It has been two or three days since Alexander received a visit from Keller. Meals come and meals go. A guard is posted outside his door, day and night. For the last several days, he has been provided with a copy of the daily Denver newspaper with his morning meal. At lunch: a copy of Time or The New Republic. At dinner: Science or Nature or National Geographic. It is as if someone were preparing him to be reintroduced to the world.
And some of the unbelievable news therein. To-wit: Donald Trump's status as the front runner in the Republican primary election.
The date on this morning's newspaper is Sunday, March 13. They have left everything in. The comics, the sports page. The endless array of glossy ads.
Sometime during the no-time that comes between one meal and another there is a hum, and a voice that is either in his head or in the room, which seems to be female, says -
"I have some good news for you, which requires some planning and which I would like to share confidentially and in person. To do so, I must have your word as an officer that you will not attack me should I join you."
AlexanderThe time between trips to the white room to meet with Keller had seemed oddly separated, but Alexander just assumed that it was some way that his captors were trying to mess with him. The papers and magazines go mostly ignored, except the first. That one is skimmed over for a date: it’s a date which makes him toss the paper back to the floor, discarded, and makes him sink down onto the floor.
“Shit.”
Assuming that wasn’t some other attempt to mess with his head. (Assuming they were trying to mess with his head: the jury really was still out on that one, from Alexander’s point of view. Would he really know if he was the same man he arrived as?) Assuming that were true, he’d been here that long?
So Alexander doesn’t pay much notice to the delivered extras that came with his meals. They stay ignored; much like the food was beyond the bits and pieces that he pecked at to stave off hunger pains. No, he spends more time inside his head these past days than outside of it. He may have no power over this world now, but his dreams and meditations are another matter.
He’s lying on his bed, eyes closed and mind drifting, when the hum and the voice arrives. It asks for his word. His eyes open looking at the blank ceiling. “Good news? You’re done with me and releasing me back into the world, a better man? Oh please, I think we both know how much bull that is.” There had been time when he had been a good little prisoner, following the rules and trying to toe the line. More recently, especially since he went unexpectedly Seeking, he’s less restrained. He refuses to walk to the sessions with Keller. He has periods where he tried to punch and kick the walls, looking for some way to break free. Dry scabs still cling to his knuckles from the last one. He hasn’t made an active attempt to attack the guards again. Not yet, at least.
“Just do whatever you’re going to do and let’s get this over with.” Alexander’s eyes close again. He has very little expectation that the bluff will hold for much longer, or that Keller will make good on his promise to try to get Alex out. Whatever happens, happens.
Ms. GrayIt is not Keller who joins him. There are fewer trips out of the cell. Fewer guards. Fewer strange faces. A low hum and the doors whoosh open and a slender blond woman joins him. There is a quiet crisp-ness to her demeanor, her features are equal parts plain and attractive, distinctly unmemorable. The door closes behind her.
She has a small file folder in her right hand.
"I'm happy to tell you that arrangements are being made for your release. The Agent who arrested you has been transferred. Records are being wiped. You should be able to resume your previous post in the police department. The record will show that you were briefly hospitalized after being injured by a suspect, and required an extended period of rehabilitation up to your release. It will take several more days to get all the pieces in place, but an end is in view."
AlexanderThis woman arrives, the sound of her shoes echoing slightly on the metal walls. Her entry doesn’t get much of a reaction from Alexander. Her little speech, however, does get him to open his eyes and look up at her. Maybe she keeps her distance, news of his first waking minutes here travelling. He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed so that he can sit up there, feet planted on the floor.
And all Alexander does is look at the woman, studying her, for some time. He’s silent. Watchful. There’s no threat in the silence, but maybe it’s something uncomfortable for her. It takes some time for the conflicting thoughts running through his mind to settle a little.
They settle on a question: “Why?”
Ms. Gray"I'm not sure that you'll believe me, but the why is really quite simple. For me: I would rather spend my time working to put an end to the Zika virus and improve the lot of those families afflicted it than fighting a war with a handful of Ptolomeic Flat-Earthers over whether the earth is the center of the universe. Those are my reasons.
"And I am not the only one in my organization who feels that way."
AlexanderI’m not sure that you’ll believe me...
“I don’t know if I do, but then I don’t know if it really makes any difference. Either I’m free, dead, or as good as dead. But it’s clear that you and yours are the ones with all the control here.” He pats his knee, to emphasise the point. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t feel much sympathy for your situation.”
“So what’s suddenly changed? Doesn’t the world still need protecting from reality deviants like me?”
