Superpowers (31 page)

FRIDAY

Jack almost didn't recognize Caroline. She was pale, and she had pulled her hair back from her face and bound it with a black cloth. He had never seen the clothes she was wearing, and it occurred to him that they might have belonged to her mother.

He waited for the reading to finish, watching the wind animate the priest's comb-over. The flow of traffic in the middle distance was the only ambient noise, and the small crowd of mourners were mostly silent, including Caroline. Jack stood to one side, conscious that his suit hung too large on his frame. He had arrived in time for the church service but found himself unable to go inside. He hadn't been able to force himself to go to Solahuddin's visitation, either—he'd prayed, on his own, but it came out more like "See you soon" than "Good-bye." When he looked at mourners he saw his own family.

He remembered the first time he had seen Caroline. He'd always assumed that they would end up together, even after she slept with Charlie. He'd been so sure of it that he'd never pursued her, trusting that when the time was right things would take their natural course. But the natural course of things had gone out the window, and here he was with a head of gray hair looking at a girl who could have been his granddaughter if his chronological age matched his physical age.

After the casket was lowered into the ground one of the women Caroline was with led her toward the limo. Jack met them there. Caroline seemed dazed, but when she saw him she disengaged from the other woman and put her arms around him. "Jack."

He squeezed her and patted her back, but she did not cry.

"Thank you for coming." She broke the embrace and stepped back. "Jack, this is Sylvia Pino. She would have been my mother's sister-in-law. Sylvia, this is my friend Jack, from Madison."

"Nice to meet you," Jack said.

Sylvia smiled. "There's room in the limo, if you need a ride."

The limo ride was long and uncomfortable. Sylvia's daughter rebelled against the quiet decorum, swinging from hysterical laughter to inconsolable screams all the way back to the church. Arturo, Jenna Bloom's fiance, sat beside Jack and wept while his mother consoled him in Italian.

"You seem to be holding up pretty well," Jack told Caroline in a low voice.

"I think I'm in shock," she said. "Three days ago she was just missing. Then they called us—do you know what they found? What we just buried? Pieces. Parts of her." She swallowed hard, and breathed through her mouth. "Every time I think about it I want to throw up."

"It's horrible." He wished he had something better to say, but when Caroline heard it she seemed to relax.

"I've been thinking about you a lot lately," she said. "You and your dad. It's not quite the same, but it must hurt about the same."

"It seems like a long time ago now," said Jack. "But it still hurts."

There was to be lunch in the church basement, but once they arrived Caroline asked Jack to take a walk with her. They stopped at a corner shop so Caroline could buy cigarettes and then walked along the tree-lined streets. The haze that Jack had seen when he arrived hung low over the streets, and even this far from the financial district there was a smell of burning.

"I can't stay here," Caroline said. "I want to hurt the people who did this. I'm so fucking angry—I didn't know I could be so angry."

They walked a couple of blocks in silence, Caroline lighting another cigarette from the first, Jack concentrating on taking slow steps. As they waited at a corner for a signal to cross, Caroline spoke again.

"Where did you go?"

"South America, mostly. National parks. Saw the ocean. Saw the mountains. Saw the rain forest."

"How was it?"

"Lonely," he said.

"Yeah."

Sirens filled the air around them, and they waited with a small crowd while a pair of fire trucks passed. Everyone watched the trucks go, speculating to one another about their destination. Jack and Caroline walked a few more blocks before turning back toward the church.

"Has anyone talked to Mary Beth?" she asked.

"I don't think so," he said.

"I'm worried about her."

Jack kept silent. If it was true that Mary Beth had killed Solahuddin, he was angry at her as much as anything.

"How long are you staying?" Caroline asked.

"I don't know."

"Listen, I'm not going to fly back. I'm going to take the train. We could ride together, maybe hang out? I know it'll seem like forever for you—"

"I'd like that."

"Good." Caroline stamped out her cigarette on the sidewalk. "I hope you're hungry. Mrs. Pino has enough food down there to feed the National Guard."

"I'm starving," Jack said.

