Powers (31 page)

Aaron Boucher had left Atlanta because of men like Waldo, despite his obviously skewed confession. Aaron had been exhausted, tired of being forced to work with men who profited from the innocent and dealt dirty with the law. He left because Atlanta was dangerous—for the entire Boucher family—and he needed to get them away from the graft, corruption, and lies. No, Aaron might be a grade-one dick bag, but the only thing he was truly guilty of was betraying Deena Pilgrim and breaking her goddamn heart. She knew it.

But still …

Something didn't sit well with Deena, and it wasn't the
kalagyosh.
For one, who had infected her father? Nobody else had been there, and Waldo had been fine when he came to the door. A slow-acting virus? Timed to release and then spread quickly through his bloodstream? It made little sense to Deena. But then, none of Liberty's crimes really connected in any way. The MO shifted from place to place, and the victims—until now, until this new batch where various threads of the past found themselves centering on Joseph Monroe—had previously been random kills. So … maybe. Maybe it
was
Liberty.

But again, there were three of us in the apartment: Waldo, Aaron, me. I
know
I didn't do it. Aaron claims he didn't, as well. Would my father have infected himself, knowing that Aaron and I would find a way to save his life? Would he put his life in that kind of danger, hoping for an honest moment—or perhaps to throw off the scent—in order to place the finger of blame on someone else? Someone he hated, like Aaron Boucher? Okay, let's say that's true. Then how the hell did the Liberty tag get on the door? We were with him the entire time. Did he pay someone else to do it, maybe the pantsless basket case across the hall? Or was Waldo working with someone else—Crane, perhaps, lying again to me?

“No. I'd know,” she muttered to herself, polishing off her
gatah. It made more sense that Aaron had placed it there, probably when he left to call 911 after surreptitiously injecting Waldo … or maybe when he'd first lingered in the hall.

“Fuck!” she cried, banging a hand on the table. “I don't know
what
to believe.”

The proprietor shuffled out. “More tea?”

“Keep it coming. Gonna be a long morning.” The man smiled and hurried off, darting into the pantry for a fresh mug.

I can't do this myself. I've tried; I'm too close to it. I have the word of three very different men, and I can't believe a single one. The only man I
can
believe, that I
can
trust, won't pick up his goddamn phone.
Deena glanced down, staring at the dark, dormant cell phone next to her plate. She willed it to ring, wishing that Walker would get over his bruised ego and call her the fuck back.

Screw this. I'm going over there. He'll help me figure this out, right?

She lifted the phone and willed it to ring one more time.
Walker!

The device shuddered in her hand and started to vibrate. Deena jumped, taken aback, and nearly dropped it on the floor. She checked the number. It wasn't Walker, but she tapped to receive, anyway. An awkwardly posed image of Detective Enki Sunrise filled her mobile screen, saved to Deena's caller ID.

“Enki,” she inquired, happy to hear a familiar and welcome voice, “where have you been?”

“Deena. I'm at Ellis General. You have to get down here right away, okay? Where are you? I'll pick you up.”

She sat up in her chair, quickly tossing a handful of cash onto the table as she prepared to make her escape. “The hospital? Is it Kirk? Man, I feel like I've been in more hospitals—”

“Not Kirk,” came Enki's response, somber and succinct. “It's Walker.”

Deena's stomach leaped into her throat, and she knew with certainty that it wasn't the food. She grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair.

“I'm on my way.”

 

23

December. Wednesday morning. 9:59
A.M.

