by R S Penney
He stood up, dusting his hands, then whirled around to face the house once again. It's for the best anyway, he repeated for the thousandth time. If she's that eager to leave, we'll both be happier this way.
The back of the house loomed up before him with yellow aluminum siding on the wall and green shutters framing the large window that looked into the kitchen. Keeping this old place in order was the only thing that took his mind off the frustration. Retired cops didn't have much else to occupy their time.
He made his way around the side of the house, pushing the squeaky gate open with a grunt. A rain-slick driveway stretched through the grass all the way to the curb of this quiet suburban street, but he was surprised to find a car parked there.
Not his car.
This was a sleek, black Volvo that practically glistened despite the lack of sunlight, and the man who leaned against the hood with hands folded over his stomach had the air of someone who could throw money around just for fun.
He was a tall, slender fellow in black pants and a matching trench-coat, a handsome man just shy of middle age with dark hair that he kept neatly combed and thin glasses on his face. “Mr. Hunter,” he said in a dry, emotionless voice.
Arthur closed his eyes, bowing his head to the man. “That's right,” he said, starting down the driveway. “I wasn't expecting any visitors. Is there something that I can do for you, Mr…”
“Pennfield,” the man said. “Wesley Pennfield.”
The name tickled Arthur's memory.
His visitor grinned the kind of toothy grin you'd expect to find on a cat that had just cornered a field mouse. “I've been looking forward to meeting you,” Pennfield added. “I wanted to tell you how impressed I am with your son.”
It all snapped into place. Memories of conversations that took place several years ago suddenly lit up his mind like fireworks. This was the man Jack had captured shortly after receiving his symbiont.
Arthur kept his eyes fixed on the ground. “What do you want?” he spat. “Maybe you haven't noticed, but my kid isn't here. He doesn't come around all that often.”
The other man stood up straight, smoothing his coat with a gloved hand. He strode forward with his eyes closed. “Yes, well…I'd like to change that. In fact, I would like you to deliver a message to Jack for me.”
Arthur turned and ran.
Hair stood on the back of his neck when he felt something pass over him, and then the other man was landing in his path, hunched over with his back turned.
Pennfield spun around to face him with a cold, menacing smile. “I am not the kind of man who takes no for an answer,” he said. “Really, Arthur, did you honestly think that you could evade me?”
Arthur winced, a flush setting his cheeks on fire. “Worth a shot,” he whispered. “You want me to deliver a message to Jack? Why? Too cowardly to tell him yourself?”
“It's not the kind of message you tell.”
Pennfield drew aside his coat to reveal a holstered gun on his hip. In a heartbeat, he had the weapon drawn and pointing at Arthur. “I've given serious thought as to whether or not I should kill you. Do you believe in fate, Arthur?”
Oh, Christ Almighty, was Pennfield really the kind of murderer who felt the need to philosophize before he finished off his victims? Arthur thought that was the kind of thing that only happened in the movies. No wonder Jack considered this man to be his nemesis. They both over-thought everything. “What the fuck does it matter?”
“I've never believed in fate,” Pennfield said, ignoring the question. “I've always felt that people who do are simply making excuses for their failures. A man takes his destiny in his own hands, or he descends into mediocrity.”
“Look, if you're going to shoot me-”
Pennfield shook his head in disgust, heaving out a rasping breath. “Arthur, Arthur, Arthur,” he said with obvious exasperation. “This will be a defining moment for both of us. Treat it with the reverence it deserves.”
“No, I don't believe in fate.”
“As I suspected.”
Pennfield lifted the gun up in front of his face, squinting as he studied it. “I once considered myself to be a man who focused on the bigger picture,” he said. “A man who was not concerned with petty vendettas.”
Tilting his head back, Arthur stared up at the sky. “What changed?” he asked, deep wrinkles lining his brow. “I'm guessing it's got something to do with parents who never loved you or some such new-age bullshit.”
“Your son took something from me.”
“Then he did something right at least once in his life.”
A menacing smile stretched across Pennfield's face, one that made Arthur think of the Joker on those old Bat-Man comics. “Your son humbled me, Arthur. Humiliated me in the eyes of my masters.”
The other man thrust his arm out to aim the gun down at Arthur's leg. A thunderclap filled the air, and then pain ripped through Arthur's body. Before he could even think, he was tumbling backward.
His body hit wet gravel, but he barely even felt it. The agony in his shin drowned out every other sensation. Somehow, he was dimly aware of the endless pounding of his own heart. He'd been shot before, of course – you didn't spend twenty years on the force without encountering gunfire – but each time, he had been wearing Kevlar. This…This was something entirely different.
A hazy image stood over him, and it took him a moment to recognize Pennfield in his black trench coat. The man was speaking. What was he saying? “…never about you, Arthur. I want your son. I want his little bitch as well, and I want you to live so that you can tell them who did this to you.”
Arthur groaned.
Pennfield returned the gun to its holster, then started down the driveway with his back turned. “They will come for me, of course,” he said, almost as if he was musing to himself. “I look forward to it. No one takes from Wesley Pennfield.”
