Six #2
He nods. “Always thought that was kind of strange, but it never turned into anything.”
“Why not?” asks Kristen. At the same time, I ask, “Strange how?”
“Supers rarely insert themselves into accidents after the fact, they usually just prevent ‘em from happening. Then there’s the matter of relevance. No way of knowing if the lighter was on the scene at the time of the accident. It could’ve wound up there days later or been there weeks before.
Made circumstances unusual, but not enough to change the outcome. ”
I can’t decide if I should feel relieved because Dark Static is wrong, or anxious that he might be right and it’ll be harder to prove it.
“What about the charring in the van?” I ask the point D.S. had raised, “Anything unusual there?”
“Normally you’d expect to see more charring,” says Officer Kyle. “But it’s not impossible to get what we have here. In situations like these, when there’s an incident as severe as this was, we do an autopsy. Should be in there.”
I sift through more papers. The rest of the file contains a list of evidence, stating there was gasoline found at the scene, and witness statements from the first people to drive past the accident, but who hadn’t witnessed the crash. “No autopsy report.”
“Let me check our dinosaur.” Officer Kyle moves to the desktop computer, which groans, coming to life. I turn back to the file and make sure I have all the pictures I need. Paperwork buries the image of my mother and the Levines, and the longer I ignore the picture, the stuffier the room becomes.
Officer Kyle frowns. He clicks his mouse around the screen, clicking in perfect time with Kristen’s nail biting, and frowns again. “That’s weird.”
“It’s not there?” I ask. How could I have guessed?
Did my dad ever ask to see the autopsy? The police seemed certain about the accident, and my dad knows about cars—and by extension—car crashes. Maybe he never thought there was a reason to ask.
“Who did the autopsy?” asks Kristen. “Could we ask them?”
Officer Kyle sighs. Our fifteen minutes must be almost up if they’re not already. “Look, girls,” he says. “Whatever the autopsy says, it would only confirm what’s in the file. Changes nothing.”
“But—” I start, and Officer Kyle cuts me off with an elongated throat clearing.
“Very sorry, but I gotta close up. You’re welcome back tomorrow. Might benefit if you bring a parent or guardian.”
Red creeps up Kristen’s cheeks, and I’m sure mine match. We know better than to mouth off to an officer of the law, especially a man—especially a man who just called us “girls.” I stammer a “thank you” and make sure my phone’s in my pocket when we head out. It’d be my luck to leave it behind.
When Kristen and I are out in the breezy parking lot, she stomps on the pavement. The slaps of her self-decorated sneakers echo into the clouds. “That was a load of crap, Mads. They’re understaffed, but who straight up loses an autopsy?”
I chew on my sweatshirt’s drawstring. “What can we do now?”
“Ask Arielle. She has pull. Or your dad. Or this Dark Static guy. Why are you the one digging? Shouldn’t he prove his conspiracy theories to you ?”
She’s right. But I imagine it would look odd if Dark Static waltzed into the police station, waving his lightning bolts around, and asked for information on a closed accident three years ago.
We trudge to Kristen’s sedan and my spine tickles, like someone’s watching.
I turn back to the police station, but the hazy streetlights reveal only empty chip bags and other litter.
If it were me, Dark Static’s words echo in my head, yet again. I’d want to see the autopsy.
~
I doze in bed. Outside, the dobermans bark at something on the sidewalk, their low growls thundering across the neighborhood, and I tense for a second.
What are they barking at? It could be a murderer with a knife, or it could be a chipmunk.
Should I check? I sink into the mattress instead.
A soft breeze from the window blows my loose hair along my forehead, pulling me into slumber, until my eyes snap open.
The window is supposed to be closed.
“You know, you should really keep that locked. It makes visiting you too easy. Sucks the fun right out of it.”
D.S. Dark Static. Number one on Capital City’s most wanted list. The man with a $10,000 bounty on his head is watching me sleep.
“HELLPPP—” I jump out of bed, flight mode activated.
The overhead light flickers on, illuminating D.S.’s gloved hand on the switch, and confirming that this is not, in fact, a dream. He watches me, amused.
“GOLDEN ACE, SOMEONE HELLLPPP—”
I thrust open the door to my bedroom, making it halfway down the stairs—
“Your dad is still out,” he shouts over my screams. “And I gave the dogs some peanut butter. They love me now.”
Oh my god, where’s my dad?
I sprint back upstairs to my room, pulling my phone from the nightstand. I’d received a text not even five minutes ago: Leaving library, bagels in pantry if I don’t see you before school – Dad.
It’s a funny feeling, being relieved yet so scared you could pee your pants. My dad should be here in about fifteen minutes. I can make it fifteen minutes. Probably.
Heart racing, I return to my bed and wrap the ends of my comforter around my chest, as if that will do anything protective. “Seriously, man,” I say. “Not cool.”
Dark Static leans against my dresser, where my hairbrush, framed photos of my childhood, and most personal objects are mere inches away. Like my nineteen Golden Ace figurines. He lifts one up and wipes at a smudge of dirt.
