Sunlight, ch. 11: Michael Williams

Monitoring: Michael Williams
Vienna, Virginia, USA

11:35 a.m. Eastern Standard Time
Saturday, November 1st, 2014
15:35 Coordinated Universal Time
Saturday, November 1st, 2014

Fast forward—

However cliche it might be to say, a chill runs down Michael’s spine when he sees the video recording of Akvo and Simon’s last conversation, such as it was. Or rather, the chill runs down, not his spine, but the one that he’s borrowing. Whether it’s because he has grown more acquainted with his power in general or this body in particular, it’s growing easier for Michael to forget that it belonged to someone else.

It isn’t clear whether Simon knows or was just used by a future personage to relay a message, but it is clear that Akvo knows who Michael is, or whose body he is inhabiting. Since Simon disappeared two days ago, Akvo has insisted on speaking with the director of the CIA and no one else. Akvo and his late companion knew who they all were, and appeared to have some amount of familiarity with their powers.

And “Sunshine Boy” had been a stupid nickname given that his mother used for him until a couple of years ago.

Akvo has so far kept mum on what he knows, but who can say how long that will be true? There’s nothing for it but to go ahead and meet Akvo on his terms, which is why Michael finds himself in Akvo’s cell, Blank and Heron standing behind him. The room smells. The walls are stained browning-red. Akvo’s face is bruised purple, nose busted and left eye swollen, but he sits cross-legged and tall.

The man acknowledges, or maybe graces, Michael with a nod. “I would like to have this conversation outside.”

Blank is about to protest, but Michael holds up a hand. He doesn’t have any room to negotiate. If it comes to it, he may even have to let Akvo go in order to preserve the secret of his identity. Nothing that Akvo could say would be enough to outweigh the fallout of that revelation, and Michael is at any rate doubtful that they could extract anything that he didn’t already want to reveal.

“We’ll hold this conversation outside. Alone, I presume?” he asks, and Akvo nods. “You will be handcuffed,” Michael says, and Akvo shrugs in acceptance. Michael would sigh in relief if he weren’t trying to keep up a face; it seems that Akvo only wants a private conversation. Perhaps they can come to an understanding, then.

The others argue, but Michael overrules them both, and a couple of minutes later Akvo is waiting patiently as Heron cuffs him. Heron and Blank accompany the two of them to the elevator, but are left behind as Michael and Akvo ascend to ground level.

Michael takes the opportunity to examine the man standing beside him. Akvo’s hands are behind his back, and maybe secured a little too tightly for comfort, but he isn’t complaining. Nor is he fidgeting, as some might. Rather, his eyes are centered straight ahead, as if he is expecting something very interesting to happen any moment, and he doesn’t want to miss it.

Nothing happens, though, and they exit the elevator, and then the facility itself, without incident. Outside, there is dying grass and trees dropping their leaves in the final weeks of autumn. They continue along the main road for a few minutes before Michael nods and Akvo, apparently getting the message that they are free to speak, begins to explain himself.

“We looked for you for a long time,” Akvo says. “We were expecting you to be in the White House by now, not dilly-dallying in the CIA.”

“We?”

“Senora Viejo and myself.”

Michael nods. “That was my intention, yes. Then, as I was making my way there, I learned about LN/PALATINATE. I thought it would be best if I oversaw it directly, and made sure that nobody of any importance was made aware of it.”

“I approve. We’ll need you in this position for the trying times ahead, and it might be that, despite the surprise and how that derails our projections, this will work out for us in the end.”

“What do you need us for?”

Akvo turns away, facing a copse of trees. “Under extreme conditions, like drought or disease, a once-healthy forest enters a period of decline and the trees die. When all is well, this is perfectly normal and a few survive, as they always do, and with their numbers reduced it is harder for the disease to spread or there is finally enough water to go around until the rains return.” He shrugs. “More or less.”

Of course he would know what Michael has been thinking about. If Akvo knows where Michael was planning to go (or rather, who he was planning to be) before he learned about PALATINATE, then it shouldn’t be a surprise to learn that Akvo is aware of other things.