“—viewers tuning in, this is Collette McDaniels at Ellis General. Late last evening, yet another devastating, Powers-related catastrophe struck our city … circling at the edge of an ongoing national tragedy. According to eyewitnesses, two men entered a fifth-floor apartment at 44122 Andreyko Place—one in early evening, the other just after ten, moments before the building was destroyed. Over thirty-five injuries, fifteen near-fatalities, and at least six deaths were the result of an unknown altercation involving the owner of the apartment, Detective Christian Walker of the Powers Homicide Division. Walker, as regular viewers may recall, formerly operated as the masked vigilante known as Diamond. These days, he finds himself powerless, an unfortunate set of circumstances that landed Walker—no doubt at the epicenter of the wreckage—in Ellis's intensive care unit. More recently, Walker had been a key contributor to the terrible series of … wait … wait, hang on. Someone's coming through the door. Yes … yes …
“Manny, bring the camera!
Walker's partner has arrived at Ellis, currently lead detective in the …
here,
I … Detective Pilgrim!
Deena!
This way. A moment for
Powers That Be
?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“
We can edit that in post
 … Detective, care to comment on—”

“Seriously, stick that camera in my face again, and you'll be picking glass out of your teeth.”

“Really, Detective, our viewers just want to understand—”

“And
you
. Come near me—or Walker, for that matter—with a recorder, phone, chalkboard, or quill and I swear to fuck I'll boot you right in the dick.”

“Well, that's just the kind of ill-mannered—hey …
hey,
where are you going?”

Deena hurried away from the salivating vultures skulking by the door. She flashed her badge and sidestepped the triage area of Ellis's emergency ward, casting about for a doctor, nurse, or familiar face to point her where she needed to go. The ward was loud and hot, littered with gurneys and wailing family members. She tried to flag down one of the orderlies, but every able-bodied professional had his or her hand in a wound or body. It felt like the last days of war, the screaming for help, and Deena whirled around at the nurses' desk, unsure where to go. She was especially disoriented after elbowing through not only a horde of journalistic bloodhounds but also an army of hysterical loved ones, not to mention angry protestors picketing on the street. Deena had already seen video of crowds like it around the city, either riled up by Crane's intolerant rhetoric or indignantly fighting against Human Front wackos who aimed to marginalize their right to powers. Three days after Monroe's death and the city was ready to blow. She hoped it wouldn't happen until after she solved his murder or at least got a chance to see her partner one last time. Deena spotted a tiny phalanx of cops and plainclothes detectives at the far end of the ward. Steeling her resolve, she headed in that direction.

“Deena!” She turned left and was elated to see Enki Sunrise hurrying down the hall with an armful of snacks. Enki handed Deena a pack of M&M's she'd retrieved from a vending machine. They hustled away, avoiding stares and possible distractions.

“What happened?” she asked Enki as they ducked into an empty room.

“Still piecing it together. Could be Liberty; could simply be an enemy with a grudge. Could also be an exploded gas leak. We'll know more soon, for sure.”

“Was there a tag? Why do we think it could have been Liberty?”

Enki shrugged and poured candy down her throat. “We're not sure,” she mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate. “Building's rubble; won't know if it's been tagged 'til we sift through the wreckage … or Walker comes to.”

Deena touched Enki's forearm. “He's alive, though. Is he okay?”

Enki frowned. “He's stable, at least for now. Walker's a bruiser—and he used to have powers. That's why the doctors think he's not a puddle. But he is in pretty bad shape. Broken bones, contusions, heavy blood loss.”

“But he'll live?”

Enki nodded in reply. “More than we can say for some of these poor bastards.” She gestured to the sea of gurneys. “You think it was Liberty?”

Deena stepped aside to avoid a passing wheelchair. “I thought Liberty was with me, down in Atlanta … but so was Aaron, and then Aaron came back…”

“Right before Walker got hit.”

Deena peered around the ward. “Where's Aaron now?”

“Last I saw him—and really, I only met the guy last night—he was stewing in the bullpen. He and Walker have history?”

“Not Walker. Me.”

Enki raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth, and then she thought better of it and let it go. “Want him found? I can make some calls.”

Deena vigorously shook her head. “Not yet. I need to work shit out, confirm a few things before we do. Can I see Walker? They admitting visitors yet?”

“Captain's been in, a coupla lawyers. No family as of yet.”