She started to say something, but her voice came out in a croak, and before her mouth twisted into a grimace of sorrow he had her in his arms. She cried into the shoulder of his suit, and he held on, his heart leaving hers far behind.

SUNDAY

When Professor Smith answered his door Mary Beth saw a look of surprise, fear, or both flicker across his features. But when he spoke it was with his usual professorial cool, which was like gangster cool and hipster cool in its inability to admit to ever seeing anything unexpected.

"Miss Layton," he said. "I don't usually hold office hours at my home, but since I've not seen you in class for nearly a month I suppose I can make an exception." He wore a green cardigan over a white T-shirt and a pair of beige khakis. "Forgive me for being out of costume," he said. "But then I'm not the only one, am I? Please, come in."

Professor Smith's apartment was all wood, leather, and books. Books on wooden shelves, wooden tables, wooden floor. Leather-bound books on brown leather chairs and matching brown leather sofa. Leather paneling on the walls between stained wood bookshelves. The room looked like it ought to smell of brandy, aftershave, and pipe tobacco, but all Mary Beth detected were lemon and ginseng.

"Would you care for tea, or would that not be suited to your sense of drama?"

"What?"

"You've obviously come here with some dramatic gesture in mind. I hope it's not the unmasking, since I've already deduced that you are the costumed vigilante known as Green Star. If I'd known sooner I might have made certain allowances for your behavior."

"Really?"

He shrugged. "It's unlikely. So. Do you come seeking counsel, refuge, or a hostage?"

"I just want to talk."

"Ah. The hero, having strayed from her path, seeks counsel from an elder before making a crucial decision. I suppose I should be flattered that you consider me wise."

"I'm not sure I do. You're close-minded and arrogant and I think you must be pretty lonely. You like the sound of your own voice so much that you probably lecture to yourself when no one's here. You think the answers to everything are in books, but it doesn't seem like you live life enough to know what the questions are. I think the only reason I came here is that I can't go to my friends or my parents, and most of my other professors don't even know my name."

Professor Smith smiled. "Didn't I tell you that you have an amazing eye for subtext? Let's forget the tea. Baileys and coffee, perhaps?"

Mary Beth settled for coffee, which she set down because it was too hot and promptly forgot about.

"So," said Professor Smith, sprawling across one side of his hastily cleared couch, "is it true, what they are saying? Did you kill that boy? The Indonesian student?"

"I did." Mary Beth shut her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the professor's reaction. "I was trying to help him, at first. These guys were hurting him. And I hurt them, but it wasn't enough." She could barely hear herself. "I wanted to hurt him, too."

"Was that because he was a Muslim, or because he was there?"

"Both. I'm not— I don't hate Muslims. But. . ."

"But in that moment you did."

"Yes."

"We've spoken about prejudices before, do you remember? Sometimes they get the better of us."

"But I killed somebody." She forced herself to say his name: "I killed Solahuddin Sutadi. He's dead."

"You can't change that."

Mary Beth tried to imagine what her mother would think of her, her real mother. "I'm a monster, aren't I?"

Professor Smith sipped from his Baileys and coffee. "I can't judge you, Miss Layton. But if forced to answer I would say that depends on what you do now. If you continue to run and hide, eventually you will find yourself in a situation where you may hurt someone again. That is what a sociopath would do, but I don't feel that you are sociopathic."

She almost thanked him. Instead she asked him if she could use his phone. A minute later she was making the only call she could make.

_______

Harvey Bettencourt took a deep cleansing yoga breath and looked at the open door for a moment, as if considering whether or not it should be closed. Then he set his jaw and turned to Ray.

"The Layton girl is booked?"

"Yes."

"She hasn't tried to escape?"

"If she had, I think you'd have heard it."

"Probably you're right." Harvey leaned forward. "You're my best detective, Ray." He let that hang in the close air until Ray felt he should respond.

"Thank you, Lieu."