Akvo returns his eyes to Michael. “Wildfires are healthy for an ecosystem. Trying to stop them can even be detrimental to the long-term health of the forest, preventing new growth and, inevitably, leading to more devastating fires down the road. You don’t think that the case is quite the same with humans, but…”

He is silent for almost a minute before Michael realizes that he is waiting for Michael to complete the thought. “But some people still have to die,” he says. “If there is going to be a conflict, not just a nuclear exchange but a war between countries with superpowers to wield against each other, then casualties will be inevitable and our resources would be better spent directing death rather than trying to eliminate it–after a point, our efforts will experience diminishing returns and we’ll need to adopt an alternate strategy for dealing with the problem.”

Akvo nods. “Your nature, and I speak of you collectively, as the children, is a fundamentally moral and idealistic one, for different values of ‘moral’ and ‘idealistic.’ You are all altruists but you do not agree on what is best. Do you see the problem?”

“W-We’re going to bump against each other,” Michael says, a sense of horror slowly dawning on him as he realizes the implication. “The world isn’t going to be big enough for all of us–nothing would be big enough for us, not really, not when the range of our powers will grow bigger over time and utopia for one of us is going to be dystopia for the next. We could try to negotiate, but…” He pauses, looks at Akvo, who shakes his head. “Not all of us will agree to that. Getting into a couple of big factions that can compromise within themselves but not between each other might even make it worse, and, hell, one rogue kid with the wrong power could be worse worse than a gang of twenty like Hannah.”

Apparently satisfied, Akvo raises a new topic. “Simon Martin is going forth to gather the others. After this is done, you need to kill him.”

Michael pauses. “I’m sure that he can be convinced to play nicely, and even if he can’t, his power is too valuable for us to discard him so soon,” he says, but Akvo shakes his head.

“Simon Martin is a foolish boy whose power is greater than he can handle. You see, as he does, only a means of acquiring information. I see, as no doubt others do, a means of acquiring disinformation.”

“What do you mean?”

“Imagine that you are living in the future timeline which Simon Martin will see in one of his visions. It doesn’t matter whether these are fully-fledged universes that will continue after the point of his vision or just simulations; if you are not conscious then you are being portrayed as if you were, and your actions will be the same. What are you able to do if you learn that you are in a timeline that he will receive a vision of?”

Michael puts his hands together in thought. He can act as if nothing really matters, especially if Simon is only witnessing a simulation that will later be ended. Something in him rebels at that thought, though; even the “real” universe is going to end someday, but Michael is still fighting to keep things going for as long as possible, as well as possible. But in that thought lies the seed of another one… “You can leverage your universe against the other one, making a sacrifice here for a payout there.” Like Hannah did, he realizes. Like Akvo did, Michael realizes. 

“It doesn’t matter what Simon saw in his vision, does it? Whether you’re actually working for us or not, you could easily have scrapped that whole timeline and everything you’re striving for in order to convince him that you’re an ally.” And it’s easy, too, if one knows how Simon’s power works, if one knows that his inability to receive new visions means that one is living in the world that he’s going to see.

If all that one cares about was maximizing the odds and the degree of success in a single world, then it doesn’t matter how many others are thrown into the fire. If it were possible, Michael might kill a thousand worlds to shift the survival rate by one percentage point, just so long as that would ensure long-term sustainability.

“Just as my partner, in a world that never will be, no doubt passed information to him.”

“Why are you being helpful all of a sudden? You’ve only been forthcoming with cryptic phrases up till now?” Left unspoken is another question: How can Michael trust him now? It’s one that Akvo will never be able to answer to anyone’s satisfaction, not unless one of the other children is a mind reader or a truth detector.

That doesn’t matter, though. They can verify any information that Akvo gives them. He can be kept in his sub-basement cell and be kept on a leash on the rare occasions that his presence is required outside. It’s okay.

But that still leaves the first question.

“I have only told you one thing,” he reminds Michael. “Everything else was only an illustration of what you knew. I believe that I am acting well within my restrictions, to the degree that I remember and understand them. But come,” he says, pointing back down the road as best as he can with his hands cuffed as they are. “It is time for us to return the way we came. We can speak again at another time, if you wish. I am content with your knowing that I know who you are and what the stakes are.”

And that Simon is too easily manipulated by his visions, Akvo didn’t add, but Michael remembers the other part of their conversation. It’s a noticeable omission, which means that Akvo might just as well be intending for him to be suspicious of it, but down that way lies madness. Michael will be suspicious, but he will not drive himself into an early grave by worrying how many levels of “you-know-that-I-know” Akvo is playing at.

