Melancholia

by Elle Casey

  “You already have,” he said back in a flat tone, staring at her in the mirror.

  Chapter Thirty-One: Rae

  MY FATHER’S WORDS CUT ME right to the bone, and I could tell by the expression on his face that he knew exactly what he was saying and doing to me. Any residual loyalty or love I might have had for him disappeared in that moment, and all I could think about was getting information out of him and then getting the hell away. I never wanted to see him again for as long as I lived. Whether I still wanted to see my mom would depend. If I found out that she was involved in this crap, then she would be out of my life forever too.

  A mission was forming in my mind as I stared at his ugly expression. Anger fueled my thought process, sending it into overdrive. I had to figure out all I could about this group of people he was a part of, and after that I’d disappear with Malcolm to a place where they’d never find us.

  “You can’t hurt me, you know,” I said, faking the confidence that wasn’t quite there. “I know who you are. I know what you’re doing. And you need to know right now that no matter what, I’m not going to cooperate with anything you’ve got planned. You can’t use me to hurt people.”

  “Please don’t challenge him,” said the smaller fake cop, the one who’d tried to question us before. “You’ve already got him worked up enough.” He sounded annoyed with either me or my father, but not overly angry.

  “She doesn’t have anybody worked up,” said the other bigger guy. “Her shit’s not working. Neither’s mine. I can’t figure it out.” He seemed frustrated, just like he had been in the drugstore when he was talking about the clerk’s muddled mind.

  “What are you talking about, Hansen?” asked my fake father. I refused to think of him as my dad anymore.

  “I’m talking about a blocking mechanism of some sort,” said the big guy. Hansen, I guess. “That’s why Dumbass wasn’t able to pull off the explosion like he was supposed to in the tunnel. She shut off his shit and everyone saw him, plain as day. They snagged him outside on the street because as usual he was too stupid to just walk away when he had the chance.” He sighed loudly, obviously very disappointed in this Dumbass person. He had to be talking about the man Malcolm and I had seen with the backpack. That meant that maybe without Malcolm and me there, people didn’t normally see him. What? Did that mean he was invisible?

  “That’s not possible,” said my former father. “No one sees that pain in the ass if he doesn’t want them to. Rae’s not blocking anything.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then explain why you’re all upset right now, why don’t you.” Hansen snorted a laugh, mocking my fake father who I was getting the pretty clear idea he didn’t like much. I was with him on that.

  Everyone in the car went silent, leaving me a few precious seconds to figure out what was going on. It was quickly becoming apparent that they still didn’t know about Malcolm. They didn’t know he had powers or that we somehow played off each other, canceling our stuff out. I had to be sure they never found out, too. He’d be safe if they let him out of the car. I just hoped it would be with his eyeballs still in his head and no other body parts missing or damaged.

  “I don’t know. It’s a good point.” My fake father looked at me in the mirror, frowning. “Did they give you something to block the Influencers?”

  I gritted my teeth to keep from saying anything back. Let him think what he wanted. Better he blame the Butts group than the boy I loved.

  Love? Do I love him? Would I take a bullet for him? Go with these men to let them lobotomize me in exchange for letting him go? Yes. I’d do that. My heart raced with the implications.

  “I asked you a question, Rae.”

  “Yes. They gave me a blocker. I’m blocking everyone, including you.”

  Hansen snorted. “You can’t block what doesn’t exist.” He sounded really happy about being able to say that, like he was mocking my fake father.

  The car squealed to a stop, all of us flying forward with the sudden lack of movement. The guys in front of me barely flinched when my fake father turned around and pointed a gun in their faces.

  “You shut the hell up, do you hear me? You Influencers are only as good as your handlers allow you to be, get it?” He jabbed the gun first at one and then the other. “You. Belong to me. That’s the way it works here, you fucking freaks.”

  The car was silent, but outside there was a chorus of horns blaring, telling us to move because we were blocking traffic.

  “You are really lucky right now, Livingston,” said the smaller cop. “If we weren’t being blocked right now, I’d have a really hard time not giving you a little taste of my influence. Then we’d see what kind of twisted secrets you’ve got swimming around in that head of yours.”

  The hand holding the gun shook just the slightest bit before my fake father jabbed it at the man’s chest, his arm extending out as far as it could from the front seat. “Just give me one reason to pull this trigger, Brinkley. Just one. That’s all I need.”

  This guy who used to be my father was a complete stranger. I could not believe the things coming out of his mouth or his behavior. It was like he was possessed by an alien or something. Maybe my influence had made him a nice person when he was normally a total douche.

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re a real piece of shit when you’re not all jacked up on Influencer love?” asked Hansen in a totally calm voice.

  I barked out a laugh. This guy was so right. “He’s addicted,” I said. I couldn’t help it. These two guys in the middle seats were just like me and Malcolm. I finally got it. My fake father was the only one in the car who had zero influence on anyone and he was obviously jealous. He’d been jealous of me all my life.

  Hansen smiled at me. “Totally addicted.”

  “What the hell?” asked Malcolm, his voice going soft. “You guys … you’re Influencers? Like … Rae?”

