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Honesty

Friday, November 3, 6:45pm
Sheriff's Office
Kingsmouth, Solomon Island, Maine

The rest of the evening passes quickly. I eat a can of corn in the Sheriff's Office while telling her and Moose about the Draug on the beach and the potential shelter of the church, pending Kaiyo's verdict on whether or not the wards will continue to hold up. Bannerman decides to keep both pieces of information to herself. "People are riled enough around here as it is," she says. "Don't need to get 'em started about the big blue creeps breedin' or the church bein' zombie-proof—at least till we know for sure."

Moose nods. "Some things are best not contemplated by the ordinary man, lest they be misunderstood. I'd like to think better of the group we've got here, especially Andy, but these are dark days and Helen's probably right about this one." He pauses and looks me in the eye. "I'm mighty grateful for your help on my collection of deadly projects. I should have some ready tomorrow, in case we need them to keep the zomibes occupied whist we relocate ourselves."

"I'll let you know what Kaiyo says," I tell them.

Then my phone rings. It's my home phone number from Colorado, the family landline. "I've got to take this," I say, excusing myself. I turn and walk outside, to the isolated corner under the stairs before answering the phone. "Dad?"

"Chris!" his voice answers, full of worry. "Micah told me what happened this afternoon. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I say. "I wasn't the one being held at gunpoint."

"But you heard it happen." My dad sighs and I can almost see him closing his eyes over tears of fatherly concern. "We told the police, and since you're a witness, the officer would like to talk to you about it. Can you do that for me?"

I swallow, unsure of this. Can the police really be trusted? I've never had to ask that question before in my life, but with the Illuminati about, it seems an open question. Nevertheless, for my Dad's sake I say, "Yes."

"Okay, I'll put Officer Cole on," Dad says.

A moment later a strange man's voice comes on, sounding young, but strong, somewhat resonate, and definitely self-assured. "Officer Cole, CSPD," he says, introducing himself. "Good evening, Ms..."

"Miss Warden," I say. "But I prefer Chris."

"Your full name?" he prompts.

"Christen Alexis Warden. I'm Micah's older sister."

"Yes, so I've heard," says the officer. "And you've been travelling abroad?"

"I've been studying in London, at the University of Greenwich, on a Fairchild International Scholarship," I say. It feels like an eternity ago that the scholarship was the most exciting thing in my life, but it's only really been two weeks.

"And are you there now?" asks Cole.

I pause. "No," I say. "I'm in Maine, on a school trip."

"You certainly do a lot of traveling for school, Ms Warden."

"Miss, " I say. While I certainly enjoy some aspects of feminism, I think the battle over suffixes is silly, and I'd rather be grammatically correct than politically correct.

Cole ignores me. "And where are you in Maine, Ms Warden?"

I really don't want to tell him that, as it will lead to all sorts of uncomfortable questions. Instead I say, "I don't see how that makes any difference, Officer. My brother was just held at gunpoint, not me. I only witnessed it over the phone!"

"We're well aware of the allegations, Ms Warden," says Cole. "But if they're to be taken seriously, we must have your cooperation."

"If they're to be taken seriously?!"

"Please answer the question, Ms Warden," says Cole, nonplussed. "Where in Maine are you at this time?"

I grit my teeth, trying to clamp down on my anger. "Kingsmouth," I say at last.

"Kingsmouth on Solomon Island, correct?"

Stupid, stupid girl! I think. You should have chosen a different town: any town! But no, you let him get to you! I sigh. It's too late to change my story now, and I suppose it's better to go down telling the truth anyway. "Yes," I say, mentally preparing for the barrage of questions sure to follow.

But Cole simply moves on. "And what were you doing at approximately 4pm today?"

I pause, doing the mental arithmetic. 4pm in Colorado is 6pm on Solomon Island...though there's really only one event he can be referring to, I just want to make sure before I answer. "I was calling my brother, and he'd just left the public library there in town—"

"You called him from Solomon Island, correct?" he says.

"Yes..." It worries me that he's fixated on that one difficult-to-explain fact, but it's strange that, having fixated on it, he's yet to ask any questions about it. I try to redirect the conversation. "Anyway, I overheard a woman's voice tell him to get into a car, then she threatened him with a gun."

"You know all of this because of a voice?"

"Well, yes," I say, flustered. "I could hear her threatening him over the phone."

"Could you describe the voice?"