"You're my best detective, so I couldn't understand why you couldn't figure the All-Stars out. Those kids got sloppy more than once, and I've seen you crack tougher cases plenty of times. So I thought you just needed that one break to put it all together. Sometimes it takes longer, I told myself. He's only human, and he can't break every case. Give him time.

"Finally I tried to light a fire under your ass with that speech about the ACLU and all that. I thought maybe you needed to feel the pressure. But then a month and a half, and nothing. Something about it didn't sit right, but I didn't figure it out until tonight, when I learned that the Layton girl lived with your daughter."

Ray visualized handing over his gun and badge, wondered if he should say something. He wondered if he should become a private detective, like half the fired cops in books or on TV, or get work in security like the other half.

"You're suspended until further notice, Ray. There'll be a hearing. I'm giving you twenty-four hours, but this time tomorrow I want you, your daughter, and her other roommate—Caroline Bloom—I want all three of you down here to answer some questions. I don't have to do this. Hell, I shouldn't. But I'm doing it out of respect for someone who used to be a good cop."

Ray unhooked the holster from his belt and set it on Harvey's desk, took off the lanyard that held his badge and set it next to his department-issued Colt.

"I don't know, Ray. Maybe if she was my daughter I'd have done the same thing."

"You know, Harv, if she wasn't my daughter I would have turned her in a long time ago. But I think I would have been wrong."

"We swore to uphold the law."

"Show me the laws that govern superpowers. How are those kids different from cops? They tried to help people and to stop crime. A couple of times people got hurt, but I'll bet their percentage was better than ours."

"What about Sutadi, Ray? Where's he fall in your percentages?"

"Fuck, Harvey. How many innocent people were shot by cops last year?"

"Don't give me that shit. We're sanctioned, and we're accountable when we fuck up. Those kids have been running around in masks thinking their powers give them the right to do whatever they like. Just because they're stronger or faster doesn't mean the laws don't apply. Now get the fuck out of here before I have you arrested for obstruction."

Ray put up his hands and walked out of Harvey's office. Things were falling out as he had expected they would all along, and now he could start dealing with consequences.

MONDAY

Scott had imagined a jailbreak would be exciting. He hadn't taken into account standing around on the sidewalk waiting, or the autumn chill cutting through his T-shirt, or the fact that it was three in the morning and he just wanted to go back to bed.

He decided that staring in the direction of the City County Building would only make him crazy. He looked at the lake, at the Monona Terrace, at Harriet's dad sitting in the passenger seat with his feet on the curb. Mr. Bishop was drunk and hadn't stopped smoking all night.

"Can I have one of those?" Scott asked.

"You shouldn't smoke," said Mr. Bishop, but he handed over his pack of Camels and his lighter. '"S what my mama always told me. 'No smoking, no drinking, and no extramarital relations.'"

Scott took a drag and held it. "What about busting people out of jail?" he asked.

"Mama never really addressed that." Mr. Bishop's words came out in a rush, one running into the next. He'd all but finished off a bottle of Smirnoff before Harriet had thrown it out of the car on their way downtown.

Scott looked toward the City County Building again. It was four blocks away and entirely blocked from his view, but he felt sure they would hear any alarms or sirens that followed the break-out. The break-in. The jailbreak.

"Charlie?" Scott leaned in the back window. Charlie huddled, knees tucked up to his chest, behind the driver's seat. "Charlie, do you know what's going on in there?"

"Sneaking and whispering," Charlie said. "Nice place to raise a family."

"What?" Living with Charlie over the past few weeks had been difficult at best, and unnerving at worst. Some days Charlie was able to make lucid conversation, even walk to the Stop & Shop nearly without breaking down. Other days he didn't leave his bedroom, and when it was quiet Scott could hear him muttering to himself.

Scott felt sorry for Charlie, but he didn't know how to help him. He brought food home and talked to him as if everything was normal. But he couldn't get any studying done at home. Some days he left early and came back late and didn't see Charlie at all. Scott had thought more than once that if Charlie decided to hurt himself, no one would be around to find him until it was too late.

Today Charlie had been all right until Harriet's call an hour and a half ago. "Charlie, are you still with us?"