  They both nodded, now twisted sideways to look at us and totally ignoring the gun pointed at their sides.

  “Shut up! Don’t talk to them!” said my fake father, getting more agitated by the second.

  “What can you do?” I asked, breathless over the idea that this situation was so much bigger than I’d ever realized before, even just five minutes ago. Malcolm and I aren’t the only ones! There are others out there like us!

  Hansen shrugged. “Get in heads. Fuck around a little.”

  “Both of us. We’re brothers.” Brinkley smiled big, leaning over to punch the bigger guy in the chest. His brother just grunted a little but didn’t retaliate.

  “Wow,” I said, totally impressed. “I can’t do that.”

  “Yeah, but you can do other stuff. Seriously powerful stuff.” Hansen jerked his thumb towards the front seat. “That’s why he’s got his dick in such a twist over you getting away and telling him to go screw himself.”

  Brinkley grinned big and said in a musical falsetto voice, “Handler fuck up.”

  “Shut up, I said!” My fake father hit Brinkley in the shoulder with the gun, coming completely out of his seat to make contact.

  More horns blared and people were getting out of their cars.

  Brinkley flinched with the pain and turned slowly to face his attacker. “Man, if you hit me again, I’m going to shove that thing up your ass. I’m not kidding. Fuck the cause, I didn’t sign up for pistol whipping from a dunhead like you.”

  “That’s what we call ‘em. Dunheads. Like your boyfriend over there. No influencer skills.” Hansen was still grinning.

  “You can’t talk to me like that!” shrieked my former dad, hitting Brinkley again several times and then Hansen once too. “I’m your handler!”

  “That’s it, I’m outta here,” said Hansen, opening his door. “Come on, bro. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

  Brinkley, the fake-cop-Influencer-slash-mind-fucker shoved my wanna-be father back into the front seat before opening his door. He turned around and flashed us a smile before getting out. “See you soon, maybe.” And then he left, n
ot even bothering to shut the door behind him.

  Malcolm looked at me and then the open door. He read my mind and was scooting over to make a break for it when the siren started. It was just behind our car … a police officer on a motorcycle with his lights flashing.

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Malcolm

  WITHIN THIRTY MINUTES WE WERE at the police station, escorted there by an officer in a squad car, and Mr. Livingston was in custody, arrested for carrying an unlicensed firearm and driving erratically. We gave a statement saying we had no idea what was wrong with him, and when we told the police officer that we had friends coming to pick us up, they let us sit in the waiting room. I took my phone out of my pocket and dialed Joe.

  He picked up in one ring. “Where are you?” He sounded stern and possibly angry.

  “We’re at the police station on La Salle Street. Can someone come get us?”

  “Yes. Stay put. Don’t wander off. We’ll have someone there in less than an hour. We just have to deal with traffic.”

  “Okay, we’ll wait. We’re in the main waiting room.”

  “No, that won’t work. Find an empty office or break room not open to the public. Wait for us there. We’ll call when we’re close so you can come out.”

  I didn’t argue. Before I might have, before a lunatic waved a gun around and threatened to pull out my eyeballs. Now I was ready to do anything Joe said without question. “Fine. See you soon. But wait … how will we know this person is with you guys? The other group has people who are looking for us too.”

  “You’ll know. That’s all I can say. Talk to you later. Oh, and tell Rae that Jasmine says when she gets back, they’ll go get some cotton candy together.”

  “Ooookaaaay,” I said, hanging up the phone when I heard the disconnecting click from Joe’s end.

  I frowned at the phone.

  “What’d he say?” Rae asked, leaning on me, looking down at the phone too. The smell of her hair wafted over and made me feel protective of her all over again. She was all girl, flowery-smelling and easily made sad. Her father was such a jerk.

  I put my arm around her and kissed her on the head. “Come on. We have to go wait somewhere not so public. And he told me to tell you that Jasmine said she’d take you for cotton candy or something when you get back.” I grinned at her. “Makes no sense, I know.”

  “Oh, no … it makes perfect sense. It’s part of our code. What else did he say?”

  “He said someone on their team would be coming to get us and we’d know them when we saw them.”

  Rae grinned like a loon. “It’s going to be Jazzy Butts. I’ll bet you a thousand dollars.”

  Talk about nuts. “Bull. No way they’d send their daughter into this crap.”

  Rae moved away from me and held out her hand. “Bet me.”

  “You don’t have a thousand bucks,” I said, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go find a place to chill out while we wait.”

  “Excuse me … I need to speak with you. Rae, is it?” A police officer we’d spoken to earlier was standing in the waiting room.

  Rae frowned. “What about? We already told you everything we know.”

  “I just need to show you something. It won’t take very long. Ten minutes maybe.” He gestured to the inner offices, expecting us to precede him.

  Joe’s earlier advice about finding a safe place to wait was ringing in my head, banging around like a pinball. Why didn’t we leave when we had the chance? I stared at the guy, wondering if he was some kind of mole. Derek and Mr. Holder sure had fooled us, so there wasn’t any reason to think this guy couldn’t too.

  Rae took a tentative step forward. “Am I under arrest?” she asked meekly.