"I—well I guess I could try," I say, thinking back. "Kind of high-ish, but with a bitter undertone...sounded young...young for an adult, I mean..." I fumble.

"I'm afraid that's not much to go on, Ms Warden," says Cole.

"Look, she said her name was Kirsten Geary," I say. Technically, I said it, not her, but she did acknowledge it, so it's true.

Cole isn't buying it though. "I'm afraid we're going to need proof, Ms Warden."

"Proof?!" I repeat, my frustration rising. "You've got two witnesses! That should be proof enough!"

"Your brother is obsessed with internet conspiracy theories, and you claim to be calling from an island no one has heard from since it went under quarantine four days ago," says Cole. "Frankly, neither of you are credible witnesses."

"What kind of proof do you want?"

"A recording of the phone call would be a good start," says Cole. "Of course, we can't get one, can we? We already tried tracking the call an hour ago and got nowhere. We really have no reason at all to believe that the call in question ever happened, much less to give credence to the wild accusations of Ms Geary associated with it."

I'm dumbfounded for a moment. Then I remind myself that this is exactly what I should have expected. I wonder if there's anything I could have said differently. But as I review the conversation mentally, I begin to notice the discrepancies. Why would the police have tried to trace the call an hour ago? An hour ago it was being made, they didn't know anything about it! Also, how does he know about Micah's obsession? None of us have ever been in trouble with the cops, and I know Micah wouldn't have volunteered that information to a stranger! And then there's the way he referred to Kirsten Geary just now... I remind myself that the US is the Illuminati's back yard, and Geary did say she owned the police. I had expected that to take a more impersonal form, like some corporate lawyer somewhere who knows all the ins and outs of the legal system deftly burying the case under a mountain of red tape before anything could come of it...not the very first cop on the scene, who interrogates me over the phone as if I'm the suspect, not Geary. I can see only one explanation for this, and it makes my fury rise. I drop my voice low, letting a hint of the cold anger seep in as I ask, "How much are they paying you to bury this case, Officer Cole?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," says Cole, but the reply is too ready, almost rehearsed.

"I'm sure you do," I say. "Tell me, when the Illuminati bought you for this job, did they tell you that you'd be lying to an ignorant, harmless college girl...or were they honest enough to say you'd be trying to con a trained and deadly soldier of the Templars?"

In the silence on the other end, I hear Officer Cole swallow.

"You do what you have to do, Mr Cole," I say, clenching my fist. "I don't need the help of a dirty cop like you. Just remember to leave my family alone, or you'll be wishing you had! Because if I can survive on Solomon Island in the middle of a disaster the likes of which you can't even imagine, just think how easy it would be for me to take out a piece of garbage like you, if I wanted to. Don't give me a reason," I warn.

"T-this conversation's over," says Cole, his self-confidence evaporated.

"Yes it is," I say and clench my teeth.

I'm still calming down from that exchange when my Dad comes back on the line. "Chris?...What was that about? Why did you tell him you were on Solomon Island? You know that's the place I told you about, with the bad flu epidemic, right?"

I sigh. I'm tired of lying to my dad, and he deserves to know the truth, especially now that his life may be endangered because of it. "I told him because it's the truth, Dad," I say. "I'm in Kingsmouth right now."

"Kingsmouth?"

"It's the town on the island," I say.

"Are you serious?" I hear his concern rising. "Sweetie, you've got to get out of there! I'ts not safe. That whole island is still under quarantine!"

"I know, Dad, and trust me: what's going on here is worse than any flu outbreak. But I'm okay, honest I am. I'm protected from what's going on here, not perfectly, but well enough for me to stay alive."

"Protected? Sweetie, what are you talking about?"

"It's...hard to explain," I say, studying the dried brown bloodstains on my sneakers. "It's a gift...a power."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...," I falter, trying to think of the best way to explain this. I decide it's probably best to start at the beginning. "Look, do you remember the gas explosion in my apartment last week? The thing is, there wasn't actually a gas explosion. There was actually just...me."

"You're not making any sense, Chris," says Dad, concern fading into confusing and impatience. "Did you cause the gas explosion?"

"No, Dad, I did it by myself, no gas, just my own power...magic power," I say. "It all started one night after I accidentally swallowed a bee. After that I could shoot fire and lightning, but I couldn't control it, so I made a huge mess of my apartment. Then the Templars—"

"Wait, stop right there," Dad interrupts. His tone has gone from impatient straight past incredulous to angry. I swallow at the sound. "Do you think this is a joke? Your brother was just kidnapped and held at gunpoint on his way home! Do you think that's a laughing matter?"