"Sorry. Try to make up for it. Make them pay. Bomb the fuckers."

"That boy needs help," said Ray Bishop.

He started to say more, but he was drowned out by a train whistle as the 3:10 train rolled into sight next to John Nolen Drive. Scott watched the cars for a moment, and when he turned back toward the City County Building Jack stood in front of him.

"She's not coming," said Jack.

"Why?" Scott asked.

"She says she wants to pay for her mistake." Jack was twitchy. "I have to go. I'll see you at the meeting." He nodded at Scott and then was gone.

Scott dug the keys to Ray Bishop's car from his pocket and walked to the driver's side. Neither Charlie nor Ray spoke as he started the car, and when the rear passenger-side door opened and shut on its own, none of them looked. Scott eased the car into drive and pulled out onto West Wilson Street.

"What happens now?" Scott asked.

"We're meeting in an hour at our place," Harriet said from the backseat. She was visible again. "Caroline's really upset. I don't know what we're going to do."

"About Mary Beth?"

"About anything."

Charlie was whispering something, but Scott ignored him. "If they find out about Charlie and Jack, will they want to talk to me?"

"Yes," Ray Bishop said.

"I need a snack or something," Scott said. He turned into an all-night Amoco. Except for Charlie's whispering, no one made a sound.

Scott pulled up outside the convenience store and put the car in park. "Anyone else want anything?" he asked. He looked in the rearview mirror and found Charlie staring at him. He realized what Charlie was whispering.

"Help me," he was saying. "Help me. Help me."

"I don't need anything," Harriet said, "but get a bottle of water for Dad, will you?"

"Help me," Charlie said.

"I will," Scott said, and stepped out of the car.

_______

Four pairs of socks, two white, two black. Two pairs of black nylons. Six pairs of underwear, various colors. Three good bras. One pair of jeans, two pairs of black pants, and two skirts, one black, one camel brown. Three white blouses, two white T-shirts, and two tank tops. One pair of sandals and one pair of black flats. That, and the clothes she was wearing: jeans, a blue sweatshirt, chunky-heeled boots, and a black leather jacket.

"What about the clothes you made?" Jack asked.

Caroline shook her head. Her closet was filled with dresses she had designed and sewn herself, with one-of-a-kind blouses and tops, even a suede coat. "The idea is not to stand out," she said. "I can always make more."

One hairbrush, one bottle of shampoo, and one of conditioner. One stick of deodorant, one electric razor with five replacement blades, and one can of shaving gel. One nail clipper. A box of tampons and a bottle of Midol. Toothpaste, toothbrush, floss, and a bottle of Scope.

"I could do this much faster," Jack said.

"Yes, but then it would be done," she said. "Just relax."

A copy of
The Wind in the Willows
her mother had given her for her first communion. Two cassette tapes: one of Jeff Buckley's
Grace,
which she and her mother were obsessed with while she was in high school, and a mix tape that her first boyfriend Tony Ditaglia had given her when she was thirteen. A sketchbook of her designs. Pictures: her and her mother, her and Harriet and Mary Beth, her and Harriet with their mothers, taken when they had visited in August.

"I don't have any pictures of you," she said.

"I could run home and get some," Jack said.

"No. Stay here."

"I'd like to say the same to you."

"Don't."

"Where will you go?"

"Canada, first. After that, I don't know." She hefted her backpack, amazed that her life fit inside it. "I wish you were coming along."

"I wish I could."

"We could meet somewhere. In a month, maybe?"

"I don't know. A month might be too long."

"Oh." It had all happened so fast. On the train, she had talked until she lost her voice, and then she had listened, and then they had just sat together. She lay her head on his chest and heard his heart racing, so fast that it sounded like one continuous hum. She had wondered how long the train ride was, for him. She already felt like she'd known him forever.

"Have you tried just. . . slowing down?"

"It doesn't work like that," Jack said. "I can stand here and talk to you pretty normally, but it takes an effort. Like the way Mary Beth has to be careful. ..." He didn't finish the thought. "I just get more and more wound up. I have to burn this energy somehow. I guess I'm sort of a speed addict."

