Falling Into Place (27 page)

She took a sip of wine. “I guess Eris is the easiest. She’s an alien from the Planet Negari whose inhabitants are a peace-loving race.

She was sent to Earth as a good will ambassador, hoping to teach us their culture and ideals while eventually sharing our way of life with her fellow Negarians. Due to the different atmospheric conditions between her plant and ours, she has the ability of super speed here on Earth.”

“Share our way of life, ha!” Colleen said sarcastically. “Good luck with all that, Eris.”

“So why the rundown? Google’s server down?” Jill asked with a guffaw.

“No, I knew all of that,” the reporter replied, deadly serious. “I just wanted you to say it out loud, maybe get a feel for how ludicrous it all sounds. Aliens, angels, Goddesses, immortals and a time traveler? Sounds like something out of a bad comic book.”

“So you think they’re all lying? Toward what end?” Jill asked, getting defensive again.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I don’t think they are lying, I think they are part of a much bigger lie,” Colleen said, handing one of the papers over to Jill. “Take a look at this.”

The therapist studied the information contained on the sheet of paper before looking up, “What exactly am I looking at here?” she finally said.

“Don’t you see?” Colleen said nervously, moving closer and pointing to different areas of the sheet. “Every time The Power Elite are involved in a huge battle, some other major happening occurs somewhere around the globe. And it’s always in America’s best interest, or at least in the government’s.” The reporter could see the disdain on her friend’s face so she continued as she handed Jill a worn photograph, “Look at this photo! April 17
^th
of this year! The team battled the Ultra-Mechanoid in the Gulf of Mexico. Meanwhile, in Saudi Arabia, insurgents took control of the port city of Dhahran. All the media, the
Times
included, ran stories about The Power Elite for days. The only mention of Dhahran was a few paragraphs in the international section. Months later, it was discovered the insurgents were using mostly U.S. military weapons during their attack, that they were trained to use them by our government. Coincidence? Maybe if it happened once or twice, but look at that list. Every time The Power Elite goes into battle, there is a covert op or shady dealing going down somewhere else. Whether it’s South America, Korea, the Middle East, or wherever our government benefits from it. Every single time!”

Jill stared at the page for long moments. Colleen gave her time to process what she’d said. Finally, Jill looked up and said, “Honestly, Col. This is all speculation. There’s no proof of any of it. Certainly nothing that points to the members of The Power Elite being involved in any way, shape or form.”

“But there’s chinks in their armor, too,” Colleen said. “Now there’s no way to poke holes in Bolt or Ambrosia’s stories since no one knows what the future is like or how things work on Mount Olympus, but the others have shown some cracks.”

“Like what?” Jill asked, seriously concerned that her friend was obsessed with this notion and completely grasping at straws.

“Take Achilles for example. He was supposedly dipped in the River Styx as a baby, right?” Colleen asked, as Jill nodded in agreement. “So how did he age to a full grown adult male and
then
stop aging?” Colleen took her phone out of her purse and handed it to her friend. “Plus look at this cell phone vid taken after the Elite’s battle with Moleculo in Chicago. Achilles saves an eight-year-old boy and the hero notices the kid is wearing a Cedar Points Amusement Park T-shirt. He off handedly remarks he loved going there as a kid. How would that be possible if he was born in Ancient Greece?”

“You’re reaching here, kiddo,” Jill said, handing the phone back. “Maybe he was just trying to calm the kid down by connecting with him on a human level? Ever think of that?”

“Okay, that’s not a bad point,” Colleen conceded, before reaching into the folder and removing several photographs. She handed them to Jill as she continued, “What about Eris. Her skin is almost orange, supposedly due to her planet being closer to its sun, correct? Here are multiple images of her “complexion” running down her neck and face. Of course, none of these photos ever made it to the press or online. Why do you think that is? Why suppress them if they’re not real and why would she have to spray on her natural skin tone like that?” Colleen let the questions hang in the air for a few seconds. She started talking again just as Jill was about to respond.

