Fifteen
Field Trip
Andrew had a private room in the Children’s Ward, which had been cleared of visitors prior to my arrival with McTaggert and his newly acquired ankle monitoring bracelet. The few rooms with patients had hospital security guards posted outside, who gave us nasty glares on our way past. McTaggert ignored everyone, even the four armed prison guards accompanying us per Warden Hudson’s orders. For the first time since I met McTaggert, he seemed happily excited about something and I totally got why—he was going to see his son again.
A white-haired man in a lab coat met us outside Andrew’s room and gave both of us a stern glare. “You have thirty minutes to visit,” the doctor said gruffly. “Do not let him get agitated or too active. Keep him in bed. He may seem a bit groggy from his medication, but that’s to be expected.”
“He’ll make a full recovery?” McTaggert asked.
“I believe he will, yes. He was very lucky he got here when he did.”
A wash of pride warmed my chest and I fought back a smile. Andrew was going to be fine.
McTaggert pushed open the door, and I followed him inside. Andrew was sleeping in a railed bed, his red hair an amusing splash of color against the white sheets. Even his freckles stood out from his pale face and arms. The monitors behind the bed beeped a steady rhythm, announcing the continued life of my brother.
Even thinking it felt strange.
McTaggert made a soft noise, like a sigh, only deeper. He approached the bed and touched Andrew’s forehead. The boy leaned into the touch, wrinkled his face, then opened his eyes. Stared up in wonder and blinked hard, like he didn’t quite believe his father had come to see him.
“Daddy?” Andrew whispered.
“I’m here, Andy. Daddy’s here.”
The rough, choked edge to McTaggert’s voice had me backing quietly out of the room. Andrew was fine, and they needed to be alone. The four prison guards had taken positions—two inside the hospital room and two outside—and they didn’t give me a second glance when I walked down the hall to the private waiting room.
Before we left Manhattan, Teresa told me to take her cell phone with me in case of emergency. Maybe this didn’t qualify, but as I settled into an upholstered chair in the waiting room, my fingers dialed a phone number I hadn’t used in weeks.
The call seemed like it was heading straight for voice mail, and then a familiar voice picked up with a curious “Teresa?”
I smiled at a terrible ocean watercolor on the wall across the room. “No, it’s Ethan.”
“Hey!” Dahlia’s joy at hearing from me seemed to jump through the phone and grab hold of my heart. Then her tone got scared. “Oh my God, Ethan, are you okay? What’s going on?”
“I’m okay, Dal, I swear,” I replied.
“Is Aaron okay?”
“He’s fine. No one’s hurt.” For a change.
“All right.” A pause. “Are you calling just to talk? Because you haven’t done that in a long time, you jerk.”
I laughed—a deep, genuine belly laugh—because she was so right. And she was calling me on it. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a jackass lately. Really sorry, Dal.”
“It’s okay. At least you’re a self-aware jackass.”
“This is true.”
And like that, we were back. I’d apologize better in person, but I heard forgiveness in her voice—as well as a lot of fatigue, which wasn’t surprising given current events. I tried to forget that Noah was there somewhere, probably trying to not listen. Sooner or later, I had to trust he’d keep his mouth shut, so I dove into the reason I called.
“I wanted to talk to you,” I said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Things are almost good, even, which is strange, given the circumstances.”
“Tell me.”
So I did. Everything from distancing myself from her after our adoption of Dr. Kinsey and the Changelings two months ago, right up to the conversation I had today on the playground with McTaggert. I spoke softly for most of it, because I was still in a public place. But she listened without interrupting while I got it all out—McTaggert, my lost need for revenge, my newfound sense of solidarity with the Metas in Manhattan, and my fluctuating feelings for Aaron. Mentioning Aaron got my heart jumping a little—had to be nerves, considering his brother could be hearing this. No other reason.
“It sounds like you’ve got a crush going on,” she said when I finally stopped talking.
