Published at 12th of August 2022 9:14 pm

Book 2: Chapter 45: Regret is His Name

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Dan was beginning to regret a few of his recent decisions.

“Of all the idiotic, reckless, selfish—”

Not the investigation. That, he felt, was completely justified. Especially given what he’d uncovered.

“poorly conceived, illegal, dangerous —”

But he was regretting what came after. The ill-thought decision he’d made in haste and impatience.

“insane decisions you could have made, this is what you choose!? Are you completely mad, Newman?”

Dan had called Cornelius Graham. The older officer had failed to pick up. Fair enough, he was a busy guy. That was when Dan made his mistake. That was when he’d gone with his second choice.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Connor Graham, Dan’s second string police officer, sat in the front seat of his squad car. His body was twisted around, to more effectively shout into his back seat where Dan lounged. Connor was red in the face, having just finished loudly berating Dan for the past five minutes. Dan wasn’t sure if the boy had even taken a breath during his rant. In the tight confines of the car, his voice nearly matched Gregoir’s. Dan could see earplugs in Freya’s ears.

The Valkyrie herself was watching surveillance footage on Dan’s laptop. The Radio Shack knockoff kept its security videos digitally stored, but Dan had managed to email himself a copy of the tampered recording that he’d needed. Waylon had proven easily distractible. Simply pointing behind him and saying the word ‘Elephant!’ had the young man languidly searching for wildlife for a full five minutes.

Freya’s expression was rigid and flat, tightly controlled anger bringing her eyes to a narrow slit. She was scrutinizing the Pearson recording while the screen was paused on Andros Bartholomew’s face. Freya had the look of a lion contemplating a hyena. Shivers ran down Dan’s spine. The woman was far more intimidating than her husband-to-be.

“Are you even listening, Newman?” Connor demanded angrily.

Dan turned to him and admitted, “Not really. I appreciate the worry, but it’s been several days. There was like, virtually no chance of me running into a villain.”

“This is obstruction of justice!” Connor hissed, gesturing to the laptop. “You could be fined! Or arrested! Thrown in jail like a common criminal!”

Dan rolled his eyes. “I haven’t obstructed anything. I found evidence of a crime and reported it to the police.” He thought back to the surveillance camera he’d been forced to buy at Waylon’s insistence. “I didn’t even have to lie!”

The sound of grinding teeth could be heard even outside the soundproof cruiser. Freya laid her hand on Connor’s shoulder, and the younger man paused. He glanced at her—her eyes were still fixed on the laptop—and took a deep, slow breath. His jaw unclenched, and the plush leather seats squeaked as he shifted against them.

“Fine,” he declared.

He was angry, and stressed, but Dan didn’t think that it was because of him. Connor still hadn’t watched the video. His head was turned away from it, keeping it out of even his peripheral vision. His hand clenched fitfully against the steering wheel, and his leg bounced a nervous rhythm. Despite all he’d gone through, Connor was still afraid of the man who had kidnapped him. Who had, in his mind, experimented on him.

Part of Dan wanted to reveal the truth, that Dan was the source of Connor’s powers. That Dan had dropped a box of irradiated documents in the young man’s lap, completely oblivious to the consequences. But that was just guilt talking. It wouldn’t change anything. That wasn’t how people processed trauma. Andros Bartholomew had kidnapped Connor, had tried to experiment on him, to ransom him, to do a number of horrible mad scientist things to him if not for Gregoir.

Connor’s anger wasn’t misplaced, nor was his fear.

“This man is unhinged,” Freya declared quietly.

Dan glanced at her. The video was playing the last few moments that the Pearson’s cameras had caught sight of Bartholomew. He watched the man walk out of frame with deliberate strides. Freya’s eyes, enhanced by her upgrade’s comprehension of body language, didn’t miss a thing. Couldn’t miss a thing.

“That much has been obvious from the beginning,” Connor agreed, still keeping his eyes forward. “His brain is practically leaking out of his ears.”

They were in the parking lot of a nearby hotel, but not the Pearson. This late at night, even near downtown, and the darkness was total. A single street lamp lit the parking lot, casting the corners in eerie shadow. The car was idling with its lights off. The lot was nearly abandoned, nary another vehicle in sight. It was the perfect spot for a clandestine conversation.

Freya shook her head. Her long, gold locks were wrapped up in a tight bun, but her bangs bounced against her cheeks.

