I walk over to his computer to check and a password locked screen pops up.
“Yep,” I say. “Locked.
“There must be something we can do,” Elliott says. “She shouldn’t be here alone.”
I think of another person who is alone.
“Elliott, your grandmother,” I say. “She’s probably been released by now. She needs you.”
“But you need me too.”
“I can’t imagine the Catalyst will attack tonight.”
As the words come out of my mouth, I realize how horrifying it sounds. A murderer is still on the loose, and our house is on his list.
“Let’s all go together,” he says. “Then you can stay at our house.”
“Is that ok, Mom?” I ask.
She just nods, her face still frozen in shock.
***
When we reach the courthouse, it’s nearly dark outside. As we pull into the parking lot, I see Mrs. Ford walking through the grassy field in front. She waves her wings around in the breeze, flaps them briefly, and rises a few inches off the ground. She then drops back down, taking a few steps to reclaim her balance. We sit there, watching her catch the wind with her body, soaking in her freedom. There was no time before being arrested for her to enjoy her wings. Now she frolics with a newfound youthful energy, like the phoenix so often used as the symbol of GEMO. A pit in my stomach develops at the idea of taking this moment away from her. Elliott opens the door and steps towards her. As soon as she sees him, she runs over and hugs him, her new wings of purple and white enclosing him like a mother bird. They step over together, and I do my best to smile back at them.
Mrs. Ford’s large grin turns sour when she notices Mom in the back seat. Mom sniffles, rubbing her puffy eyes.
“Ok,” Mrs. Ford says. “Who died?”
“Maddock,” I say.
Mrs. Ford grimaces. “She’s crying about that? Now, you know I don’t condone violence, but Maddock? If anyone deserved it was that psycho dis—“
“They think Dad did it,” I say.
Mrs. Ford’s face goes slack. “Why would they think that?”
I tell the story again, and it sounds even worse than before. I try to latch onto any sign, any evidence that explains Dad’s actions. But nothing comes to me.
Mrs. Ford has the mystified response I expected. She asks me to repeat the details a few times, as if trying to figure out what I've been missing. Unfortunately, she comes up empty. On the drive over to Mrs. Ford's house, I ask Zach to call Brad for us. Brad agrees to handle the case and arranges to meet us tonight at Mrs. Ford's house.
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Aaron.
“We need to talk,” it says.
I immediately delete it and block his number. “No, we don’t.”
“What was that?” Elliott asks.
“Aaron.”
“What did he have to say?”
“I don’t care.”
We sit back the rest of the ride home, our brains searching for an explanation. I keep hoping someone will jump up and declare a brilliant solution.
It never happens.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Without her blasting the heat to inferno-like levels, Mrs. Ford's house is pleasantly cool. Of course, as soon as she enters, she runs over to the thermostat to adjust it. This should be a joyful evening of reunion, but Dad's situation lays a somber shroud over everything.
“What program is it tonight?" Elliott asks, obviously grasping at straws, since I know he knows the answer.
"Tuesday," Mrs. Ford says. "Power Trade."
"That's right. This episode is supposed to be a Sticker switching places with a Breather."
"Looked stupid," Mrs. Ford says.
She had never missed an episode before.
"Let's watch," Elliott says, turning on the TV.
Despite the manufactured premise, Power Trade was usually fairly entertaining television. Contestants are outfitted with special suits that simulate the abilities of another. Then they swap lives for a couple of days, and see how they would fit in. It was formulaic for sure; the first thirty minutes would show the pair fumbling around with their new powers, followed by a moment of realization over how strong their old power was, before ending with a so-called touching moment when the pair would reunite to discuss their experience. Despite my hatred of that type of emotional manipulation, I do find myself moved by the show occasionally. Especially during my favorite episode, when an Inker switched places with a Glower. They both discovered interesting uses for their abilities the other hadn't considered and came out of it enriched. Usually though, the best moments of the show were watching the awkward switch. It's embarrassing to admit, but I'm a sucker for fish-out-of-water humor as much as anyone.