“Let’s talk about Seraph. That symbol on her forehead is supposed to be the Enochian letter for God or “G,” but according to every known theologian on Earth, it is actually the letter “B” of the Angelic language. Plus, that chaos symbol on her stomach is a tattoo.”

“Well, I’m assuming no theologian has ever actually been to Heaven so maybe they have been wrong about the Enochian angelic language from the start,” Jill said, rubbing her hand over her face. “And what’s the big deal about the tattoo? Angels can’t get tats?”

“I don’t know if they can or can’t, but she’s no angel. This time I
can
prove it,” Colleen said, really revving up now. “That tattoo is very unique so I researched it. Eventually I located the tattoo artist that did it and he remembered her. Seraph’s real name is Rachel McGee and she’s from Phoenix, Arizona, not Heaven.” The reporter handed another piece of paper to Jill as she continued, getting more animated with each moment as she pointed to various parts of the document. “Here is her High School yearbook picture and driver’s license from six years ago. She was a disturbed young woman who marked herself with that letter on the forehead with a homemade branding iron. With no other recourse, her mother had her committed. After five months the sanitarium, in which she was a patient, burned down under mysterious circumstances. She was presumed dead with the other 68 poor souls who lost their lives in the incident. Now she’s a government-sanctioned superhero.”

Jill sat motionless, staring at Rachel McGee’s face as her mind reeled at the implication. If Seraph’s story was indeed manufactured, could all of them be fabrications too? “I...I don’t know what to say. Are you 100% sure Seraph and this girl are the same person?”

“According to the paper’s facial recognition program, it’s a 96% match. So unless a fallen angel actually crawled out of Hell and took over Rachel McGee’s body, her story is totally bogus. Which scenario seems more likely to you?”

Jill looked up with wide eyes. “But Why, Colleen? Why would they do it? Just to cover up secrets? To make the administration virtually scandal proof?”

“I can think of worse reasons,” Colleen said compassionately. “I know it’s a lot to take in, honey. Take your time.”

“I don’t need time because this is total bullshit. This can’t be true. None of it,” Jill said, suddenly very agitated. “This is nothing but speculation and hearsay except for the fact that one of them looks like a girl who died years ago! I can’t believe any of it! It’s ridiculous!”

“What? How can-?” Colleen began to say before Jill jumped in.

“How can I what? Not join the witch hunt with you and your newspaper? Not try to tear down heroes who’ve done nothing but try to help this world?” Jill said, waving her hands in the air. “Honestly, Colleen, I know you’re a pessimist but this is going too far.”

“This has nothing to do with pessimism or my newspaper. I’m worried about you!” Colleen yelled. “Can’t you see that? If this is true, if any of this is true, you will be a part of it. You will take the fall with them when the truth comes out!”

“I’m not listening to any more of this nonsense!” Jill said, getting up and taking her empty plates to the kitchen, placing them in the sink and turning on the water. She started vigorously cleaning them, trying to work off her rising anxiety.

Colleen’s shoulders slumped as she stared down at the evidence she’d shown her friend, listening to the sound of the water from the faucet. Her face was resigned but sullen as she gathered the papers. The reporter put them back in the folder, placed the folder in her purse and took it with her to the kitchen. “Okay, hon,” she said quietly as Jill continued to straighten up. She went to the door, placed her hand on the knob but hesitated.

After what seemed like an eternity, she turned back to her friend. “Listen, Jill. I had no idea about any of this before you got that job. Like I said, I’m a glorified blogger, not Woodward and Bernstein,” she said, earnestly. “I started digging because it’s what I do and I wanted to look out for you, which is also what I do. I wanted this to be your dream job with no strings attached.” She looked down at her feet, feeling foolish. “I just want you to know that. I wasn’t trying to start any shit. I just felt you should know about this stuff, about this folder and the possibility that things aren’t quite what they seem. That’s all, no other reason, no hidden agenda.”

“I don’t blame you, Col. I really don’t. Just try to see it from my side,” Jill said, finally looking at her friend. “There’s not a whole lot of evidence to support these claims.”