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Sunlight, ch. 07: Hannah Johnson

Monitoring: Hannah Johnson
Vienna, Virginia, USA

12:10 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Wednesday, October 22nd, 2014
16:10 Coordinated Universal Time
Wednesday, October 22nd 2014

Fast forward—

When Rucker comes back from her trip, wherever it had taken her, Hannah is speaking with Heron about pigments. There had been a problem with the lights in her room, which led to some experimentation with the effects of differently-colored lighting on the appearance of her artwork. That had required asking somebody to purchase some bulbs for her, though, and Heron was willing enough to run out to the hardware store (or at least she thinks that’s where he went, but she isn’t clear about whether there’s another place one could go for light bulbs), and then one conversation topic led to another, flitting around the general subject of art. Hannah is pretty sure that he’s only trying to build a rapport with her, but that’s alright; she’s trying to do the same with him.

There are dark circles under Rucker’s eyes and she doesn’t seem to notice Hannah and Heron as she passes by them until Heron speaks up. A light movement of her hand, barely lifting from her side, waves away Heron’s questions regarding her well-being, and Heron settles for following her into the elevator.

Ever mindful of potential problems, Hannah goes along with him.

“Get the others,” Rucker says, sounding out of breath. “We need to talk. The situation might be changing,” she says, and Hannah’s intestines seem to curl up around themselves and tighten. Her tactfulness might be more, hm, tactical than empathetic, but she still resists the urge to immediately inquire after her siblings. Whatever is or might be happening, Rucker isn’t acting as though a delay of a few minutes will cause irreparable harm.

Heron leaves, texting on his phone as he goes, but Hannah stays with Rucker as they head to the room that they’ve been using for meetings. Rucker slides into the nearest chair and puts the side of her head against her right hand for support. Her left hand, clutching a thermos that she had brought inside, is raised to her mouth, and Rucker perks up ever so briefly before the alertness fades from her eyes and she looks exhausted again.

As Hannah takes a seat beside her, the others begin to file in.

“Peter. What do you, you have something for us?” Rucker asks, and he nods, lifting a small cardboard box of papers. “Good. I need some good news. First the part that I don’t like.” Rucker pauses to take a long swallow of whatever’s in the thermos, then waits another moment. Her eyes brighten again, and she begins to speak. “India has a number of superpowered children—I don’t know how many—and seem prepared to use them for military purposes. They’re running the project under the auspices of their armed forces, anyway. We need to be prepared for a flashpoint in the region, between India and either Pakistan or China. That means, among other things, preparing to go public with the situation so that we can try to keep our hands on the narrative.”

“We were always planning on doing that,” says Guthrie. “If anything, we’re lucky that we haven’t had to do anything until now.”

Rucker gives a slow nod, almost as if her head is simply drifting in a downward direction. She closes her eyes. “Broadly speaking, our aims are, in order, to prevent the deaths of nine out of every ten people on the planet, as Akvo suggests is the most probable outcome; to prevent a nuclear war, which is probably but not definitely linked to the first bit; and to maintain the continued and independent existence of the United States and its allies. It isn’t going too far to assume that a conflict in Asia, between India, China, Pakistan, and maybe even Russia, could lead to the exchange that Simon has seen in his visions.

“We know that the range of these powers is going to increase. It’s very possible that nuclear weapons might not have to be used in order to wreak large-scale devastation, and it’s even a possibility that their use might be in response to superpowered activity. It isn’t exactly our usual modus operandi, but shedding as much light as we can on these things is probably the best course of action that we can take. More awareness means more minds that we can put to solving the problems that we are encountering and means a less fearful public compared to a scenario where they first learned about the existence of superpowers after an Indian or Chinese invasion. Before we go forward with anything, though, we need to make sure that you’re okay with our plans,” Rucker concludes, looking first at Hannah and then at Simon and Austin.

“What do you have so far?” asks Austin.

Rucker gestures to Blank, who answers for her. “First, we coordinate with our counterparts in other countries that we intelligence agreements with. If possible…we approach Russia, China, and anyone else that might be important here, and then we arrange for a press conference. We’ll be keeping your powers hidden, with the exception of Hannah, who can give people a demonstration and hopefully give people the impression that, while there are some dangerous powers, the majority of them are, no offense, innocuous.”

Hannah shrugs. “Will I get to collect my Randi Prize winnings then?”