Leave it to Dahlia to home in on the most awkward part of the monologue. “Maybe.”
She made a noise.
“Okay, so very probably,” I amended.
“And you’re scared.”
“Honestly? A little. But not of him.”
“Of what the others will think?”
“Yeah. I mean, I don’t think they’ll react badly, exactly. I guess I don’t want them to be disappointed that I didn’t trust them enough to tell them sooner.”
“That wasn’t the problem, though, was it? You trusting them?”
She knew me so well it was frightening. “No. I do trust them, and I always have.”
“But you saw being gay as a weakness, just like having Jinx for a father was a weakness.”
“Exactly. Only I don’t feel that way about McTaggert anymore. Regular people might not get it, and they might judge me as the offspring of a supervillain, but I don’t care. I know who I am.”
“I think you do. And I think you’re ready to accept all parts of yourself without reservations. Do you know how I know this?”
“Do tell.”
“Because right now, Ethan? In the nine months I’ve known you, there’s something in your voice I haven’t ever heard before.”
“Which is?”
“Hope.”
My eyes burned and I closed them tight. When I opened them again, I felt lighter. Happier than I had in months. “You’re right, Dal. For the first time in a long time, I have something I can really believe in.” Freeing the Warren residents and finding them—us?—a safe, permanent home. A place for Andrew, Muriel, Caleb and the others to grow up in peace.
“I’m glad,” she said. “So glad for you.”
“Thank you.”
One of the prison guards stepped into the waiting room and tapped his wristwatch. I nodded in his direction.
“Listen, I have to go,” I said. “Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime, you know that. And be careful out there. You nearly gave me a heart attack when I heard about the explosion.”
“I’ll try to make it home in one piece, I swear.”
“Good. See you soon.”
“See you.”
I pocketed my phone, then followed the guard back to Andrew’s room. Knocked politely, too, before I barged inside.
McTaggert had pulled the room’s only chair close, and was sitting with both arms through the bed’s rails, holding tight to Andrew’s hands. They both glanced in my direction when I stepped around the half-pulled curtain. Andrew gave me a bright smile.
“Daddy says you flew me here so the doctors could fix me,” he said.
“Yes, I did,” I replied. “And I’m really glad the doctors fixed you.”
“We all are,” McTaggert said. “Listen, Andy, I want to tell you something very important, okay?” Andrew nodded solemnly, his eyes wide. “There are still dangerous men out there who don’t like me very much. I might get hurt like you got hurt. Maybe even worse, like Whitney and Dana.”
My guts twisted a little at the idea, and I wasn’t sure what to make of that.
“But you won’t let the bad men hurt you, right?” Andrew asked.
“I will try very hard to stay safe, you know that. But just in case something happens, and I can’t take care of you, I want you to do what Ethan here tells you, okay?”
My heart skipped a beat, and I started to sweat. He was giving me verbal custody of his kid? Wasn’t that kind of like signing his own imminent death warrant? I wanted to tell him to shut the hell up or he’d jinx himself (no pun intended), but I couldn’t seem to interrupt their moment.
“Because Ethan’s a good guy?” Andrew asked.
“Yes, because he’s a good guy. He’s really smart, too. Ethan will take care of you, just like a big brother would.”
Andrew’s face broke into a big, toothy grin. “We both have red hair, just like real brothers! Okay, I’ll listen to him.”
I had no words. None.
“Good boy,” McTaggert said. He stood and leaned down to kiss Andrew’s forehead. “Just think hard about getting better, okay? Hopefully I can come back and visit again soon.”
“Can’t I come home with you?”
“Not yet. Not until the doctors say you’re well enough.”
He affected a proper pout. “It smells funny here.”
“I know. You’ll be home soon. I promise. I love you, munchkin.”
“Love you more! Bye, Ethan.”