“He’s focused,” she said. “He’s motivated, and angry, but controlled.”

She rewound the video, and stopped it on Bartholomew’s face. She pressed her finger against the screen, laying it by the man’s cheek. “He’s… skewed. Consumed entirely by whatever it is that motivates him. Look at him. He was just broken out of a prison cell, and he hasn’t spared a single thought towards enjoying his freedom.”

Connor scowled. “Do we know what motivates him?”

Freya shook her head. “I could get more if I had a profile on him, but the feds have withdrawn and the department is no longer willing to coordinate with them.”

That was news to Dan. “They’re completely gone from the city?”

“Not completely, but they aren’t talking to us and we are doing the same,” Freya explained. “I heard Captain Gable demand they hand over all that they had on Bartholomew and got denied. They won’t even clean up their own mess. It’s up to us. ‘New priorities,’ they said.”

“Peachy,” Dan said. “Good thing I stumbled on this, then.”

“Yes,” Freya said flatly. “How, exactly, did you find this?” She stared at him. “Exactly. No obfuscation. None of this, ‘I’ve got a video to show you,’ nonsense. Tell it all.”

That seemed only fair. He’d obviously given his story some thought before ever calling a soul. Dan had done some shit, most of it probably skirting the line of legality, but nothing too offensive. It seemed unlikely that his friends would condemn him for it. Dan leaned back into the bench seats and got comfy. He fell into his storyteller voice.

“You both know my mutation gives me some basic sensory abilities?”

The two officers nodded.

“Turns out the Natural that hit the field office leaves a trail that I can follow. So, I followed it.”

Connor stiffened, and turned around. “You can track him!? Since when!?”

“Since, like, three hours ago?” Dan guesstimated. “I revisited the field office and scanned it over. I realized I could feel a trail of something odd going into the building, so I followed it.”

“Trespassing!” Connor declared, jabbing a finger through the cage at Dan. Freya gave him an unimpressed look, and he sheepishly withdrew it. “My apologies. Continue.”

Dan grunted. “Well, I followed the trail into the sewers. They retrieved a pair of clothes from a hidden cache, and exited a storm drain about a mile that way.” He pointed back towards the Pearson. “The trail went cold by a bus stop. The Pearson was nearby, so I checked the security footage, and saw what you just watched.”

“Succinct,” Connor noted with a scowl. He sounded begrudging. “I suppose your minor infractions can be ignored given the evidence you found.”

Dan grinned at him, but Freya’s soft voice doused his mood like a candle tumbling into the ocean.

“How did you recognize him?”

Dan blinked. His mouth went dry. He scrambled for an answer to the unexpected question.

“Pardon?”

“Andros Bartholomew,” Freya spoke the name like a malediction. She glanced up from the passenger seat, her eyes boring into him. “How did you recognize him?”

“…What do you mean?” Dan asked, trying not to swallow. Internally, he was cursing his own stupidity. He’d practiced his retelling with Cornelius in mind. Cornelius, his partner in somewhat-crime, who had covered for him when they brought Bartholomew in. Cornelius, who was perfectly aware that Dan knew what the terrorist looked like.

Connor was looking at his fiancée like she’d hit her head. “My uncle told him, remember? Back at his house, Uncle Cornelius told Dan about who the prisoner was. Abigail was there, too.”

Freya slowly shook her head. Her eyes tracked him as the rest of her face moved, giving her an eerie, predatory look. “Cornelius didn’t show them a picture. His face hasn’t appeared on the news. How did you know it?”

“Um.” A memory sparked to life in Dan’s mind. He snapped his fingers together. “The photo! From Anastasia! I showed the two of you, remember? He met with Matilda Fairbanks and I had a picture of it. Remember that?”

Freya smiled thinly at him. “Yes, I do remember. I remember it quite well. My question now, is why did it take so long for you to remember?”

Lying to someone who can perfectly read body language was an extremely bad idea. Dan chose to simply shift awkwardly.

“Why did you check the Pearson at all?” she continued. “And why would Bartholomew care about it? It was your home, not his. What are his motivations? Why is he here?”

Dan’s face felt flushed. The collar of his shirt was tight, and he tugged at it. Sweat beaded at his brow and the back of his shirt was damp.

“You tried to call Cornelius first, because he already knows the answers to these things,” Freya stated, the soft certainty in her voice somehow all the more intimidating. “Now you are going to tell us.”

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