“I don’t see why not,” answers Blank. “We’re also going to keep your identities hidden, of course. If there’s any upside to the fact that you are children, it’s that we can withhold a lot of information on the grounds that we’re protecting your privacy.”

“That’s the only upside?” asks Austin.

“I would rather that children not be burdened with the responsibilities that you have,” Blank says before he continues his overview. “We’ll explain that we’re looking for more children like you so that we can grant protection, et cetera, but stress that we aren’t forcing anyone to cooperate. Hopefully, our allies are willing to do the same in their respective jurisdictions.

“After the bombshell that is the initial revelation, we will also have to broach the possibility of nuclear war. We only want to discuss it as a possibility, mind, and not even slightly as a certainty or even, more truthfully, as something that Simon has seen in visions of the future. For one thing, it probably isn’t a good idea to make it public knowledge that we have any kind of precognitive, let alone one whose power would, I’m sorry to say, probably not have great optics.”

Simon shifts a little in his seat, but Blank either doesn’t notice or sees no need to address his discomfort. Maybe it’s the right decision. “We probably won’t make people suspicious if we approach it from the angle that this is a new situation and anything new is liable to make people jumpy. We don’t want to say anything that suggests to the public that a superpowered child is a threat, especially since John Q. Public will happily come up with that idea without any encouragement on our part, but we should be able to impress upon people the need for caution on general principle. If possible, less emphasis on international affairs and more emphasis on making sure that the children involved are being taken care of and have all the resources that they might require.”

“The Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters?” asks Simon.

“I doubt it. With only a hundred of you across the world, that would require some real international cooperation. And, to be honest, sometimes the only thing we’re able to cooperate on is, just barely, not killing ourselves and everyone around us. There’d be issues just about whose soil to put it on, so your school would have a pretty dismal class size. Anyway, our intent is to defuse fear as much as we can, in a neutral climate rather than in the aftermath of violence, and take advantage of the fact that we no longer have to hide as much. After this, our biggest secret will probably be you, Simon, although even in your case we should probably still be able to work more openly than we are at the moment, with greater interagency cooperation and aid from contractors.”

“What if somebody else doesn’t like what you’re doing?” asks Austin. “What if India or China, or even someone in the U.S. government, responds badly? Couldn’t that start a war on its own?”

Rucker nods, the first action she’s taken in the past few minutes besides nursing the contents of her thermos. “Talked with the director about it. He had those concerns too. Doing nothing is making a choice just as much as actively doing something is, so if we balk at every possible action then we’ll be as responsible for the consequences just as much as if we had been more proactive. All we can do is minimize the risk, calculate the odds and the costs again, and go forward with whatever looks like the best plan, and hope for the best. Depending on how long the details take, we should be ready to make the unveiling in…February or March, I’d say. The Asia thing certainly does put a kink into it, which we should make sure is settled before we move forward.”

“So, what about your box, Peter? What did you find?” asks Rucker. “I might need to reread your report after I’ve gotten some sleep, if there’s any for me to get, but we’d all appreciate some better news than this trouble around India.”

Newsome sighs and taps the sides of the box before he stands and reaches inside it. “Unfortunately, what I have is a bit of a mixed bag.” He bites his lip. “Good news: the background checks that we’ve been running for the past few months has turned up some fruit, which I have here,” he says, tapping the box again with his left hand. “Bad news: there’s a lot that we still don’t know, and some of this just opens up more questions than we had before. But I do think that the good news outweighs the bad.”

Photographs are dropped or tossed down, thrown haphazardly around the table so that there are at least a few in front of any given person. Hannah receives three photographs of Akvo and one of Viejo. Most of the photos that she can see appear to have come from photo ID. Their thematic coloration is on display in each one.  “Our friend Akvo might be better known as Wajid Gerges,” Newsome says. “Or Falah Maloof, or Diya Nazari, or even Steve Tuma. Viejo’s names are equally diverse: Ana Araujo, Matilde Pinto, and Ana Castro, to name only a few.”

“And they’re probably all fakes,” mutters Heron.

“Yeah. They’re tied to a bunch of bank accounts, mostly in the United States and Canada but a few in other countries, all in Central America.” Newsome takes a long breath. “It’s all pretty good stuff. You could run these through, and I don’t think that anybody would notice that something was weird unless you were looking for something, unless you had a reason to be suspicious already.”

“Does that mean that we can’t locate anyone else that they were working with?” asks Austin. “If they were doing the same thing that Akvo and Viejo were, I mean.”