The man spun, reaching into his pocket to pull out a disposable phone. He tossed it to the ground where it skittered before landing just a few feet away from Arthur. “Call the authorities if you wish,” Pennfield said. “Tell them who did this. I have nothing to hide. I welcome the scrutiny.”
He turned and walked back to his car, laughing all the while.
Part 2
Chapter 16
She watched Kevin.
The kid was lying on a bed in the Med-Lab, his eyes closed and his head nestled against the pillow. His breathing was slow and steady. After everything he'd been through in the last few days, he must have been exhausted.
In the end, it was Harry who brought him in. Harry, a man with no symbiont and no special weapons, had stood his ground against two men who had promised to kill him if he didn't back down. It was a feat of bravery that left Anna awestruck. Would she have been able to do the same under such circumstances?
Kevin stirred, sitting up straight with a groan. He touched a hand to the side of his head. “Where am I?” The words came out in a soft rasp. “Agent Lenai? Did anyone else get hurt? It's all so foggy…”
Anna sat at his bedside with hands on her knees, smiling into her lap. “You're in the Med-Lab on Station Twelve,” she said. “Nobody else got hurt. Not by you, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had to knock out a pair of cops.”
Kevin winced, breathing deeply through his nose. The soft grunt that followed was barely audible. “I remember,” he said. “They were gonna shoot me. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have ran away like that.”
Anna sat forward with her elbows on her thighs, resting her chin on laced fingers. “It's all right,” she murmured, noting the exhaustion in her own voice. “We were able to remove the device. How do you feel?”
The kid lifted his hands up in front of his face, examining them as if he thought it odd to find nothing but his own skin there. “Like I was run over by a car,” he said. “After being mauled by a bear. But the song in my head is gone.”
“Good.”
Anna stood up, do
ubling over when a wave of fatigue hit her. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “You're going to need a few days rest before you can go back to school, and we'd like to keep an eye on you.”
He stared at her with his lips compressed, tension clearly visible in his expression. “I'm in trouble, aren't I?” Kevin asked. “Everyone must be pissed about the damage I've caused.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” she answered. “It wasn't your fault, and I'm gonna make sure everyone in that town knows it.”
“Thanks.”
“We got you this far, Kevin,” she added. “Trust us to get you the rest of the way.” She turned to go, shuffling toward the door, but the sound of his voice made her pause.
“What happened to the device?” he asked.
“We took it to a science lab,” she said. “Some of our best engineers are looking it over.” That was about all the conversation she could manage; so she bid him farewell and made her way out to the corridor. Her skin was still tingling after pushing Seth so hard; she needed a rest.
The first thing she was going to do when she got back to her apartment was sink into a nice, hot bubble bath, complete with scented candles. After that, she was going to curl up in her bed and sleep for twelve hours. Maybe there should be food, she noted. Of course, that would require effort. Anna loved cooking. She had always prided herself on being the kind of girl who prepared her own meals – it gave one the chance to experiment – but right now, she really wanted to employ one of those serving bots.
Her multi-tool beeped.
Checking the screen, she found Jena staring at her from behind a desk. “Anna, get up here,” the woman said. “We've got a problem. It's about Jack.”
Harry pushed open the front door to his house to find Melissa standing over the stove in their narrow kitchen, cooking something that looked like a quesadilla in a frying pan. The girl had a sour expression, and she seemed consumed with her task.
Harry shut the door behind himself, hunching over with a sigh. He touched three fingers to his forehead. “You're back,” he muttered. “Did you have a nice time with your mother?”
Melissa looked over her shoulder, her face hardening when she saw him. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I did. And I'm sorry if things got a little tense between us. It's just really important to me that I follow this-”
“I understand.”
She froze.
Harry stepped into the open doorway that separated the foyer from the kitchen, leaning his shoulder against the frame. A deep breath exploded from his lungs, and he suddenly became aware of fatigue in his muscles. “I saved a kid's life today,” he went on. “At least I think I did.”
The whole time, his daughter watched him with a guarded expression, wariness shining in those dark eyes of hers. “I was in Tennessee,” Harry explained. “A bunch of cops were about to shoot this poor boy. I wasn't going to let that happen; so, I put myself in front of them, knowing they might shoot me.”
Guilt crept into his heart, and he had to struggle to resist the urge to shrink away from his daughter's gaze. What exactly had he been thinking? He had a responsibility to these kids; he couldn't just throw himself into dangerous situations without thinking. He was a father!
That didn't change the fact that he'd do it again if he were forced into that situation. A man had two choices when he found himself face to face with injustice. He could either shrink away, or he could take a stand. Harry chose the latter. Every time.
Melissa's smile was infectious, but she covered it with two fingers. “And that's my dad,” she said. “Always putting himself on the line for other people. Seems like you had a good day.”
Closing his eyes, Harry turned his face up to the ceiling. He paused for a second to collect his thoughts. “You really want to be a Justice Keeper?” he said. “You really want to dedicate your life to that?”
