Fourteen
“Here are the facts,” Dark Static begins, continuing his supercilious lounging on the windowsill. “Your mom and two other journalists were killed on their way to Mayor Bridges’ campaign launch, and your sister married him a few months later.”
“Fact: you put a bomb in a CEO’s car. Fact: you burned down an innocent former mayor’s house.”
D.S. holds up a gloved finger. “No one said innocent.”
I’m learning that gesture is his favorite way to patronize me. Not today, Jerkface. “And what did Dr. Milligan do? Allegedly. ”
“It’s my belief that Dr. Milligan was party to your mother’s death. Among other doings that can only be described as ‘pure evil.’ I’ve spent a lot of time on this.” Even disguised, his voice sounds charged with energy.
“Well. That is some A+ conjecture. I really love your use of supporting details.”
Dark Static keeps his finger in the air. “And there’s the fact that Milligan partially tried to kill you. That night we met, and I totally saved you from that guy, Gary.”
Raincoat Guy. A flash of that night prickles my memory. Raincoat Guy’s boots step closer, as his silver pistol hides in the shadows.
“Excuse me?” I ask. “What do you mean ‘partially’? And how do you know that?”
“Milligan recruited Gary, but it wasn’t her idea to send him.”
This is giving me a headache, so I take a sip of water.
“Whose idea was it? Allegedly. ”
“That would be our valiant Mayor, Phillip Bridges’ idea.”
I can’t help it, he just looks so serious in his black armor, while giving me these wild conspiracies, that I actually snort, which makes the water I just sipped go down my windpipe, and causes me to double over coughing.
The Super that the Chronicle has just called The Most Dangerous Villain of Our Time is in my bedroom, and I’m snorting water.
“Roberts,” he says, amusement in his voice, “We’re trying to solve a murder here.”
“Come on,” I say, “Why would Phil hurt me? Why would he hurt my mom?”
Mom hated Phil, I remember.
“If I had to bet…” Dark Static continues, “I’d say that your mother discovered a secret about Mayor Bridges before his big event that she was about to expose. Maybe the Levines did too. They were friends, right?”
I sigh, exhaustion numbing me. “I’m getting really tired of guessing about what happened.”
“Me too. Good thing I found these.” He pulls two CDs in paper sleeves from one of his boots. He tosses me one.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Something to convince you.”
I must be in the middle of some horribly scripted, stupid spy movie.
I turn the CD over in my hand. Phil’s recognizable handwriting marks the day it was recorded in permanent marker: September 1 st .
Luckily, I have a CD player. It had been my mom’s from before streaming caught on.
I’ve never used it, but she had treasured it so much that I couldn’t let my dad throw it away.
It collects dust at the back of a high shelf, behind trophies and stuffed animals.
I pull it down, trying to find a way to load the disc.
“I think it’s here.” Without my noticing, Dark Static has moved behind me. He’s tall—my chin reaches his shoulder, and he leans over me to point at a slot along the side of the player.
I tap the disc to the weird slot-thing, but nothing happens.
“Hang on,” says D.S., and he takes the CD player. He turns it over, unhooking a cover, to reveal two batteries. He presses a gloved finger against them, and a white spark shoots off one of the batteries. Then he points the slot back at me.
“Try now,” he says.
The machine whirs as it accepts the CD.
“You’re welcome,” he adds.
Rolling my eyes, I press play.
“Write something about bringing a new era of prosperity,” says a self-assured voice on the recording. I know that voice: it’s the former mayor, Dr. Milligan. “And then tell them that prosperity is nonsense—it’s a word people use when they don’t know what they’re talking about.”
“Is it a good idea to swear in a speech?” asks a low, second voice: Phil Bridges.
“Relatability is key,” says Milligan. “Explain what prosperity means to you, or what it means to, you know, twenty other people that fit our target voter profile.”
“Milligan’s writing the big speech for Bridges,” D.S. speaks slowly. “That’s the first thing I wanted you to hear. Put in the next one.” He offers the other CD.
It’s dated September 2 nd . The day in question.
I take the disc, not realizing that my hands are shaking until D.S. steadies them with his own. I wish I could say it’s not comforting. We push in the next CD.
Again, Dr. Milligan’s voice starts the recording. “They know. Meredith told them.”
“That’s it then,” the all-too-familiar voice of Phil Bridges replies. “We have to take them out.”
D.S. shuts off the player. Wordlessly, he retreats to his windowsill, giving me room to digest. My back muscles pinch together, raising my shoulders as hot panic sears through my veins. Steady, Mads. Think.
“My mom told them what?” I ask.
“That,” he taps his chin in thought, “I’m not sure of.”
“Hang on,” I ask, “why make me deal with the police? Why not show me these from the beginning?”
“First, there was the matter of whether I could trust you. And then there’s the matter that I only found these CDs today.”
“Found them? These are Phil’s secret files. How did you get these?”
“Stole them.” He shrugs like it’s inconsequential. “Bridges has hundreds of CDs. Holds onto ‘em in case he needs to blackmail someone, I’ve gathered. CDs make sense, not hackable.”