The show begins and I try my hardest to focus on it and give myself a mental break. As much as I try to find the humor in the Breather struggling to climb a wall with his new Sticker powers, or the Sticker freaking out over being able to swim underwater for lengthy periods of time, all I can see is my Dad's terrified face. Elliott sits beside me on the couch and puts his arm around me. Somehow, being next to him makes me feel safer. Mrs. Ford sits quietly, a sure sign of trouble. Elliott attempts a few snarky comments, but the best he can get out of us is a mild giggle. At last, the drippy piano music arrives, announcing the emotional reunion of the pair.
The Breather realizes how awkward a power being a Sticker is, and how dangerous her job in construction feels, even with the power. The Sticker envies the Breather's job as an underwater researcher, but understands how isolating it can be. Then it's time for one of them to say, "It was there in front of me the entire time, but I just didn't see it," and have an awkward hug. I'm thinking it's not a particularly strong episode, even for Power Trade, when a thought floats through in my brain.
It was there in front of me the entire time, but I just didn't see it.
Dad told me he saw him. He said he saw the Catalyst. The only reason I know he wasn't there is because I couldn't see him. Was I just looking in the wrong place?
Before I have a chance to ponder further, a loud knock sounds from Mrs. Ford's front door. Elliott opens it to reveal Brad Bolton, dressed in the same black suit as earlier.
"Mrs. Ford," he says, nodding. "Glad to see you again."
She stands. "I can't thank you enough."
"Well, one down, two to go, right?" he says.
"Think we have any chance?" I ask.
"There's always a chance," he says.
After Elliott asks Brad if he wants a drink, he takes a seat in an armchair. Elliott returns with a cup of coffee.
"Your dad," Brad says, taking a sip, "has an interesting story."
"You've spoken with him already?" I ask.
"Yes," Brad says. "I wasn't too far when you gave me that call. Anyway, your dad claims to have seen the Catalyst."
"Right," I say. "He said the same thing while I was there."
"The problem is," Brad says, "no one else did. And, the person your dad claims is the Catalyst is dead."
"He's not," I say. "I've seen him twice now."
"He told me," Brad says. "Unfortunately, you're too biased a witness to sway a jury. We need some evidence that this guy is alive."
"He's a Basic Brigade member," I say.
'"Figures they would play into this, after that article."
"Article?" Mrs. Ford asks.
"I'll tell you later," Elliott says.
"Sheesh, you go to jail for a few weeks and everything goes to pot.”
I snicker, happy to have at least a glimmer of the Mrs. Ford I love back.
"Think you can get some evidence Eric is still alive? Your dad says you're good at sneaking around," Brad says.
"I'm not sure I should take that as a compliment," I say.
“I'm sure he meant it that way. He's very proud of you," Brad says.
Despite the good intentions, Brad only makes me miss my dad more. I wipe a tear from my eye.
Brad
pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to me. "We'll figure this out, Rose."
The only word I can get out is, "Okay."
"Meanwhile, we have a more urgent problem," Brad says, his face becoming serious. "We need to figure out how to keep your mother safe. With the real Catalyst on the loose, she's still in jeopardy."
“The police will take her somewhere tomorrow,” I say.
“We can’t allow that,” Brad says.
“I totally agree,” I say, turning towards Elliott.
Elliott frowns. “You don’t trust the police either.”
“No, and neither does Adam. He told me this would happen. He said he told your Mom not to go with them.”
“She didn’t say anything about that,” I say.
“He told her they couldn’t protect her, which of course the police took as a threat.”
"He’s right," I say. "They won't be able to protect her. I've seen the Catalyst, he has crazy powers I don't even understand, he disappeared and—"
I stop myself, but I've already said too much.
"You've seen him disappear?" Brad asks. "How?"
"I didn't. Sorry, I misspoke," I say, although I can tell from Brad's expression he's not believing me.