I waved, still unable to form proper words. Andrew’s eyelids were already drooping as we left the room and allowed the guards to escort us back to the elevator and helipad. So far, so good. At least McTaggert hadn’t tried to escape. It wasn’t until we were in the air, flying back toward Manhattan, that I realized what had upset me so much about those final moments between father and son. He never said the actual words, but McTaggert had been saying good-bye.
• • •
For the first time, leaving the island that evening felt strange. Like I should stay behind with everyone who wasn’t allowed to leave. People I’d stopped thinking of as prisoners and began to consider . . . well, not exactly friends. I couldn’t explain it, but leaving felt wrong.
Teresa and Simon were in a meeting with Warden Hudson when Marco, Aaron, and I returned to the observation tower. The atmosphere there had changed, and it took me a minute to put my finger on it—the expressions on the guards were less wary, their manners less abrasive. It might have been sympathy over yesterday’s copter crash and resulting deaths. It might have been McTaggert’s successful off-site field trip to the hospital. I didn’t know for sure. All that really mattered was that I felt less like the guards would pull their guns on us at any given moment.
We three gathered around Simon’s desk to watch the streaming news reports. Every live outlet was talking about variations of Humankind, the copter crash, the Chicago fires, and the upcoming demolition of Rangers HQ. Polls had already been taken across the country. Questions and results ranged from disgusting (65 percent of respondents sympathized with the goals of Humankind and would donate money to their cause) to kind of heartwarming (76 percent of respondents considered the murders of Mark Sanderson and the four Meta prisoners hate crimes and thought they should be prosecuted as such). A lot of people were calling for the Rangers (i.e., our little band of freelance heroes) to make a public statement about recent events.
Teresa would speak to the press when she was ready. She was good at it, and she knew how to work a crowd.
Marco switched feeds to a broadcast out of Miami, Florida, in which a dour-looking female reporter was interviewing random people on the street. Her question: “Should the Meta prisoners in Manhattan stay there permanently, or be allowed to receive pardons for past crimes?”
The answers varied.
A teenage girl: “Leave them there. Who cares?”
Two men in their late twenties: “Take it on a case-by-case basis.” “You can’t judge all of them by one person.”
A rotund lady in an ugly straw hat: “Who?”
An elderly man with bad sunburn: “Should finish blowing up that damn island and rid ourselves of the problem. My taxes shouldn’t be feeding those monsters.”
Marco growled.
He’d taken over Simon’s desk chair, while Aaron and I stood behind him. I couldn’t see Marco’s face, but imagined he was probably baring his teeth at the computer screen. I felt the exact same way—if I’d been a thousand miles closer, I’d have blown the opinionated geezer right into the Atlantic. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only person who felt that way about Metas. He was just willing to say it on the record.
“Things are going to get worse, aren’t they?” Aaron asked softly, not bothering with his Scott accent, even though he still wore the mask.
“Probably,” I replied. Despite his disguise, my entire body was oddly aware of Aaron’s proximity. Not that I planned to act on that anytime soon. We both had way more important things to worry about. Life-and-death things that had nothing to do with the way my skin prickled when our elbows accidentally touched.
Stop. That.
I didn’t move out of range, though.
Teresa and Simon joined us a few minutes later, interrupting a long rant by a senator from Oregon calling for the removal of all Metas to Manhattan immediately, “for the safety of our citizens.”
A*shole.
Marco muted the computer.
“They’ve arrested a tower guard on conspiracy charges,” Teresa said, keeping her voice low. “He delayed following the warden’s order to shoot down the copter by twenty-five seconds, giving it time to reach its target.”
“Which was us,” I said.
“Yes. He’s denying being part of Humankind, but there’s no other good reason for him to have been complicit in the crash.”
“He doesn’t just hate Metas?” Aaron asked.
“He probably does, but why delay the order to fire if he didn’t have advance knowledge of its target? He had to know he’d be identified and brought up on charges.”
“He couldn’t have had qualms about killing the pilot?”
