Enigma Black (42 page)

A wicked smile appeared across the freshly-minted sniper’s face as she set down her gun and pulled a phone out of her jacket pocket. A voice picked up on the first ring.

“Tell Victor it’s been taken care of,” she announced triumphantly to the voice on the other end, hanging up as she’d been instructed to do.

Then, as mysteriously as she appeared, she was gone; lost to the shadows of the night, to the devastation she’d caused.

Chapter Thirty-Six

The New Threat

Carver Brooks erratically paced around the perimeter of his office in an underground bunker on the outskirts of Washington, D.C. Due to the overwhelming tenacity of the rebellion, he’d seen his approval ratings plummet, putting him in danger of losing everything.

This rebellion, this new threat, was gaining supporters at an admirable pace. Its members held demonstrations in the streets, broadcasted their messages across the Internet and, most frustrating of all, gained recruits by the day. The people were starting to turn on him, making the prospect of his returning for a fourth term less and less likely. Something had to be done and it had to be done before all of his hard work was brought to an end.

He tapped his fingers on the mahogany desk. The sound of each fingertip hitting the wood sent him into deep, rhythmic thoughts. This underground bunker was his haven. Often times, he came here to think, to plan. Surrounded by photographs of his earlier life, of family and friends long gone, long forgotten, every item he cherished was kept here, as he didn’t much care for the professional atmosphere of the White House. From the floor to the ceiling, this office was more…him. The walls were a dark purplish hue; for purple was the color of royalty, of power. Being surrounded by it invigorated him as though the fibers of its very meaning were absorbed through his skin.

Indeed, he’d felt quite powerful the day the public voted him into office, invincible even. How they adored him back then. He’d been on top of the world thanks to the pedestal they’d placed him on. And in return, he’d done all he could to protect them from the dangers within it. For all people were like sheep who, if left unattended for too long, would wander into trouble, getting caught up in the chaos, death and corruption of the world. Like sheep, they needed a leader to herd them back in line, to keep the wolves at bay.

How ungrateful they were now. Couldn’t they see everything he had done to keep them safe?

There was more to be done in the near future. With crops of new recruits adding to this rebellious threat by the day, drastic measures were going to have to be taken, and they were going to have to be taken soon if peace was going to be restored amongst the herd. He continued his purposeful pace around the office as though every footstep held the key to unraveling his new dilemma, until a sudden and unexpected knock on the door broke his concentration.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Mr. President, he’s here.” His body guard opened the door about halfway, sticking his head partially into the office.

“Send him in and leave us.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Carver sat down at his desk just as the door opened again.

“Ah, Victor, old friend,” he greeted his guest, “I trust everything is well with you. Have a seat.”

“Why, yes, Carver. Things are going rather well. Thank you.” Victor took a seat in a purple velvet-lined chair.

“Could I interest you in a brandy?

“No, thanks. You wanted to see me?”

“We’ll get to that. I hear you recently lost your longest running fighter…Blake… was it?”

“Yes, Blake was killed by The Man in Black a few days ago.”

“Hmm…that’s too bad. I honestly thought he would be the one to actually defeat that thorn in my side.” Carver smirked, removing the bottle of brandy from his desk drawer. He poured a small amount in a glass to take a quick shot.

“Don’t be so coy, Carver, we both know there’s no one who’ll honestly ever be able to defeat The Man in Black.”

“I know. I’m counting on that.” He took another shot of brandy, relishing it to the last particle. “The new one…the woman…”

“Ah, yes, Celaine Stevens,” Victor smiled.

“Yes. She’s been receiving a lot of buzz around the country. The first woman fighter has quite the fan base. People are in awe of her.”

“She’s rather good…perhaps a little too good for a beginner. I must say, she’s impressed us all with her abilities thus far. But, she lets her feelings get the best of her, and that will most likely be her downfall.” Victor rolled his eyes, shifting in his chair.