“Not so fast,” says Newsome, more happily than before. That doesn’t require much of a difference, though. “I don’t know how feasible this is, and it’s almost definitely going to be a hassle, even for us, but…I couldn’t find any paperwork that predates December 31st, 2000.”

“Our birthdays,” says Simon, and Newsome gives a nod.

“That isn’t to say that there are no records that predate that,” Newsome hastily adds before anyone can interject further. “When I say paperwork, that’s exactly what I mean. Hard, physical copies. The electronic stuff has all sorts of dates—all of them very plausible, so far as I checked—but I did some additional digging and made more requests, and nobody could find physical evidence from before that time.”

“Well, that’s got to mean something,” says Guthrie.

“At the very least, if we’re willing to expend enough resources to cast a wide enough net, we could conceivably find a couple more of Akvo’s associates. It could also turn up nothing, though, or at least take too long to bear fruit. We would need people to go through an ungodly amount of records, not to mention break a couple of laws if we wanted to be really thorough.”

Blank taps one of the photos that was thrown before him. “Are they American citizens?”

“And Canadian, among others, usually with places of birth that correspond to their accents. We might be able to do something with the number of identities that they’ve forged for themselves, searching for photos of people with different names and even life histories, who share faces and were born in similar regions. It would still take time to set up, but that’s life, it seems.”

“You keep mentioning America and Canada and so on,” Hannah says. “Isn’t there anything outside of this continent?”

Newsome shakes his head. “Not a thing. I couldn’t tell you why, though maybe Akvo would be willing to say.”

“Or not say, in a very particular fashion,” responds Austin. “I think we’ve proven that sometimes, what he’s implying or referring to or just…gesturing in the vague direction of, can be useful.”

“Yeah.” Newsome draws another paper out of his box and unfolds it several times, revealing a map adorned with red circles and neat cursive writing. He sets it roughly in the middle of the table, a little too far for Hannah, at least, to make out exactly what the writing is supposed to say. He puts his finger down on one of the circles. “Twenty-six people dead. Four people dead. Sixteen people dead,” he says, moving his finger to different circles as he makes each pronouncement.

“The massacres typically took place in a small town with a tiny police force. Some of them had as few as three officers. Each case demonstrates a fair amount of planning and knowledge about the area. Where they happened in public locations, the murders were often carried out in earshot of at least one witness, for all the good that that did anyone at the time, and happened in quick succession, one after the other. The amount of time varied in a way that doesn’t seem linked to the number of victims but was always well below what you would judge police response time to be.”

Simon picks up one of the photographs and holds it closer to his face. “This was Akvo and Viejo?”

“I’m ninety-five percent certain that it was them. The smaller murders, the ones that took place in people’s homes, tend to display Akvo’s penchant for, um, artwork, and what makes them all notable as a whole is that you can see Akvo and Viejo withdrawing money and using credit cards in or around these locations, at these points in time. That would be enough to suggest that they’re following the killers, at least, but the new and bloody paint jobs point to Akvo and Viejo.” He pauses. “Unless we have another pair of serial killers with Akvo’s M.O., which I suppose cannot be discounted.”

“How many?” asks Blank.

“Two or three massacres every year, and around fifteen of the smaller cases, with one to four murders, in the same time frame. Mostly concentrated in the United States, Canada, and Mexico,” answers Newsome. “Adding all of them together, we’re looking at more than sixteen hundred murders over the past fourteen years.”

Guthrie’s eyes dart to the door and she opens her mouth, but Blank holds up a hand—after glancing at Rucker, who is less responsive. “He isn’t going anywhere, and we can’t act without thinking. Let’s not forget that the bastard bit off his own finger just to make a point. If he can be intimidated then we haven’t found the method by which that’s possible, and dispensing justice isn’t as important as squeezing him for whatever information he can provide. If we have to wait six months or even six years to do that, in order to save millions or billions of lives, then that’s just what we’ll have to do.”

Hannah wonders why nobody had ever figured this out before, but after a moment’s thought the reason is apparent: It’s easy to look at the information that PALATINATE has recovered and start connecting the dots, but there are probably only a few groups who could access it at all to start with. Beyond that, too, it might be easy to look at the information now, but putting it together in the first place is the thing that was the real roadblock to making the discovery. They needed Akvo and Viejo, or at least one of them, before they could begin to connect these identities.