“The pilot was already dead,” Simon said.
“What?”
I glanced at Aaron, unable to hide my own surprise, and we both stared blankly at Simon, waiting for him to explain the findings from his psychic sensors.
“We won’t be certain until they complete the autopsy,” Simon continued, “but I couldn’t feel anything from the body. I’m sure he was dead when the copter when down.”
“So the copter was piloted by remote?” I asked.
“Possibly. Investigators are still sifting through the wreckage.”
“There’s another possibility,” Teresa said. “The copter could have been flown telekinetically.”
I grabbed the back of Marco’s chair, a little dizzy at the notion. “But the crash was claimed by Humankind.”
“I know that.”
“So you think Humankind has Metas working with them? Isn’t that like asking one of the cows to drive the cattle truck to the slaughterhouse?”
“A little.” Her lavender gaze flickered past me to Aaron, and I caught on before she said it. “But Metas aren’t the only superhumans out there anymore.”
Aaron sucked in a sharp breath. The mirage of Scott flickered briefly before settling back over him. “Recombinants,” he said.
Teresa nodded. “It’s another angle we have to investigate, especially if evidence supports the theory that the copter was piloted from the ground. Frankly, we don’t know anything about the other Recombinants, and our efforts to learn more have been blocked from day one.”
“For all we know,” Simon added, “the people behind the Recombinant projects could also be behind Humankind.”
“That’s a huge leap of logic,” Aaron said. He didn’t sound angry, considering he was a Recombinant himself. Just kind of sad and a little bit curious.
“You’re right. But it’s one we must consider.”
“Who’s questioning the guard they arrested?” I asked.
“The warden and two federal agents from the Department of Justice,” Teresa replied. “No Metas allowed.”
“Typical.”
“We have no jurisdiction, remember? We aren’t police officers, and we aren’t feds. We’re only here by the grace of Warden Hudson, because his word carries a lot of weight within the federal prison system. I don’t like being left out of the interrogation, but I don’t want to lose complete access by pissing him off.”
“And I appreciate that, Trance,” Hudson said, startling all of us with his stealthy approach. Our small huddle opened a bit to allow him in. He looked exhausted but determined. “We’ll begin questioning when the other agents arrive in about half an hour, but I wanted to speak with everyone before you left.”
We were, as they say, all ears.
“I spent a lot of time in the Warren today,” he continued, “speaking with various prisoners, touring their facilities. I admit, I haven’t done that before and I should have. We were all too content pretending that locking them away and drugging the water supply was the best thing for everyone. We wanted to forget the person behind the mask, so to speak. We were—I was wrong.”
No one us spoke, even though a collective “no shit” was dangling on the tips of our tongues. Speaking up now might break the spell and make him change his mind about whatever he hadn’t yet said. I actually held my breath.
“The overall reaction to yesterday’s tragedies has impressed me, as has the peaceful community the prisoners have built. I’ll be recommending to my superiors that we conduct individual interviews with each prisoner in order to determine if a pardon or parole is appropriate.”
I blinked. It wasn’t a blanket “we’ll pardon everyone,” but I’d be damned if it wasn’t amazing progress. Warden Hudson was actually, seriously considering pardons for the prisoners on Manhattan. I found myself grinning, actually excited by the idea that, only a week ago, I’d have condemned without a second thought.
“Thank you, Warden,” Teresa said.
“Don’t thank me yet, Trance,” Hudson said. “It’s only a recommendation, and I have a lot of people above me to convince. It won’t be easy.”
“The fact that you’re willing to bring this to your superiors is a huge step forward.”
“Due, in no small part, to your own efforts.”
Teresa’s wide, proud smile was worth every dead end and brick wall she’d hit in her journey to get to this moment. “We were all different people fighting in a different time. Everyone deserves a second chance.”
“We’ll see.”
We would see, all right. Exactly what, though, was still anyone’s guess.