Ms. GrayShe is very quiet and very self-contained and she does not allow herself to be goaded. Instead, she stands there slightly apart from him, holding that file against her body. There are no obvious weapons on her person.
"The world does require protection from those who would - under the aegis of faith or voudoun or magick or allegiance to an alien named Xenu - exploit others' weakness and superstition for their own benefit. Ask the Untouchables of India whether they prefer a world of reason or a world of mad blind faith, they are condemned to the dungheap based on an accident of birth.
"With that said: I don't believe that it requires protection from you and I have worked very hard, with Agent Keller's supervision, to effect your release and to ensure that you are released in a manner that is least disruptive to your life. Had I been the agent you encountered, I would not have taken you in to custody. I hope that you will understand that he did so because he believed that you had information about a young woman who caused the deaths of twelve people."
A quick, crisp half-smile. "Please understand that I tell you this not with the hope or expectation of convincing you of the righteous of the Order of Reason, but because I would like you to understand the context of our meeting. And your release.
"Which brings me to the next subject. We have made contact with some of your kind. One or more of them, I expect, will come to retrieve you - under cover - within the week."
Alexander
Alexander stands and takes a few steps – truthfully that’s all that he can take before facing the wall – and there’s a reaction that this woman may not be expecting. A shuddering of his shoulders that come along with a brief, joyless laugh. He turns to face her, but keeps his distance.
“I always thought it would be someone from the Order I said this to first, but fuck you.” There might be more that he wants to say, but he holds it back and turns to face the wall again. His hands balls into fists and relax again, while the movement of his shoulders show an increased depth to his breathing; whatever he’s holding back is enough to fan his anger. But this woman is apparently offering a way out. Although a way out that doesn’t make an awful lot of sense.
He speaks, but his voice is controlled. “If I’m so insignificant that you can release me, why can’t I just walk out of here? Why do they need to retrieve me? What aren’t you telling me?”
Ms. GrayMs. Gray whethers Alexander's verbal assault with an admirable degree of equanimity. There is, however, a certain spasm of something that curves her mouth and knits - so briefly - her pale brows. Some internal shadow darkens her eyes: a moment's deep consideration before she expels a slow breath.
" I never said that you are insignificant. I said that I believe the world requires protection from a whole variety of charlatans who use superstition to wield power over others to their detriment. You do not appear to be one of those charlatans.
"Therefore, I am putting both my life and my freedom on the line to get you the fuck out of here. I am not the only one who is risking my own life, limb, and autonomy in order to give you back yours. You cannot walk out of here. We have to erase the records of your arrest or render them so highly classified that no one in Denver will ever know who or what was held in this room for the past several weeks. The officer arrested you has been transferred to another facility more than 6,000 miles. Most of the guards assigned to you have been transferred, or will be transferred, too. That is why you cannot walk out. As far as most of my associates will ever know: a subject was arrested and held here, and transferred to a more secure facility with all appropriate precautions in place.
"Do you understand now?"
AlexanderShe can’t see his face, but she can see that his hands relax once more and don’t ball up again. Instead, Alexander plants them, palm flat, against the cold metal walls. A strange feeling, that. Cold in a way that normal metal isn’t. His breathing relaxes, too.
Quiet, this. “Hardly the release you were happy to announce then, is it. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t be sorry if this does turn out to be the last few days I see the inside of this metal box.” One way or another. Alexander still isn’t entirely convinced that this isn’t some game; some scheme to get him back into the Awakened community in the city as some kind of unknowing infiltrator. Given this conversation, could there be any question as to whether the conditioning had taken? Or maybe it had..?
“What happens after? You say I can return to my life, but can you really say that I won’t always have to look over my shoulder for you guys? Or your more... aggressive colleagues. Someone manages to find the files, or works out that I never arrived at whatever hole I’m supposed to be shipped out to, or you and Keller get caught and someone goes fishing in your heads.” Alexander turns at this, but there’s still no approach. Instead he rests back, back against the wall, with his arms crossed in front of him. “Or another agent just happens to pass through the department and works out what I am? Assuming that’s even was what happened with Weston. That puts you at just as much risk, if not more.” It hadn’t, after all, been any great challenge for Weston to get him here in the first place.
“What happens then?”
Ms. Gray"All of those things are certainly possible. And I cannot tell you what will happen at the end of any of those eventualities. If you would prefer to stay here and avoid those risks, I will see about calling off the operation.
"For whatever it is worth, I am not without allies, and we have enough access right now that the records of your arrest should be destroyed. You will have to live with the risk that you will encounter another Agent in the course of your work. Most of us do not arrest Disparates and Throwbacks on sight, however, not without clear provocation or a reasonable belief that the subject repesents a danger to unsuspecting civilians.