“This is quite the shrine,” he says. “Had no idea you’re such a big fan.” His gaze sweeps over my room, pausing on my Official Golden Ace Fan Club Certificate. He returns the figurine to my dresser with a satisfied tap.
“You had no idea that I’m so devoted to your nemesis, you mean,” I say.
He shifts back to me, every micro-movement calm and unhurried.
Golden Ace doesn’t seem to bother him at all.
“You’re upset. That’s on me. Roberts, I am so very sorry to have interrupted your beauty sleep and inconvenienced you with this téte-à-téte.
I would say it won’t happen again, but I don’t like to make promises I can’t keep. ”
“I’d hate to see the promises you can.”
Please leave, I think for extra emphasis, just in case mind-reading is another one of his special abilities. I think the mind-reading Supers are the ones you have to look out for the most.
“Ah. You’re still upset about the news this morning. Don’t be. Dr. Milligan is part of a plan. Everything’s under control.”
“Is that a promise?”
Dark Static inhales slowly, as if he’s about to elaborate, but by the exhale he’s changed his mind. “Sorry to visit this late. I wanted to stop by earlier, but you weren’t here.”
Red dots light up his D.S. 6000 watch. He knows where I was. He’s tracking me. I squeeze the blanket between my fists. Why did I think, even for a second, that D.S. is capable of telling the truth?
“Were you aware the autopsy is missing?” I demand.
“Of course.”
“So, you knew I’d find zilch at the station and drag up all these horrible feelings again for nothing?”
The shadows from my lamp swirl around him, like they’re awaiting an order.
“Not for nothing,” he says, “Not exactly.”
This is more exhausting than a homework all-nighter. “Do you know where it is?”
“I was hoping you might find out.”
I gape back at him, but he seems to mean it. “And how would I do that?”
Dark Static crosses one ankle over the other and lazily folds his hands under the rim of my dresser. “You’ll figure something out.”
I ball up my pillow, ready to throw it. “Why are you here?” Since it clearly isn’t to help me.
“I saved your life.” He points to his gleaming black suit and has the audacity to smirk. “Now you do something for me. We’re square.”
“Pass,” I glare back. He’s being worse than Fox. At least Fox, when he’s obnoxious like this, will eventually leave me alone.
D.S. yawns, like he already knows he’ll get what he wants. “Care if I make myself at home then? I think I might stay for a while.”
I reach for my cell phone, threatening to call the police, Arielle, my dad… but D.S. simply points to his mask. “Let’s not forget, Roberts, I can shoot lasers from my eyes.”
My phone. That’s how he knows where I am.
“ Stop stalking me.” I throw the device into the laundry bin by my closet. It hits the top sweatshirt dead in the center.
“You missed your calling as a basketball player,” he teases.
“I mean it.”
“Fine.” D.S. lifts his hands from my dresser and studies his gloves. He rubs his palm, rippling the shadows that run up his arms. “All you have to do is turn off your location. Easy peasy, Roberts.”
I know that location data gives corporations the ability to change their ads and tech companies the intelligence to adjust maps and search engine results.
Movies taught me that if you’re going to rob a bank, only bring a burner phone so police can’t track it.
I did not know anyone could hack someone’s location.
He observes while I retrieve my phone and switch off the location. A red dot on his watch disappears. The bed squeaks when I settle back into it, and he gives a pleased nod. “You’re on the Capital City High swim team, right?”
That catches me off guard. “Obviously.” My room is only full of trophies.
“And you share a lane with Aaron Ryan?”
“How do you know that?”
He stills, listening. The dobermans bark, but not ferociously.
My dad is home.
A thud comes from downstairs as my dad unlocks the deadbolt.
D.S. turns back to me.
“I need you to find out if Aaron has Superpowers. I’ll show you a way to contact me in due time.” He prances back to the windowsill. “Nice chat, Roberts. Fix that window.”
He leaps off the windowsill like a cat pouncing on the sky, taking the nearest shadows with him. The dobermans bark and whine for more treats below, giving life to our otherwise quiet street.
It’s the second time in hours that I’ve heard about Aaron being special, but a Super? No way. He’s a talented swimmer, but the school tests athletes for powers.
The bedroom door cracks open, letting in light from the hall.
“Bedtime, Madaroni?” Dad pokes his head in.
I nod, still deep in thought, and my dad retreats.
I remember when Arielle tested me before my first swim practice.
She’d tested all of us, having special permission from the government, and acted stupidly smug about her status for months afterward.
I’d swallowed the testing liquid, and she’d waited four seconds before declaring me hopelessly normal.
For Kristen, she’d waited five. Arielle never said what the testing liquid would do if you were a Super, no one ever did, but Arielle would keep the secret for the prestige rather than the ethics.
Aaron can’t have powers and be on the swim team. That couldn’t have been what D.S. wanted me to find out about Aaron. There must be something else that he’s hoping I’ll discover along the way.