"Don't joke."

"Sorry," he said.

"In two weeks?" she asked.

"Where?"

"Niagara Falls, maybe? The Canadian side."

"It's a date."

Caroline slung the backpack over her shoulder. "They're waiting."

Fog hung over Madison, spreading from the lakes and blocking the rising sun. Caroline wondered where Joe was now, if he was still smoking on Christos's roof. She didn't suppose she would ever see him again.

Harriet and her father sat on the porch, Ray drinking Gatorade, Harriet twirling the car keys. She stood when she saw Caroline.

"I'm driving," Harriet said.

They walked to the car. Caroline took Jack's hand and held it, felt the hum of his pulse.

"I can't believe I'm going on the run," said Ray Bishop. "Your mother is never going to forgive me for this."

"No, she isn't," said Harriet. "We'll come back sometime, won't we?"

Ray finished his Gatorade before answering. "Maybe."

Harriet hugged Jack. "We'll take the car as far as Superior," Harriet said. "We'll get in touch with you when we can."

"What if they just want to ask questions?" Jack was looking at Caroline when he spoke. "What can they charge you with?"

"They may not bother to charge us," Harriet said. "They may just decide to hold us. Marcus says it's happening all over the country. I'm not taking that chance."

Jack nodded. "All right."

"Take care of Charlie," Harriet said, and got in the car.

Ray shook Jack's hand.

"Good luck, son."

"Good luck to you, sir."

Caroline wrapped her arms around Jack and kissed him. She thought about taking off with him in her arms, flying somewhere where things made sense. But when she opened her eyes her feet were still on the ground.

"October twenty-second," she said.

"Niagara Falls.", He nodded.

She got in the car, and left everything behind.

_______

Charlie tensed as Scott parked outside the Administration building of the Mendota Mental Health Institute. The Institute sprawled over a space the size of several football fields, with dormitories, recreation halls and support buildings, but much of the campus was shrouded in fog, making it appear that nothing existed beyond.

"I don't think you're crazy," Scott said. "You just have everybody else's thoughts drowning out your own. If you go in there, you're going to get a headful of people who really are sick."

"That's why I need to be here," Charlie said.

"You need to be in an asylum because you're not crazy?"

"I need to learn to separate my own thoughts from the rest of the mindstream. I'm hoping that here I can get a better sense of how my own head works. In the long term that'll help me keep it together."

"Are you sure they let people do this voluntarily?" Charlie saw Scott's worries. He was afraid Charlie would fail a Rorschach test, be put in a straitjacket, and given shock therapy.

"It doesn't work like that," Charlie said. "I mean, yes, I can do it voluntarily, after an evaluation, and check out when I'm ready."

"You seem fine right now. Maybe you don't need to go in there."

"Scott, if you could hear what I hear right now, you'd understand. I'm working hard to keep it together." Charlie didn't dare think about the others, about what had happened, or it would all slip away again. "When this all started, I had to be as close as you and I in order for it to work, but every day it's more. I don't know what to do with a planet full of voices. I need to be ready."

Charlie pushed back tears with a deep breath. "I have to do this," he said. "In there I can have bad days and not risk being put away involuntarily."

"Do you want—"

"I'll call my parents once the evaluation is through." Charlie ran his hands through his hair, which was getting shaggy again. "But there is one thing you can do for me. On my desk in the apartment there's an envelope addressed to the Madison police. Use gloves when you touch it. Take it to a mailbox out of town and mail it."

"You're not going to—"

"No, I'm not confessing to anything." He reached out, looking for one voice among millions. "It's just some unfinished business. One last batch of criminals to turn in." He put a hand to his rib cage and winced. "The guys who were there the night Mary Beth . . . the guys that started that. Their names. They share the blame."

He couldn't feel her. Maybe she didn't want to be found.

"I'll do it." Scott opened the door. "I'll come in with you, too."

It was like a band that had been constricting Charlie's chest suddenly loosened. He nodded. "Thank you."