"Rose, you know something."
"I was sitting in the car in front of Carol's house when she was murdered," I say.
"And you saw him? Rose, this is huge, you're an eyewitness," Brad says.
I shake my head. "No, I'm not. I mean, I shouldn't be. The only reason I saw him was because—well—because I'm a Scanner."
"Scanners are permitted in court," Brad says. "Have been for years."
"No, you don't understand," I say. "No one knows I'm a Scanner. I didn't get the ability on Elevation Day. I got it from—"
"Your father," Brad says. "Of course. Don't worry, Rose, I won't tell your secret."
"Thank you," I say, not wanting to correct him. There's no reason for Elliott's secret to get out.
"So he disappeared?" Brad says.
"Yeah, one moment he was standing at the door, and another he was gone."
Brad sits there, thinking about what I said.
"Did Maddock tell you what Eric was imprisoned for?" Brad asks.
"No, he didn't," I say.
"I'm going to have to do some research on that," Brad says. "The recordkeeping on Unsounds is tricky; they tend to keep it vague as to what ability caused your imprisonment. Another issue I have with the current situation."
"So she shouldn't go, right?" I ask. "I mean, we don't know what we're up against and they certainly don't."
"It's not our best option," Brad says. "On the other hand, not to comply with their wishes could raise suspicion about her actions."
Nothing about this sounds like a good idea. The last people I trust with my mom's safety are the police; they won't even be looking for the right suspect. I try to think of a place to send her. I imagine the Catalyst will be able to track her no matter where they take her. With Dad gone, I feel a sense of responsibility.
"She'll be safer with them than with us,” Elliott says. “They'll have security for her."
“And it will help Dad?” I ask.
"It couldn't hurt," Brad says. "Look, we know they will be able to prove easily that Adam is, in fact, a Catalyst. So we need to paint a picture of a normal, law-abiding family."
“I really don't think she should go anywhere."
"Ultimately it's her decision," Brad says.
“She’s already chosen to remain with the police,” I say.
“Then it’s decided,” Brad says.
I want to protest, but I can tell from his eyes nothing I can say will change his mind. I don't blame him; it's not like I have another plan for her security.
We head back into the house and Mrs. Ford is sitting on the couch with Mom, watching TV.
"You guys may want to see this," Mrs. Ford says. “They’re going to do a report on the Catalyst.”
We head back towards the living room. I stare at the television, which now runs a news report on Dad. Not surprisingly, they have picked the most sinister picture of my father I've ever seen. Dramatic music plays on the background as the words, "The Catalyst—Caught" flash on the screen. The sharply dressed blond from the earlier reports sits behind the news desk.
"After months of terror, it appears the police have apprehended the Catalyst. Adam Williams was once a respected researcher in GEMO, and a trusted friend to Jason Wesson, the inventor of GEMO technology. However, he held a dark secret. A power beyond what we previously understood was possible. The power to bring GEMO to whomever he wanted. A power that drove him to madness, and, eventually, murder.
I slump back down on the couch, Elliott joining me soon after.
Brad shakes his head. “Well, it looks like we have our work cut out for us.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"I had a feeling you would come here," Peter says, arriving at our table with milkshakes, even though we hadn't ordered them yet.
I smile back as he gives me a wink. His face becomes serious.
"Sorry about your Dad," he says, and he leans down to whisper in my ear. "I know he’s innocent."
I nod as he tosses some straws on the table.
"What was that?" Elliott asks.
"He’s just being nice," I say.
Elliott grimaces.
"You’re jealous, aren’t you?"
"No," Elliott said, “I’m not."
"I don’t like him, Elliott.”
“Right.”
“No, I don’t.”
"But you do like someone."
"We both agreed not to talk about this until our lives settled down."
"That’s just another way for you to delay talking about it forever."
I suck down a big gulp of the milkshake.
"Silent treatment, huh?" Elliott asks, rolling his eyes.