“Just so long as you keep her death as secretive as possible from the public when she’s killed. Blake’s death was hidden rather well by their sheer captivation with her, but I fear there may be a genuine revolt if they know she’s gone, too.”

“Don’t worry, when she’s gone, no one will know the difference. If its one thing I’ve learned, fighters are a dime a dozen.”

“Good. How complicit has she been with the program?”

“She gripes a lot and she’s a little resistant at times, but when she’s reminded what she’s there for, ultimately she becomes complicit whether she wants to be or not. She’ll be broken just like Blake was.”

Carver nodded. “The rebellion is getting stronger, and their message seems to be reaching the ears of the public. As you can probably figure out, that is going to be extremely detrimental to my presidency. Those vigilante freaks are undoing everything I’ve worked for.” He stuck the cork back into the brandy bottle, throwing it haphazardly back into the drawer. A loud thud erupted as it slid across its wooden interior.

“How do you propose we handle them?” Victor asked.

“Well, that’s the reason why I called you in here. The public seems to like these makeshift superheroes you’ve created. In fact, they seem to like them so much that if they, too, were to oppose the rebellion then perhaps the public would follow suit.” A small smile spread across his face as though the realization of his next words had struck him once again. “Yes, if the public hates the rebellion, and if I show a mutual disdain, and then your superheroes follow suit, perhaps all this mutual hatred will unite the country, making people forget why the rebels amassed in the first place.”

“That sounds like more of a temporary fix, the likes of which is almost impossible for two people to contain. Celaine and, potentially, Ian can handle a lot, but they can’t be in twenty different places at once.”

“They won’t need to be. A couple of public displays of their disdain towards the rebellion will be all it will take to win the people back over in our favor and back on board with my administration.” He arose from his chair, resuming his slow pace around the office before turning to a bookshelf where he nervously fingered the knickknacks contained upon its shelves. Turning around again, he faced Victor with a sneer spreading across his face. “Once I’m back in their good graces, then I’ll make my move. They thought they were oppressed before…well…they haven’t seen oppressed yet. My generosity is about to expire. With an organized, nationwide rebellion looming over the horizon I do believe I can get Congress to approve my decision to enact shore to shore martial law under the guise of it being for the safety and security of those non-troublemakers of society.”

“Martial law?” Victor asked, perplexed. “It sounds a little dramatic, don‘t you think? You’ll be raising a lot of eyebrows, and you may find even more problems on your hands than you currently have now.”

“My last ten years in office has raised nothing but eyebrows, has it not? Victor, you should know by now that I always get what I want, and I take care of those who help me obtain it. That’s why Congress will do as I ask them. Without me, they’re nothing.”

“How are you honestly going to justify it? Isn’t martial law supposed to be temporary?”

“Wasn’t the curfew?”

Victor smiled. “Carver, you’re always full of big aspirations, but I believe you’re not giving the people much credit. They will question your motives this time.”

“Of course they will, but it won’t matter. There will always be danger. Clearing out the rebellion will take quite a while, but there will always be The Man in Black to fall back on when the argument is made that the rebellion is no longer a threat, right?”

“I suppose,” Victor said in a near whisper.

 “You’ll see. Marital law will rule the country…and so will I.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The Visit

I learned of Lucy‘s death two months after the fact and completely by accident. In the sitting room, during one of my sleepless nights, I happened to glance at an article on the front page of the newspaper Brian was reading. A headline, a small blurb running down the side of the front page, captured my attention:

Assassination of Local Doctor Remains Unsolved

Normally, articles about random murders wouldn’t have warranted a second glance, but this article’s colorful use of the word ‘assassination’ grabbed my attention. Cocking my head, I tried to read the article at the angle that Brian was holding the paper. When I was finally able to catch the first few words of the second line, my heart leapt from my chest:

“Twenty-eight-year-old psychiatrist Lucy Pierce was murdered…”

No. It couldn’t be. It had to be another Dr. Lucy Pierce. Both ‘Lucy’ and ‘Pierce’ were common names. Besides, no one would ever want to hurt Lucy. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone make any enemies. Her patients loved her. There was never a mention of a disgruntled client or fear that her life was in jeopardy.