  The cop shook his head. “No. Not at this point, anyway. Please just come with me.”

  Rae did as she was asked and I followed, holding her hand, more nervous with every step.

  We went ahead of the cop into a small room that had a television on the wall. A scene was frozen on it, like a video on pause. I could see the inside of the subway station there on the screen, people in the process of running. Oh shit. They have video of us in the subway near the bomber. Sweat broke out under my arms. The expression out of the frying pan and into the fire suddenly made a lot of sense.

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Rae

  WE SAT DOWN IN SEATS around a conference table. Malcolm and I were next to each other, and the police officer was across from us. We waited in silence for someone to join us. The officer just stared at us the entire time, making me want to scream with nervousness. The ticking of the clock made my mind wander to other places. Like where Malcolm and I might end up after all this was over. Would it be the mountains? The desert? A big city? An island? A jail cell? A grave? Anything was possible at this point.

  About ten minutes later, about the point that I was contemplating running out of the room and never looking back, a woman in regular clothes walked in and stood next to the chair with the cop in it. She had a badge on her belt and a gun at her hip. It was really big and definitely threatening. I swallowed hard, staring at it, wondering if she’d ever shot anyone with it.

  “Hello, I’m Valerie, a detective with the department.” She tossed her long black hair over her shoulder. “We’d like to ask you some questions about this video here.” She picked up a remote control from the tabletop and pressed a button. A video began to play on the wall-mounted TV monitor.

  I squeezed my hands together under the table to keep them from trembling too much. I looked at the screen, feeling sick over what I saw there.

  “This is the L,” she explained, “the underground portion at The Loop. This is you in the picture, isn’t it?” She froze the frame and walked over to point at the screen. The picture showed Malcolm and me going down the stairs and descending into the tunnel that would take us to the train.

  I nodded, feeling numb. This was bad. This was really bad. I was going to be put in jail right along with my fake father. Sweat trickled down my back.

  She fast forwarded a few seconds and then pressed the play button again. “Okay, and here you are standing in line on the platform, right?”

  I nodded again. “Yes. That’s me and Malcolm.” I nodded at the screen. “But it was my idea to go down there, not his.”

  “Okay, and now here you are talking to someone.” She pointed to the backpack man. “Who is this?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but the words didn’t want to come out. “Uhhh … uhhh …”

  “We have no idea who that guy is,” said Malcolm, angry. “He’s the jerk that put the bomb on that train, though, I can tell you that.”

  “And how would you know that?” asked the woman, folding her arms across her chest, the remote sticking out near her bicep. The video was frozen on us talking to the stranger. “Were you with him? Did you participate in this bombing?”

  “Hell no!” said Malcolm.

  All the blood drained out of my face, but I stammered out an explanation, trying to head off the horrible train wreck that I sensed coming. “Of course not. No … no … we would never … we were trying to help you catch him!” I gripped the edge of the table, my fingers going white with the pressure. “Just look at the video, it will show you!”

  “That’s the problem,” Valerie said. “The video isn’t clear. You don’t need to panic, kids, we just want to get some answers, that’s it. If I thought you had anything to do with the bombing you’d already be under arrest.”

  I took a deep breath, trying to get my racing heart under control. “Okay, fine. Play the video, and I’ll explain what happened.”

  She rewound it until it showed a single person going down the stairs. The large woman in the purple dress.

  “That’s the woman! The one with the beehive!” I looked at Malcolm for confirmation and he was nodding. He was frowning too.

  “Don’t you remember her? I mean, how could you forget, really? She was so bold. That dress was amazing.”

  “I remember
her,” he said, “but there’s something wrong with the video.”

  I looked back at it, realizing I’d missed the last few seconds. “Could you rewind it, please? Back to the spot before the woman comes down the stairs.”

  The detective looked at the remote, pushing buttons to move the video back to a frame about ten seconds before the beehive lady came down the stairs. We sat there in complete silence, waiting to see the man with the backpack come down.

  The lady with the beehive appeared on the screen alone.

  “What the heck?” I asked in a soft voice. My brain was trying to understand the information my eyeballs were delivering. Where’s the backpack guy?

  “What’s wrong?” asked the police officer.

  “There’s something missing. Back it up again,” said Malcolm, voicing my thoughts.

  I looked at him while the detective pressed buttons again. “Where is he?” I asked.

  Malcolm shook his head slowly. “I have no idea. He should be there.”

  “Who?” asked the detective, her thumb hovering over the play button.

  “The guy. The bomber,” I explained. “He went down those stairs in front of that woman with the big hair.”

  “Rewind it some more,” said the cop, gesturing at the screen.

  “No, he was like, right in front of her. They were practically touching they were so close,” said Malcolm.

  “That’s exactly how I remember it,” I said. “First he went down, and then her, almost at the same time. They might have even been together, except I don’t remember them looking at each other or acting like they were.”

  The detective pressed a button that rewound the video even more and hit play. We watched as several individuals and a couple came down the stairs and then eventually the woman and her hair.

  “Where’s the bomber?” I whispered, getting up and walking over to the screen, reaching out to touch it. “There’s nothing. Not even a shadow.”