"We are supposed to be talking about Mom. She can’t go off with the police."
"Got any bright ideas on where to hide her?"
I’m so irritated with Elliott, I could throw my milkshake in his face. "You’re not helping."
"Sorry—I—"
"I love you, ok? Is that what you want to hear?"
"Not exactly like that."
"Well forgive me if my Mom’s impending murder has me a little concerned."
Elliott sighs. "I’m sorry, that was selfish."
"It sure was."
"What can I say, you know I’m a jerk."
"Yep."
Elliott takes a sip from his shake. "What about a relative? Anyone nearby?"
"Grandparents are dead, and Dad’s an only child. Mom has a sister I haven’t spoken with in years. Anyhow, that’s the first place a murderer will look."
"We need someplace remote, someplace they can’t easily get to."
"I know a place," Peter says.
We both jerk our heads over, not realizing Peter was standing there.
"Your mom will be safe from the Catalyst there."
"Thanks Peter," I say, "but I don’t think you understand what you’re getting into."
"Let’s see, your dad is a Catalyst, Elliott is also a Catalyst who accidentally zapped you, turning you into an undocumented Scanner, and you broke your dad out of jail, and he is now being framed as a serial killer."
We both sit there with our jaws open.
"Did I miss something?" Peter asks. "You know, it’s not like servers never listen to conversations."
I still have no response.
"So are you just going to sit here, or are we going to get going?"
"Go where?"
"I know where your mom can be safe, but I can’t tell you here." Then he looks around the restaurant. "Too many ears. Surprised you haven’t been discovered yet. Discussing plans at a busy restaurant? Probably not the best idea."
Embarrassed, I can barely respond. "What did you have in mind?"
"Let’s go to my place."
"What about ou
r shakes?"
"I took care of them"
"What about your shift?"
Peter coughs. "Feeling a cold coming on, better not make the customers sick."
"Ok," I say, and before I know it, we are running out of the restaurant and following Peter through the parking lot.
He reaches into Elliott’s car and punches in his coordinates, then runs to his car and quickly exits the parking lot. It happened so fast, it’s only now I wonder if I made the right decision. Somehow, he seems trustworthy, and that’s not a feeling I get easily.
"I’m not entirely sure what just happened," Elliott says.
“Me neither,” I say.
***
We end up in the middle of downtown at a high rise apartment. Cakes of grime coat the tall, bricked building. Elliott gazes up at it, frozen. We park the car and follow Peter inside the lobby and into an elevator. Elliott leans against the handrail, and then quickly picks up his hand, now covered in dust. He pulls out a tissue to wipe it off.
“So where is this hiding place?” he asks.
“I’ll tell you in a minute,” Peter says, lowering his voice to almost a whisper.
As the elevator climbs to the 15th floor, I begin to worry. Could this be another trap? Maybe Peter works with the owner of Café Basic to round up undocumented Elevateds for the reward money. I examine Peter, who stares at the elevator doors. Elliott grips my hand firmly and he leans in.
“Don’t worry Rose,” he whispers. “Don’t forget my ability.”
My pulse quickens at the idea of Elliott having to use his ability. I didn’t usually trust people. I can’t believe I was so stupid. A horrible grinding sound of metal on metal echoes through the elevator as it climbs up the building. My hand grips Elliott’s so tightly it turns white. At last, a high pitched bell signals our arrival on the 15th floor. The doors open to a long hallway lined with doors. A musty smell fills the air, which glows a slight brown from dusty lamps along the walls.
The color drains from Elliott’s face. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Almost there,” Peter says.
We reach Peter’s door and he sticks his thumb on his doorknob, which unlocks. Based on the condition of the apartment building, I brace myself for what we’ll find inside. Surprisingly, the musty air scent dissolves into a pleasant aroma of cinnamon. Peter flips on the lights, which reveals a modest but decorative living room. Animated scenes of ocean waves line the turquoise walls, which match the furniture.
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