"No!" I say quickly, "But I'm not joking!"

"Do you honestly expect me to believe any of that? Really, Chris?"

I don't know what to say to that. Honestly, I can't say I expected him to believe, but I still hoped...

"I expect this sort of thing from your brother, but not from you," Dad says, his voice now in that solemn tone reserved for when one of us is in trouble. "I'm disappointed in you, Chris."

"But I'm telling the truth!" I insist.

"Don't lie to me!"

My cheeks heat. I feel tears in my eyes. "I'm not lying, Dad. I did before, when I didn't think you'd believe me, but I'm through lying now! I'm just...I'm just disappointed that you don't trust me."

"Don't use that tone with me, young lady!"

"I'm not a little girl anymore," I say. "The world is a lot more complicated and dangerous than you believe...and so am I!"

"Don't try to tell me about the way the world works when you and your brother won't stop believing in fairy tales!"

"It...is...the...truth!" I say.

Dad won't listen, though. "I'm calling Greenwich there in London to confirm the details of your school trip to Maine," he says.

"They won't have them because there is no school trip," I say. "I'm here on Solomon Island with the Templars." Well, for the Templars, but close enough.

Dad grunts. "We're not having this conversation now, young lady," he says sternly. "I love you. You're my daughter, but your not behaving rationally right now. Call me back when you're ready to tell the truth!"

"But Dad—" I start to say. The harsh sound of the dial tone cuts me off. He's already hung up on me.

I slump against the wall, letting the phone fall out of my hands. That was about the worst phone call I've had in my life—or it would have been had I not just heard my brother kidnapped and held at gunpoint just an hour ago. I feel tears creeping down my cheeks. I try to wipe them away. I couldn't have expected Dad to believe everything right away, I tell myself, but that doesn't mean the distrust stings any less. I wonder if my relationship with my father will ever be the same again, or if I've permanently damaged it. I try not to think about it, but the tears run a little more freely.

Suddenly, I hear a man clear his throat nearby. I look up to find Dan standing a few feet away, hammer resting on his shoulder, but gripped with both hands. "Moose said you might be here," he says.

I reach into my coat and draw one of my pistols, but don't point it at him. "What do you want?" I ask, glaring at him.

"I just wanna talk, honest!" he says, raising one hand in a gesture of surrender, though the other still grips the haft of the sledgehammer. "Just a few questions, you know? Like: what the fuck is going on? for starters."

I look away from him, not wanting to answer. This is not a conversation that I want to have right now, not aver everything else I've been through.

But Dan is insistent. "Come on, Chris! At least tell me why you tried to kill me back at the church."

"I wasn't trying to kill you," I say. "I just...put a gun to your head, that's all." I sigh. The words sound incredibly stupid, even to me, but I'm unwilling and unable to revoke them, and far too emotionally drained to care what I say to a lying scoundrel anyway. "Consider it payback for your boss doing the same to my little brother."

"My boss? Kirsten Geary?"

I nod without looking up.

Dan winces. "Jesus, that bitch is psycho! Is he okay?"

I nod again, though this time I cast a glance at him.

"Thank God for that," says Dan, though I don't think he means it literally. He runs his hand through his hair. "Look, Chris, you've got to believe me: I had nothing to do with this, and I'm really, really sorry about Geary. She is an utter asshole."

"Are you sorry it happened, or are you just sorry you won't be able to recruit me into the Illuminati anymore?"

He eyes me askance. "What kind of a question is that?"

"I overheard your conversation with Kirsten outside of the church."

"Oh," says Dan. He tugs at his thin beard. "Fuck me." He leans back against the wall and lets his hammer rest on the ground in front of him. "Look, Chris, you've gotta understand: that message wasn't for you."

"Obviously."

Dan shakes his head. "I didn't mean it like that. What I mean to say...uhg." He leans this way and that for a moment, and I can hear his back pop. Then he pitches his voice lower. "What I mean is sometimes you gotta say something for your boss, tell her what she wants to hear, whether it's true or not, just to get her off your back, you know? I really do like you."

"Really? Or are you just telling me what I want to hear?"

"Chris-babe—We've worked and fought together, saved each other's asses... You know me."