“I’m not trying to get a conviction here. I’m just looking out for my best friend,” Colleen said with a half-grimace/half-smile. “Anyway, I’m gonna go. I figure I’ve done enough damage for one night.” She opened the door. “Just do me one favor, bestie. Please, please, please...keep your eyes open.”

“Huh,” Jill said, somewhat bemused.

“What?” Colleen asked.

“Nothing. It’s just that you’re the second person today to implore me to
keep my eyes open,
” the therapist said with just a hint of melancholy in her voice.

“I see,” the journalist replied, intrigued by Jill’s sudden change in demeanor. “I don’t suppose you can tell me who this other person was?”

They both said in unison, “I can’t, its classified,” before the two women chuckled simultaneously, breaking the tension.

First thing Monday morning, Dr. Jill Musik made a formal request, through the proper channels, to be a part of Agent Darrell Meadows’ continued mental health care. Despite the protestations of her immediate supervisor, Dr. William Harris, Jill felt it was something she had to do, even if there was almost no chance anything would come from it. The dressing down she received by General DeVane on Friday made it abundantly clear her help wasn’t wanted or necessary, but it was important for her to make the request formally. It wasn’t much, but what else could she do? She was ready to put the unpleasant incident behind her and focus on moving forward with her other patients as her priority.

The rest of her morning went smoothly, giving therapy to two agents who’d been involved with The Power Elite’s run-in with Murder-tron and his Minions of Menace. Her next appointment, at 11:30, was originally scheduled for Agent Meadows. Due to the sudden change, Jill managed to squeeze in a half hour going over the files of her new patient, Agent Ian Conroy. At 11:25, Jill closed the files, cleaned up her deck and prepared her notes on Agent Conroy. Ten minutes later, with no sign of the patient, she figured he wasn’t going to show. Agents are usually nothing if not punctual. Maybe he was thrown off by the last minute switch. No harm done. They could always reschedule again.

Dr. Musik sat behind her desk and entered her access code into her computer terminal, in order to denote the missed appointment with Conroy’s direct supervisor and her boss, Dr. Harris. The computer screen suddenly went blank, nothing but a bright red screen with no desktop functions at all, not even the cursor.

“God damn it!” Jill exclaimed, reaching into her top desk drawer for the agency directory, intending to call tech support.

“Hello, Dr. Musik,” came a voice from close by, causing Jill to literally jump up from her chair. A man was sitting directly in front of her desk. How did he get there? She would’ve seen someone come into her office.

“Please be seated, Doctor. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said with a voice straight out of a nightmare. It was a low, raspy, gruff monotone that made Jill instantly uneasy. He sat upright and perfectly still, not moving in the slightest. The stranger was oddly tall and gaunt with brilliant blue eyes behind square, wire-framed glasses. His silver hair was slicked back, accentuated by a severe widow’s peak. He wore a simple, black, three-piece suit, with a white pinstriped shirt and matching peach-colored tie and handkerchief. Jill was reminded of Christopher Lee from the old Dracula movies she watched as a child. Of course, that could be attributed to the fact that whoever he was, this man creeped the hell out of her immediately.

“Who?” was all Jill managed to get out as she sat back down, still unnerved.

“My name is Harkness, Dr. Musik. I am Special Assistant to the Director,” he said casually. “I think we need to have a discussion about the incident you were involved in this past Friday. Would that be all right with you?”

Jill understood the question was entirely rhetorical and she didn’t have any choice in the matter. She took a breath, composed herself as much as she could, before saying with a slight nod, “Of course, Mr. Harkness. How can I be of assistance?”

“The Director was concerned over your conversation on Friday, but he is a very busy man, as you can imagine. When the General doesn’t have the time or desire to directly handle a situation, he delegates that task to me. You see, I’m something of a problem solver so he asked me to speak with you. In hindsight, he thought you deserved a better explanation as to why you wouldn’t be a continued part of Agent Meadows’ mental healthcare moving forward.” Harkness spoke lazily, in the slow, rhythmic cadence of an old time southern gentleman.