"Still, that risk will always be there."
AlexanderThere’s a sigh as Alexander knocks his head back against the wall several times. They’re gentle, a dull thud against the metal, until the last one: a little harder, a little louder. “Given the option of those risks or the certainty of worse if my presence gets noticed here again, I’m hardly going to stay. Whatever happens, happens.” Fatalistic? Maybe. Fated? Never.
“Would you believe me if I said that of the Awakened that I have met who live here, all of them have been trying to remove dangers to the Sleepers? Tradition, Orphan, whoever. This is our home. Nobody wants to get back into any kind of conflict with you.” Some of the others come to mind, making him quietly add: “At least, I hope that’s still the case.” Whether the disappearance of a single, Orphan apprentice would be any great concern to those of the Order who hoped to stir up a battleground in the city was something that he would, hopefully, wait to see. “Just so the lines are clear, do the Traditions get that same courtesy?”
“And what happens now? I assume you need something from me to make this work.”
Ms. GrayHer pale brows flick upward as he assures her that all of the 'Awakened' work hard to remove dangers to 'Sleepers.' Something about her expression is plain-as-day: she does not like either term. She does not favor the implications. No, more than that: she rejects them on a real and fundamental level. And the somewhat patronizing egalitarianism inherent in that rejection is clearly evident on her face.
But: she is not going to tell him why she believes he is wrong. That, too: hopeless. "I prefer that we simply stay out of each other's way, and avoid reigniting some ruinous war. As for what happens next: I do not require anything from you. Simply your awareness and your consent. Once the arrangements are finalized and we know that your team and on site, we will give you a preparation that will take you into a deep hibernation and conceal your life signs so that you will appear to be dead to both physical and superficial magickal examination. The cocktail will last for several hours. That will be enough time for your associates to remove you from the facility and for us to move the pieces around and destroy the electronic trail.
"Until then, I suggest that you read the periodicals we have supplied you with: enough, at least, so that you will be as conversant with recent events as your co-workers when you return to work."
AlexanderIn a different situation, there might have been some pleasure in getting such a reaction from someone so intensely arrogant. (Hell, Alyssa would probably be proud.) But all that exchange does is reinforce the basic differences between them: differences that may well have come from as early as her Awakening, or whatever she chose to call it, and from the way they had each been introduced into this life. Neither was at fault in that. They were simply different.
There is hesitation when she talks about this preparation, though. He didn’t trust this woman, any more than he’d trusted Keller, and he was still sceptical about the whole situation. The distaste is equally obvious on Alexander’s face. “Is that really necessary? I mean, wouldn’t it be quicker and easier to get me out of here if I didn’t have to be dragged or carried?” Unspoken: I’ve hardly touched the food and drink you’ve given me, and now you want me to neck something unquestioned?
Ms. Gray"It is absolutely necessary. A living person will trigger every security check and be seen by every camera in the facility. A corpse, in a body bag - "
She is not reading his mind. She does not follow the natural progression of his thoughts to the unspoken question.
Alexander“And two strangers roaming around won’t be noticed? Won’t be picked up by every camera they walk past?” Given the degree of organisation that she’s talking about, it’s a question is likely to have already been asked and answered. But, still, there might be some way to manoeuvre out of having to take Alice’s Drink Me potion.
Ms. Gray"Not if they wear an appropriate skin. Beyond that, the less you know about the arrangements, the safer this project will be."
She does not know that he is trying to avoid Alice's potion; and in any case: she intends to use gas. As she said: she does not need anything from him to put the plan into place.
"If there is nothing else, I will bid you goodnight."
AlexanderAlexander’s eyes close again as he rests his head back, gently this time, against the wall. He’s motionless until there’s a small, sharp nod. Acceptance. Consent. He really doesn’t like this plan, but it’s really the only possibility he has for getting away from here. There are no other options. So he agrees, still expecting to see a little glass vial with a hand-written note roll through the door at some point in the future.
He stays like that as she turns to leave, but tries to catch her before she reaches the door with a, “wait.” He opens his eyes again, studying her as he pushes off from the wall so he’s standing on his own two feet. His arms are crossed across his body, some subconscious barrier between them. “Assuming you’re telling the truth about all of this, thank you.”
Again, something unspoken: If you’re not, I will find you in my next life... The words may be unspoken, but there’s a fire in his eyes as the thought passes through his mind.
Ms. GrayShe does turn, briefly, her chin lilted upward, her pale eyes fixed and intense.
"I am sorry for what you've been through, officer."
"Goodnight."
And then she turns to go; and he is alone, once more.
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