“I know it's dangerous.”
Harry strode into the kitchen with his arms crossed, hanging his head as he tried to ignore the anxiety in his chest. “Dangerous isn't really the point, is it?” he mumbled. “I've had a bit of an epiphany.”
Melissa stood over the stove with her back turned, seemingly transfixed by the contents of her frying pan. “What kind of epiphany?” she asked in a voice so quiet you might have thought you imagined it.
“I was willing to die for what I believed in today,” he whispered. “I've got all these responsibilities, and yet I was willing to do it anyway.”
He leaned against the cupboards opposite Melissa, clamping both hands onto the counter. “If I'm willing to do that myself,” he began. “I can hardly tell you you're wrong to make the same choice.”
His daughter dumped her quesadilla onto a plate, then set the pan back down on the burner. The silence that followed seemed to last ages, though, on some level, Harry knew it was only a few moments. Why should he feel like he had to prove himself to his child? He was the adult in this situation, for god's sake.
When Melissa turned around, she was grinning at him, nodding as if she were a teacher and he her errant student. “I'm glad we got that sorted out,” she said. “I know you worry about me, Dad, but it's what I want.”
“Even if it cuts your life in half?”
“Yes.”
“And denies you the chance to have a family?”
Melissa closed her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose. “Not every woman is interested in having children,” she said. “And there are plenty of ways to have a family. I've thought long and hard about adopting a child.”
When…When exactly had that happened? Jesus, you thought your kids told you everything – all the important stuff anyway – but the things they held back could leave you with a serious case of the chills. He naturally assumed that, as a teenager, Melissa would be focused on boys and homework and possibly her efforts to choose a career. But children? She was contemplating whether or not she might want to adopt one day? Had he entertained such thoughts at that age? He couldn't remember; it had been so long ago.
Harry pressed a hand to the top of his head, running fingers through his hair. “Well then…” he muttered, leaning back against the counter. “I guess you've got it figured out. If this is what you want, of course I'll support you.”
His daughter stepped forward and slipped her arms around him, resting her head against his chest. “Thank you,” she said, giving him a squeeze. “I'm glad you're with me. Because I don't think I could do it without you.”
“Well, if you want to be a Keeper, now's a good time to start.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think…” Harry began. “I think I might know someone who could use your help.”
Thin rays of sunlight streamed through a window of frosted glass that looked out on a small yard of green grass. In the distance, the blurry image of a high gray wall made the view less than spectacular.
His cell was more than large enough for him to stretch his legs, complete with a bed that stood in the light of the window and potted plants in the corner. A set of comfortable chairs faced a screen of SmartGlass hung on the wall.
Ben sat at a table with his elbow on its surface, his cheek leaned against the palm of his hand. Thirty-six hours, he thought to himself. If anybody was going to come for me, they'd have done it by now.
He'd been charged with carrying illegal weapons – no small offense on Leyria – but he was more than certain that would not be the charge that stuck. No, they were going to pin him to the wall for what he had done five years ago.
The door behind him slid open.
A glance over his shoulder revealed a man in a long gray coat that dropped to mid- thigh, a handsome fellow with thin glasses on his pale face and hair that was just a little too dark for his complexion. “Tanaben Loranai?”
Ben shut his eyes, then covered his nose with one hand. “Yeah, that's me,” he said, turning away from the other man. “I take it you're here to tell me just how bad things are starting to look?”
“How bad?”
Mr. Covern heaved out a sigh, then spun on his heel to face Ben with hands pressed to his thighs. He refused to look up. “Well, they inspected your multi-tool and found a lot of illegal mods.”
“What'll that get me?”
“Four months of rehabilitation therapy and a discharge from LIS.”
Ben stretched out in his chair with hands folded behind his head, smiling up at the ceiling. “Guess I should start rehearsing before I meet the therapists,” he said. “Tell me how this sounds. 'It all started when I realized my mother never loved me.' ”
Covern's mouth twisted, and then he turned his head to stare at the wall. “This is hardly the time for jokes, Agent Loranai,” he grumbled. “At the moment, you're under suspicion for your involvement with an arms dealer named Tyron Senaro. Now, with a little coaxing, I might be able to make them drop-”
“I did it.”
“Excuse me?”
Ben stared into his own lap, a flush setting his face on fire. “I did it,” he said, his eyebrows climbing upward. “Five years ago, I caught Tyron red-handed with smuggled weapons, and I let him continue his operation.”
Covern licked his lips, then hung his head as he let out a sigh of frustration. “Well, it's good that you've been forthright with me,” he began. “But I would suggest that you avoid addressing those-”
“No.”
In a heartbeat, Ben was on his feet and pacing across the small room with fingers clenching and unclenching. A painful ache in his chest made it difficult to speak, but he managed. “I'm confessing…to all of it.”
His attorney just stood there with a dumb-struck expression. “Are you sure that's what you want?” the man said softly. “If you do, you could be looking at several years of rehabilitative therapy, and an end to your career.”