned to see Keira. I rolled down the window and smiled.
“Good morning!”
“Good morning yourself,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Look, either trust me or don’t. I can’t take this bouncing back and forth anymore.”
She stepped back as if I’d slapped her. “I do.”
“I have to go.” Keira shrank in the rear view mirror as I drove away.
Two men in black business suits stood waiting outside my front door. They visibly tensed when I reached into my front pocket. I slowly pulled out my keys and held them up.
“Just let me get dressed. I’ll be right back.”
-Hisoka-
Trial
I was on my way to session when my presence was requested in the main chambers.
Why, no one would say, and I knew better than to ask. I looked around the room. Eight ministers sat in comfy high backed leather chairs. They typed on keypads and watched small vidscreens embedded in the oblong wooden table in front of them. Nobody spoke. I sat for a long time, waiting. Finally, I took out my transceiver and checked the time, nearly 10:00.
I’d miss all of session today if we didn’t get started soon. Prime Minister Armstrong noticed my concern.
He pushed a button. “Please notify the other lawmakers, Mr. Watanabe will not be joining them this morning.”
One chair remained empty until Minister Brackaby arrived. “They’ve got him,” he announced, “and he’s coming willingly.”
“Good. Then let’s get started.” The Prime Minister looked directly at me. “This conversation will be recorded.”
I nodded my assent, a binding agreement in these chambers. He pushed another button, and I glanced at the vid’recorder that hung from the ceiling. This was a trial, but who was the accused? Was I on trial, or was I a witness? And what was the charge?
The minister on my left spoke first. “Mr. Hisoka Watanabe, you know both Kendra James and Aimee LaFleur. Please explain your relationship with these two women.”
“Of course.”
I chose my next words carefully. The ministers had ordered me to investigate Kendra and Aimee, but I couldn’t say that. To do so would implicate the Gov, and that would never be allowed.
“I’ve been spending time with Aimee LaFleur. We’ve…um…been seeing each other. In passing, I’ve become somewhat familiar with her roommate, Kendra James.”
“What do you know about them?” another minister asked.
“Well, they appeared in the spotlight, seemingly out of nowhere, and even though their backgrounds checked out…”
“You did a background check on a girl you were dating? Why?”
The ministers continued to fire off questions, sometimes letting me finish a thought, sometimes not.
“Just to be careful. In my line of work, it seemed prudent.”
“And what is it you do, Mr. Watanabe?”
“I’m a lawman.”
“Why such care?” One minister pressed for more information.
“Well, we all know the Resistance is just an urban legend, but even such unlikely stories could provide the perfect opportunity for someone to try and step into such a role. These women were new to our community. I just wanted to be careful.”
The men around the table nodded.
“What did your background check uncover?”
“Aimee LaFleur has been running a new art gallery in town called Art Fantastique, an extension of the Art Fantastique gallery in Mediterra owned by Ms. Danielle Bellami.”
“Do you believe she is who she claims to be?”
“I do. I’m an artist myself. It’s a hobby I pursue with a passion. I believe Miss LaFleur shares that same passion and is here simply as an entrepreneur.”
“What is your proof?”
“The Art Institute of Parisio has her listed as as a recent graduate. She also has a natural talent and an artist’s eye, and her diploma is in a frame in her office.”
“Have you found any evidence to support her claim that she is of Mediterran descent?”
“Most of her overseas records are tightly sealed, but that’s not unusual. She speaks the language and reverts to it when she’s angry.”
“Which means she has spent some time overseas, not that she is of Mediterran descent.”
“Yes, sir, but…”
“What is it, Mr. Watanabe?”
“Mediterrans aren’t known for letting strangers move in or run their businesses overseas.”
“Not usually, no.” The Prime Minister thoughtfully rubbed his chin.
The ministers typed frantically. After a time, the questioning resumed. “What have you learned about Miss Kendra James?”
“She’s from Vanover. Her parents are recently deceased. I questioned her honesty for a time but am now convinced she is who she claims to be.”
“Why?”
“Well, her birth certificate is on file in Vanover, but primarily because of her reactions to me. She demonstrated strong emotion when I pushed into her background, especially regarding the recent death of her parents. She doesn’t appear to be acting.”
Prime Minister Armstrong watched his vidscreen as another minister typed a message from the other end of the table. “Have you been able to attain any physical evidence that we could test in our laboratories? Any blood samples or hair, tears perhaps?”
“No, sir. I thought I was only to do that if I suspected something.” No doubt, my last statement would be stricken from the record.
“Sirs? He’s here.” A woman’s voice announced through a speaker in the wall.
The Prime Minister hit a button, and the red light on the vid’recorder turned off.
The door swung open. All heads swiveled to look as Brody Delaney entered.