Deena grimly stuck out a thumb and pointed it back and forth, between the two of them. “Family's here. Let's go.”

Moments later, Enki closed the door, shutting out the madness, as Deena pulled a chair to Walker's bedside. Her friend, her partner, was stretched out amid a tangle of tubes, wires, charts, and sheets. A single window let in the light, casting it across his bed in a bright-yellow rectangle. Deena reached out to take Walker's hand, and her heart thudded against her chest.
I should have been here. I should have done something,
she thought,
instead of being so focused on the shit pile I left behind. You were right,
she admitted.
I was distracted—by Aaron, by Waldo, all that bullshit. I should have listened to you this one time … because face it, Walker, I'm usually the one that's right … but this time … this time it was
you
.

She wiped a tear away. Enki, arms crossed, leaned against the wall and seemed amused. “What is it?” Deena retorted. “Didn't think I could cry?”

“It's like watching bears masturbate. Something you never see, something you aren't sure you ever wanna see again.”

“Funny girl. Sit down; think on this with me a bit.”

Enki pulled up a second chair. The room shut out all the noise, all the insanity waiting in the ward. Their world narrowed down to two detectives, an injured partner, and the incessant beeping of many, necessary machines.

“Fucking hospitals,” Deena opined. “I really should see how the newborn is doing upstairs. Fuck, I was
just
here for him. First Kirk, then my dad. Now Walker. One more ER visit and I get free ice cream.”

“Share it with Liberty. He's the one who got you here.”

Deena pursed her lips. “It wasn't Liberty.”

“How's that now?”

Leaning forward, she clasped both hands between her knees. “It wasn't Liberty. Monroe was Liberty.”

Enki sat back and rubbed her jaw. “Busy man. First a hero, then a bigot,
then
a corpse … now a serial killer from beyond the grave. Great work ethic.”

“No … he
was
Liberty the first time around. These new killings? That's somebody different. Listen…” Deena launched into her story, explaining to Enki what she'd learned from Waldo and Crane, leaving out only her father's last, secret bit of information—a tidbit she had yet to corroborate. She related what Quince had revealed in the investigation room and then tacked on her own suspicions about Aaron—as well as Walker's.
I should have listened,
she reminded herself.
He was right. He's generally right. Guess that's what happens when you're a goddamn superhero.

“Wait,” Enki responded. “So the Citizen Soldier was not only an anti-powers militant but
also
a noted—and as of yet unconvicted—serial killer?”

“Yes'm.” Deena polished off the M&Ms, tossing them down her gullet one by one. The sounds and heavy breathing coming from the bed faded into the background. Everything came down to the data—the facts—evidence that she, Kirk, and Walker had gathered over the last few days.
I wish I had a blackboard or some way to spread it out. But all I have is a cop on a chair and a pig in a blanket. And, of course, a heart full of regret. I wish the son of a bitch would just wake up so I can alleviate that … apologize and explain how much I need his help.

Then again, if I'm wishing for shit, how about strippers and a pony, God?

Enki continued her summarization. “Monroe, working with your dad, released convicted criminals—Powers and anti-Powers both—in order to kill other
unconvicted
criminals and, what, clean up the streets?”

“I guess.”

“Meanwhile, the cops and Powers look the other way and your dad has the released criminals tag their murders with Liberty's catchphrase. Because the Liberty killings were already a thing—the Soldier, operating on his own. Yes? But then what was the Soldier's original agenda?”

“Search me. Secretly killing Powers, I guess. The guy's a proven bigot.”

Enki shook her head. “No, no. Some of his victims weren't Powers, remember? The Rammlers—or at least the one who died years ago—he didn't have powers. So, again,
why?
And why didn't Crane take Monroe's deal? Sentimentality? He didn't wanna kill his own people? No, it's all kinds of interesting.”

“Not to mention,” Deena added, “my asshole former boyfriend
knew
about it, even though he claimed to be the last good cop in Atlanta, and he allowed it to happen until his pop was in danger.”