"No, I don't" I say, turning away from him and holstering my pistol. "It's best if we keep it that way. I promised your boss I'd work with you and help you if she left my family alone. As long as she keeps up her end of the bargain, we'll maintain a strict professional relationship."

"And if she doesn't?" Dan asks. "I mean, she can be a real bitch!"

I look up and meet Dan's eyes, but I say nothing. I'd been planning on coldly retorting, In that case, I'll kill you first, but I can't say that to his face. I can't even think about it seriously. The concern in his eyes just seems so earnest, even though I know it must be a part of his act...and even though I hate to admit it, he is handsome.

Dan's not responsible for Geary's actions, I remind myself. I won't stoop to her level. I won't go after someone for something they didn't do. "If that happens, I'll leave you and go after Geary personally."

"Well, it's about fucking time somebody did," Dan mutters. "I'll hold her and you punch, okay?"

I smirk in spite of myself, but manage to wipe it off before he sees. I remind myself that I still have many perfectly valid reasons to be angry with him, and none of them things I'm willing to forgive him for today.

There's an awkward silence, then Dan lifts his hammer back to his shoulder again. "I should get back to helping Moose," he says. "Kaiyo's spending the night at the church. She says the wards there have enough power to take down a shitton or two more zombies, plus their big blue overlords—so we should be safe there. She's going to try expanding the wards to cover the churchyard, so there'll be more space when we bring in the rest of the survivors tomorrow morning." He pauses. "You should get some rest, while you can."

With that, he walks away, back into the main compound. I stay for a few minutes more, my mind awash in the turbulent emotions the past day has brought. But it's starting to get cold outside. I zip up my coat and head into the office, looking for a place to bed down.

Author's Note: Thanks for all the support and feedback! Dan and Chris are definitely going to be feeling the events from last chapter, even if Chris does decide not to kill him over them. Good to know that Kirsten might literally kill for a latte, though ;P I'm glad I was finally able to bring her in!

Sorry for another dialogue-heavy drama chapter. This should suffice, however, to wrap up the last two chapters and set up the next one, which will have much more action.

One thing to keep in mind when Chris talks to Cole is that the concerned party (her father, and any other officers who may or may not be present) can only hear his side of it...and it doesn't sound good. That in fact, is his point. I've tried to keep the details in Chris' conversation with Officer Cole as real as possible, even if the actual conversation obviously is not (I hope police never bully witnesses in order to bury their testimony this way!). Thus CSPD refers to the Colorado Springs Police Department (a large municipality with numerous smaller outlying towns) and the University of Greenwich actually is a London-based university. The Fairchild International Scholarship, however, is a name I just drew from the air. There is a real Fairchild Scholarship, but it's for engineering and, as far as I know, does not involve studying abroad.

It has been exactly two weeks since the opening scene of Lit Majors Shoots Lightning, the night that Chris swallowed a bee and gained her powers. Considering everything that's happened, she's adjusting fantastically well!

There is a slight but detectable difference in the pronunciation of "Ms" [miz] and "Miss" [mis]. "Ms" is considered grammatically correct by most, including the author, but there are some—including respected women writers and editors—who detest the word. For Chris, her distaste is more founded in a distaste for all things politically correct rather than any particular grammatical objections.

I listened to some of the cutscenes with Kirsten Geary on Youtube and described it as best I could without any sort of reference or putting too much thought into it (as Chris would have the luxury of neither, and describing voices isn't exactly something she does every day). The results were...terrifically vague!

I'm imagining "bought policeman" ranks pretty low in the corporate org chart of the Illuminati, probably not high enough to know who has superpowers out the wazoo and who doesn't. I imagine in terms of the possible surprises this could lead to, Chris' reaction was mild. Kirsten Geary seems to have had a much more extreme reaction when she was first "introduced to the Illuminati" via some out-of-hand necromancers—and she's only a badass normal! That being said, Chris' claim to be a "trained and deadly soldier of the Templars" is something of an exaggeration. Her "training" was a one-week crash course in How Not to Die With Magic Powers 101, and the only things she's actually killed (aside from crows) are zombies, who are technically already dead (so "re-dead?"..."re-deadly?"), but it gets the point across.

There is an important reference hidden in Dan's scene, but I don't want to give it away. I'm wondering if you'll be able to find it on your own. I have faith in you! As for the rest, it's safe to say that with her generally abusive leadership style and the fact that she's the reason Dan was transferred to "this fucked-up fieldwork shit," Kirsten Geary is not his most favorite person.

Thanks for reading!