“Welcome, Mr. Delaney. Please take a seat,” the Prime Minister said.
Prime Minister Armstrong turned and looked at me. With a wave of his hand, he indicated that I should move to one of the observation chairs nearest the windows. My portion of the trial was over, but I wasn’t to leave. Delaney avoided my gaze.
The Prime Minister began with the same opening he had used with me. “This conversation will be recorded.”
Delaney nodded his assent. Does he realize this is a trial?
Prime Minister Armstrong pushed a button, and the vid’recorder’s light turned on.
“Mr. Brody Delaney, where were you last night?”
“I was at home. I
went to bed around 10:00.”
“You stayed there all night?”
“No, I woke up shortly after 2:00.”
“You woke up?”
“Yes, shortly after 2:00.”
Is he toying with them?
“What happened at 2:00?”
“I received a call, and I left.”
I caught his eye and shook my head. He glared at me. Tell them! I pleaded with my eyes, but he either didn’t understand or didn’t care. Just tell them. They wouldn’t have brought you in unless they already knew something.
“And where exactly did you go, Mr. Delaney?”
“Oh, I drove around.”
“You were at Art Fantastique last night, isn’t that right?”
He was where? I leaned forward in anticipation.
Brody smiled. “You’re speculating. You have no idea where I was.”
Prime Minister Armstrong did not return his smile. “Aimee LaFleur, otherwise known as April Maddock, certainly had a lot to tell you, Mr. Delaney.”
The color drained from Brody’s face, and I shrank back in my seat. Aimee really was April? April was Aimee. She was wanted for murder. Had I been wrong about Kendra too?
Was she really Keira, wanted not only for murder, but also for the destruction of Ramsey Corps? But she couldn’t have done that, not alone.
No, not alone. Kendra was part of the Resistance. The Resistance had brought down Ramsey Corps. It made sense, all except…why had they murdered a man? Was that for the Resistance too? Lance Beckett had no ties to Ramsey Corps.
The Prime Minister pushed yet another button. The lights dimmed and a time stamp appeared directly on the white wall, 3:00 A.M. I recognized the back room of Art Fantastique. The ministers turned to watch. Aimee’s voice was loud and clear, thanks to the bugs I’d planted.
“My name is April Maddock…”
I fought down nausea. Now was not the time to lose it.
She poured out her heart while I studied Brody carefully. Why had she chosen him? I liked her, loved her even, yet it was I who had betrayed her.
Her voice, torn and ragged, continued on. “He’d raped me and beaten me so many times by then. I don’t know why, but I could never stop him.” She took a deep breath. “That morning Keira rescued me. We were leaving, I was finally going to be free. But then he grabbed her by the neck, and I just snapped. I couldn’t let him hurt her too. It had to stop.”
Aimee cried. Her face was red, and her shoulders shook. “We killed him, Brody. Both of us together. We stopped him for good, and then the Resistance helped me escape. I’ve never thanked you for that.”
She was silent for a good five minutes. How had Brody helped? Had they known each other before she fled?
She said, “I hid in Parisio for a year and learned about art.”
All this time I’d been searching for April and Keira, and they’d been right in front of me. The Beckett murder had given Parliament good reason for the wanted posters. The lawmakers had discussed it in great detail. Working Class girls couldn’t be allowed to murder the Elite and get away with it. They had crossed a line, and I had pushed for justice along with the rest of them.
I continued to listen to Aimee’s story. She’d survived the injection? I looked around the room. No one else seemed surprised by this revelation. Then she told of a baby, a little girl, left behind in Parisio where she would be safe.
Certain decisions had been authorized by the current administration that I didn’t agree with. That’s why I’d joined the Resistance. The ministers and lawmen knew it wasn’t a legend, although they tried to convince the public it was. But now I realized for the first time, the Resistance was protecting citizens from us. If only she’d trusted me. I looked at Brody with newfound respect. But she doesn’t, she trusts him.
“Lawmaker Hisoka Watanabe.”
I stood. Everyone turned toward me as the lights came up. Prime Minister Armstrong addressed the vid’recorder.
“You have been tried for aiding and abetting an enemy of the realm. You have been found not guilty of this charge.”
I nodded once and sat down.
“Mr. Brody Delaney,” he continued, still looking at the vid’recorder. He paused and gestured for Brody to stand.
Everyone looked at Delaney.
“You have been tried for aiding and abetting an enemy of the realm. You have been found guilty of conspiring with April Maddock, a Working Class citizen wanted for murder.
You will be held in custody until 4:00, two days hence, when you will be brought forward for sentencing.”
The Prime Minister walked over to the doors and opened them. Armed guards waited to escort the prisoner. Brody walked up to them with his head held high.