I struggled to see the rest of the article, noticing that there was a photograph that Brian’s index finger was blocking. The image was small, allowing his finger to conceal it, but I could still make out a wisp of blonde hair at its tip. I tried to wait patiently, but after only a matter of seconds, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I ripped the page from Brian’s hands, nearly tearing it in half in the process.

“Was that necessary?” he demanded.

I didn’t answer him, and couldn’t have if I had wanted to. “No!” I gasped. My body shook with agony upon recognizing the face in the photograph. Shaking, I stood up, distraught, knowing that there was absolutely nothing I could do, but nonetheless feeling the need to do something, I took off running down the hall.

“Celaine, are you all right?” Brian’s voice echoed behind me.

There was nothing that was going to stop me. My speed picked up, the world going by me in a blur. I was crying, sobbing, and I didn’t care who saw me as I kept on running toward my motorcycle; my only means of escape from the walls that were closing in around me. Swinging my leg over the seat, I threw my helmet on and took off, gripping the throttle tighter when I became unsatisfied with the maximum speed of the cycle. I needed to get back home and I needed to get there now. Ripping through the pine trees, I felt the tires of the cycle hit the wet pavement of the roadway, skidding on its side across both lanes. Unfazed, I squeezed the throttle tighter and shot down the road.

Back home, it was just as dreary and overcast as it had been at The Epicenter. As I pulled up to the entrance of the cemetery, I killed the engine of the motorcycle and typed in one of the many codes I’d learned to disable it, rendering the machine useless to anyone who may be tempted to take it out for a spin. What I was doing was not exactly smiled upon, but at the moment that didn’t matter to me. I was in plain clothing and, even though my body had changed significantly in the last few months, nothing about me exactly screamed superhero.

The damp lawn soaked through my tennis shoes. A breeze blew through me, the Fall air sending a chill down my spine. She was buried in the same cemetery as my family. In the newly expanded portion constructed to accommodate the rapidly growing body count the last ten years had amassed. Though I felt guilty, I couldn’t see them. Visiting my family and best friend’s graves in the same day would be too much for my delicate state. However, as I passed their general vicinity, I turned my head to search for the tree they were buried under, and, after spotting it, I continued my walk mouthing “I love you” in its direction.

The new addition to the cemetery was situated at the bottom of a hill forming a valley of newly minted graves. They were close together, the graves, closer than most cemeteries would’ve normally allowed, but it was necessary as well as cost effective.

I didn’t know exactly where Lucy was buried, and it took me a few moments of aimless wandering before I found her. It was a simple stone, not too presumptuous, just like she had been. Her picture, the picture that was in the paper, adorned her stone along with the lines
Beloved Daughter, Sister, and Friend
. It was generic, but nonetheless true. Beside the stone in a small flower pot were lilies, her favorite flower. Searching for words but coming up empty handed, I recited the first memories that came to mind:

“I remember when we were at sleepovers in high school, you would fall asleep before any of us, and we would draw all over your face with markers. We’d draw the most ridiculous things. Hearts, clouds, sayings, and still you’d never wake up. The next morning, you’d be awake hours before any of us and, instead of retaliating like you should have, you’d just keep the marks on your face the whole day as if you were making some kind of fashion statement. I remember, when I moved to Iowa, you were the only one who would write to me or call me to see how I was doing. You were the only one who didn’t see me as damaged goods. Oh, God, Luce…I’m so sorry. I wish I…I wish I could have seen you again. I wish that I could have said goodbye to you properly, face-to-face instead of by letter. I don’t know who did this to you, but I swear that I’ll find out.”

I looked up to the sky, wiping the tears from my eyes, wishing I could have had just one more moment with her to tell her how much her friendship had truly meant to me, that I’d taken none of it for granted.

“Celaine?” The familiar voice caused me to turn around in surprise, wiping my face once more.

“Ian,” I sniffed.