“Okay, great, but how did you get these? ”
“It wasn’t that hard, Roberts, seeing as he asked me to work for him and I now can easily sneak into his office at City Hall.”
“HE ASKED YOU TO WORK FOR HIM?” Now, I’m really confused.
While I’ve suspected Phil’s role as our mayor is a bit of a performance… I never thought he was evil. Incompetent and under-qualified, but never evil.
The faintest puff appears in Dark Static’s chest, as if mayors ask infamous villains to complete secret tasks for them every day. “He asked me to start doing little jobs for him. Mostly, he just wants me to stir up trouble.”
“Why?” I stammer. I eject the CD from the player and put it back in the sleeve.
“Because the easiest way for Phil to be more popular is to get people to believe in him. If the public fears me, and if Bridges can inspire hope in them despite the mess I create, he’ll have more power than what he gets from just being elected. I’m an enemy to unite against.”
“That seems like a stretch,” I say.
“Does it, though?”
I step toward my bed, sinking onto it. My pillows and blankets form a pseudo fort of protection.
If what Dark Static says is true, then Phil, my brother-in-law, murdered my mom.
Somehow. Some way. Allegedly. Given Phil’s performances at the school assembly and the Levines’ dinner party, I can believe that he wants to be big—bigger than just our mayor.
And… we have to take them out, he’d said on the CD—the same day that three editors of the Capital Chronicle died in a tragic “accident.”
“Phil asked you to stir up trouble?” I clarify.
“Yep,” D.S. dusts off his shoulders. “But he failed to specify how . ‘Start a fire,’ he said, so I did in Milligan’s house. Then he goes, ‘Hey, Static, I need an explosion.’ So I blew up his friend’s car. Isn’t it great to rebel?”
“Meanwhile, you’re using him to find out what my mom discovered—what his secret is. That’s what’s in this for you.”
“You nailed it.” D.S. nods.
“Where does the CCPD come in?” I ask. “Officer Kyle thinks my dad is a suspect.”
Please, I silently beg Dark Static, don’t say my dad is involved.
D.S. laughs off my statement. “And how much faith do you have in Officer Kyle?”
I don’t need to reply. Not much.
Dark Static sits back on his windowsill a few feet away, where the room’s light is at its dimmest, and lifts his mask slightly to scratch his cheek.
He exposes the smallest surface above his chin, skin taught and shaven.
I’d expected him to be more ruggedly handsome, less prep-school pristine.
He coughs, guessing what I’m thinking about.
“Like what you see?” He brushes his hands over his mask, securing it just below his jawline.
I shake out my legs, refusing to get too comfortable. While he may use his powers for chaotic good, I know better than to trust him.
“What does stopping Phil have to do with me?” I ask.
He pauses, considering how to phrase his response. “You may have more information than you think. Your mom might have left you some answers.”
“You still want me to help you?” My dad and I had gone through every file folder and shoebox when we’d moved. If Mom left anything, why haven’t I found it?
“If you’re up for it. And of course, if Bridges wants to hurt you, then you’re someone I want on my team.”
Phil’s voice replays in my mind. We have to take them out.
“You’re lucky he hasn’t tried to hurt you since that night,” Dark Static adds.
“Why me? Why not Arielle? Or Fox, or Brynn?” Why aren’t you stalking them too?
“I can’t get a read on Arielle,” he says. “Another thing you could help me with, though she’s risky. And as far as I can tell, Bridges hasn’t hunted the Levine kids yet. You’re the big winner, if you want to add another trophy.” He gestures to my collection.
The shadows around us shimmer, the room laced with kinetic questions. But for the first time, I have some actual answers.
Since I’d met D.S., he’s been impossible to figure out.
He was supposedly Golden Ace’s nemesis, yet he saved me from a mugging.
Now, it’s clear that he’s helping Capital City, and is double-crossing politicians and destroying things while he’s at it.
I don’t understand him, but if he’s right about this… Capital City needs him.
“Are you sure you’re not a villain?” I ask. Dark Static still doesn’t seem like a hero to me… not yet. But he doesn’t seem as bad as he once did, either.
“I’m not sure about anything.”
“Me neither.” Even if I could be confident that what Dark Static told me tonight is true, it’s probably not the whole truth—I don’t think I’ll ever get the whole truth from him—but I can say this: He might just be giving me the chance to finish what my mom started.
I lie back on my bed, propping myself up by the elbows. My swim meet, then Officer Kyle, and now this. Pangs of exhaustion shoot from every muscle, begging me to sleep.
“It’s nice to have someone else in this,” I tell him. “Thank you.” After Arielle and Fox iced me out, everything around my mom has felt lonely. Kristen understands a little, but doesn’t have the whole picture, and my dad works all the time.
“It is truly my pleasure to do this specialness for you,” he says, with only a hint of playfulness. Our eyes lock, and I meet his gaze until I’m sure there’s nothing else to say.
“See you soon then?” I ask.
“Sooner than you think.” With the CDs in his book, he climbs onto the window ledge and pushes off, leaping into the night. As the shadows he carries vanish, the city lights beam into my room, making everything way too bright.
I didn’t expect to miss his darkness.