“There’s one more thing,” Newsome says, and this time, finally, he looks unambiguously pleased. “It took a little bit, but if you’ll look here,” he says, and Hannah cranes her neck without success to read what he’s pointing at, “there were multiple murders over several years in this location, and here, and here.” Hannah isn’t sure what he’s getting at until his finger goes to Baton Rouge. “And here, and here,” he says, now pointing at Toronto.

“They were…stalking us,” Simon says.

“Or something like that. But if I’m interpreting these return visits correctly…”

“Then we’ve found the others!” exclaims Rucker, with a new alertness that startles Hannah as she leans forward with a quick jerk.

Hannah looks at the map more closely. She doesn’t bother to read the writing. The important thing is where Newsome’s tight scrawl covers the most space: Toronto and Baton Rouge, as he pointed out, and scattered across Virginia, yes, but there are four more locations beside those, two in Mexico, one in Cuba, and one in Utah.

We found them, she thinks. We found them.

Sharp as Sword Blades, ch. 8: Simon Martin

Monitoring: Simon Martin
Vienna, Virginia, USA

10:55 a.m. Eastern Standard Time
Wednesday, August 6th, 2014
17:55 Coordinated Universal Time
Wednesday, August 6th, 2014

Heron and Blank go with him to see Sinjoro Akvo. He’s being held in a cell, concrete walls on four sides, a one-way mirror, and a heavy door. The hallway leading there is short, more like a between-space whose only purpose is to separate the cell from the main hallway. One more door between him and escape.

The lighting in the hall is poor, so that the one-way mirror will be transparent on their end and they can look in on Akvo themselves and not have to rely on anyone with cameras. The glass is bulletproof and the mirror is small and positioned high enough that it would be difficult for Akvo to escape through it even if it could be broken, but…that is part of the reason that the second door is there. Extra precautions. Continue reading

Sharp as Sword Blades, ch. 7: Simon Martin

Monitoring: Simon Martin
Vienna, Virginia, USA

10:25 a.m. Eastern Standard Time
Wednesday, August 6th, 2014
17:25 Coordinated Universal Time
Wednesday, August 6th, 2014

Fast forward—

Simon is the last to take a seat at the oval table that they’re using for meetings, following close after Hannah. Mary starts talking as soon as he’s sitting. She doesn’t bother to explain exactly what happened in the interrogation, and Simon isn’t sure that he wants to ask. Either it’s going unsaid because it isn’t important, or because Simon and the others won’t like it. Simon and Austin, at any rate; he isn’t sure how much Hannah would care. Continue reading

Sharp as Sword Blades, ch. 01: April Guthrie [null]

“Ask very pointed questions. Sharp as sword blades…if you catch my meaning.”
Afterlife, by Mike Monroe.

Monitoring: April Guthrie [null]
Cincinnati, Ohio, USA

12:45 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Monday, August 4th, 2014
16:45 Coordinated Universal Time
Monday, August 4th, 2014

Fast forward—

“Table for one,” says April. “Over on the right, if you don’t mind.”

“The right?” asks the greeter.

“I think I’d like the view better from there. I hope that’s alright.” Continue reading

Awful Shadow, ch. 9: Olivia Garcia

Monitoring: Olivia Garcia
Mesa, Arizona, USA

7:45 a.m. Mountain Standard Time
Monday, June 9th, 2014
14:45 Coordinated Universal Time
Monday, June 9th, 2014

Fast forward—

The world as only Olivia can see it is an ocean of yellow paint. There is no difference between any two specks of it but all the same she has somehow learned to differentiate, say, between the yellow that made the outline of a person, and the yellow on top of that. There was yellow inside each person, and a few months ago she became able to distinguish between the yellow that was their organs and another yellow that was in and around those things. In that way, it’s like an amorphous onion, with a multitude of layers. Continue reading

Awful Shadow, ch. 2: Hannah Johnson

Monitoring: Hannah Johnson
Arlington, Virginia, USA

4:45 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Thursday, May 8th, 2014
19:45 Coordinated Universal Time
Thursday, May 8th, 2014

Fast forward—

The car rolls to a gentle stop, halting two houses away and on the opposite site of the street from the place she’s come to visit. The neighborhood looks just like she remembers, with tall trees hanging overhead, providing more shade than she’s seen in any other suburb, as though it were brick and asphalt here among a grove, and not trees and grass among a city subdivision. Continue reading