The Prime Minister Armstrong said, “Send guards to escort April and Keira Maddock to the Justice Center. They can be found at Art Fantastique.” He looked around the room with a smirk. “We’ve finally got them, and once they’re in custody, Sgt. Maddock, the boy and the baby won’t be far behind.”
-Keira-
On the Run
My transceiver trilled like a grey treefrog while I waited in line at the deli. A few people turned and smiled at the sound. Aimee had been busy talking with a customer when I’d left the gallery. I turned on the vidscreen and winked at Guy. “You miss me already?”
“Run, NOW!” The people who had been snickering now stared. I ignored them and heeded Guy’s advice. Running in heels was anything but easy, yet I made it back to Art Fantastique in record time. The shop was empty. I locked the door behind me, flipped the sign to read SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED and turned off the lights just as Aimee entered from the back room.
“What are you…”
I held my index finger to my mouth and shook my head. She froze. I grabbed her purse and coat and practically threw them at her before moving to the back door. I cracked it open and saw no one. I waved my hand, and Aimee followed me. The door locked shut behind us.
“Keira, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why are we running?”
“I don’t know!” I snapped. “Keep moving.”
We stayed off the street, keeping to back alleys. A few blocks later, I pulled Aimee into a crouch beside a large red trash bin and reached into my purse for my transceiver. I turned on the vidscreen so Aimee could participate in the conversation too.
“Keira? You okay?” Guy said.
“For now. What’s going on?”
“Give us a minute.” He sounded out of breath. Legs, cars, arms and purses sped past.
“This way,” Eberhardt said.
“Why aren’t they using his car?” Aimee asked.
We watched as Guy and Eberhardt crouched in a shadowy back alley of their own. Then Guy’s face filled the tiny screen.
“Brody’s been charged. He’s being held at the Justice Center. Sentencing is scheduled for 4:00, the day after tomorrow.”
Aimee gasped.
“The ministry has sent guards to escort both of you back for trial. It won’t be long until they’re after me too. Aimee?”
“What?” Her voice shook.
I reached for her hand as Guy continued. “The gallery was bugged.”
All color drained from her face.
“How much do they know?”
“Everything,” she whispered. “They know everything.”
Guy was talking to me now. “Go where you’ll be safe. I’ll meet you there, and lose your transceiver.”
I nodded and severed the connection. Then I removed the memory chip and snapped it into tiny pieces. These, I scattered as we ran.
About a mile later, I simply had to stop. I pulled Aimee into a used clothing shop and bent over to rub my ankles. Aimee did the same.
“May I help you?” The clerk smiled at us, and his eyes shifted to the front of my blouse.
I stood up. “Believe it or not, we would really like to change into more comfortable clothing for the afternoon. How about a
trade?” I presented him with my most alluring smile. I only had about 20 gats in my purse, not enough for what we’d need.
He raised his eyebrows. “What did you have in mind?”
“These are designer dresses.” I turned around slowly and motioned for Aimee to do the same. “I think I’m ready to relax in a pair of comfortable jeans. How about you?” I looked at her.
She smiled and nodded. Her brown hair bobbed.
The clerk narrowed his eyes. “Two dresses in exchange for two pairs of jeans and two shirts?”
“Yes, and two pairs of quality high heels in exchange for two pairs of fitness shoes.”
“Fitness shoes are in high demand.” He countered. “Two sets of heels and both of your spring jackets for the shoes.”
I tilted my head slightly and winked at him. “If I let you watch, can we take those coats and caps too?” I pointed to a nearby display.
“Don’t,” Aimee pleaded, but I shushed her with a look.
He thought about it for a minute, then said, “If you change slowly, it’s a deal.”
When we left, I sent Aimee ahead but kept a close eye on her. The Gov was looking for two Elite women on the run, not two Working Class girls walking alone. We arrived safely at Tony’s in under an hour.
I opened the door and ran right into Aimee.
“What is it? Why did you stop?”
“Isn’t that Cole?” She looked at me, her eyes round.
I peered around her. Guy was in the far corner booth surrounded by a crowd that included Jenna, Tony and Cole. Eberhardt had pulled up a chair from a nearby table, and they’d started without us. I gave Aimee a little shove. “Well, go on!”
I grabbed a chair as I neared the booth. Aimee did the same. Everyone looked up in surprise.
“So that’s what took so long,” Guy said, eyeing our “new” clothes.
Our meeting lasted nearly an hour. Tomorrow, at sunrise, the end would begin. “Reliance on Citizens Makes Us Great!” The motto was repeated from one establishment to the next, from one neighborhood to another. We even contacted Viktor in New London. By nightfall, hundreds were ready to move. By morning, we would have thousands.