It Gets Worse 5 (Patreon)

Emily

She sat back in her chair and awaited the reaction from the two people before her. It wasn't long in coming.

“Wait, what? That can't be right.” That was the father, Danny. He frowned as the full impact of her words registered on him. “You're saying … it's Taylor?”

Taylor, on the other hand, looked at her father then back at Emily. “What? I don't have a guardian angel? But …”

Then it was Danny's turn again. “Seriously, I think you'd better explain that.”

The Director laced her fingers on the desk in front of her. “I've been doing this job a long time. While powers come in more variations than even the old-style comic book writers could imagine, there are some aspects that show up, again and again. The first one is that powers are direct. They don't do things half-assed or sideways. If the power effect is the same three or four times in a row, it's not an accident.”

She took a deep breath. “And the other thing is that people are still people, whether they've got powers or not. I've never come across someone using his power to help someone who doesn't even know him, in secret, without trying to communicate in some way. Capes always want something in return. Always. Even if it's just recognition, or a thank-you.” And powers just make it worse, she thought sourly. Children with machine-guns.

Taylor was frowning. “But … it's possible, right?”

“Certainly, it's possible, yes,” agreed Emily. “Possible, but somewhat improbable.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a pad. Pulling her pen from her pocket – it had been checked, and was in full working order – she clicked it and drew a line down the centre of the pad. On one side, she wrote POWER; on the other, she wrote GUARDIAN ANGEL.

“Now, let's list the pros and cons of whether you're powered or not,” she said. “You've already stated that you don't know who could be doing this, yes?”

“Well, yeah,” Taylor agreed. “I mean, it could be Greg, but if it was, he'd be dropping hints all over school.”

“Unless his power doesn't let him tell anyone,” Danny interjected. “Isn't it true that powers sometimes do something like that?”

“Well, yes,” Emily admitted. “It happens, but it's rare.” On the pad she wrote 'Greg – gagged?' on the 'guardian angel' side. On the other side, she drew a line.

“Well, that's easy to check,” Danny pointed out. “Taylor can ask him.”

Taylor grimaced. “Dad, are you sure you know what you're asking?”

He turned his head to look at her. “Why, what's the matter with Greg?”

She shook her head. “He's got no clue. Not a single one. People could ignore and ostracise him, and he wouldn't notice. If I even hinted that he might be doing this for me, he'd jump on it with both feet and convince himself that he's doing it.”

“And if he is?” asked Emily. “What then?”

Both Danny and Taylor turned to stare at her. “I thought you were saying it wasn't him,” Danny objected.

“I've also learned that it doesn't pay to rule anything out, no matter how improbable, when it comes to powers,” she told him. “It's unlikely, certainly. But that doesn't make it impossible. So, Taylor, what are you going to do if it does turn out that this Greg has these powers and is helping you with them?”

<><>

Taylor

Both the Director and my father were looking at me; I shrank back under their combined stares. “I … I don't know,” I confessed. “I mean, I guess he kind of likes me, probably because I don't brush him off like everyone else. But he's a little bit creepy, and while I don't dislike him, I don't actually like him all that much either.”

“And why's that?” asked the Director, almost gently.

“Well, for one thing,” I said, getting my thoughts together, “sometimes we're placed together for a class project.” A shudder rippled through me as I recalled the debacle that had been the last such project. “When that happens, he spends more time trying to talk to the pretty girls in the class than to me. So it's not even really me that he likes, just the fact that I don't tell him to go away.”

“Yes, I've known people like that,” agreed the Director. “Well, here's the next question. If it turned out that he was indeed your guardian angel, would you rather he protected someone else – and gave them all his attention – or stayed to help you?”

“Oh, god,” I muttered. “I'm not sure which would be worse. I mean, unless he can't talk to me about it. But even if that was the case, owing Greg that, and knowing that he's doing it because he likes me, and I don't like him … ugh.” I looked beseechingly at Director Piggot. “Is there any way to prove that it's not him without actually asking him?”

She seemed to be almost amused, which wasn't too much of a surprise. “Actually, yes, there is. And there is already a weight of evidence to show that this is you causing it and not your classmate.”

“There is?” asked Dad. “Why didn't you say so earlier?”

“Because we needed to explore the other hypothesis first, so you'd be ready to look at this one with an open mind,” she explained.

“Oh, my mind is open, trust me,” I assured her fervently.

“Very well.” She tapped the pen on the pad. “Let's go through the spectrum of powers that a hypothetical guardian angel would need. Telekinesis, some sort of Master power. Stranger capabilities to be right there and not be seen. Some sort of clairvoyance, because from your own account, more than one thing was happening at once, in two different places.”

“So what would Taylor need in order for this to be just her?” asked Dad, frowning.

“Some form of precognition, limited to events that would cause her problems, and probability manipulation to change events to suit her,” the Director recited promptly.

“But I'm not doing it!” I protested. “I don't see what's going to happen. And I definitely don't deliberately alter events to suit me.”

“Not deliberately, no,” she agreed. “But it's happening all the same.” Carefully, she laid the pen down and then crossed one hand over the other on the desk. “I had a strong inkling of what was going on before you ever walked into the building. I mean you no harm, and your power knows it.” A dry smile crossed her face. “Bad things happen to people who try to harm you. I have no intention of joining that number.”

“Wow.” Dad looked from her to me. “You're really serious.”

“Utterly.” There was no humour in her tone or on her face now.

“So what other evidence do you have?” I was curious now. “So far it's all been circumstantial.” Dad looked at me. I shrugged. “What? I've heard Mr Barnes talk about this sort of thing.”

Director Piggot inclined her head. “True. But the clincher is what brought all this on. Have you ever heard of a trigger event?”

I frowned. “Uh, isn't that where parahumans get their powers?”

“Exactly.” She replaced the pen in her pocket. “By all accounts, a trigger event is essentially the worst thing that can happen to someone. It's what causes powers to emerge. You've been through a horrific experience, very recently.”

“Oh. Yeah.” I didn't want to think about it, but there it was. “So … the locker caused me to become … lucky?”

“Very broadly speaking, that's what I think happened, yes.” She tapped her forehead with her finger. “Also, triggering causes part of the brain to develop in a very specific way. With your consent, a CT scan could pick this up.”

I shook my head. “No … I think I'll take your word for it.”

“Yeah.” Dad nodded. “Me too.” He paused. “So where do we go from here?”

“From here …” Director Piggot rubbed her chin, then obviously came to a decision. “Miss Hebert, I would like to formally invite you to -” She broke into a fit of coughing as a bug flew into her mouth.

“Are you okay?” Dad was halfway to his feet.

She waved him away, pulling out a handkerchief. The spasm over, she looked at me. “On second thought, I would like to retract the offer. It seems to be a bad idea.”

“Why?” Dad looked from me to the Director. “I'm assuming you were going to ask her to join the Wards. It seems like a reasonable idea to me. Taylor?”

I shrugged. “I guess I wouldn't have any problems with it. But if you say my power doesn't like it …”

Director Piggot grimaced. “Well, that may have been a random bug, but I'm not going to take any chances. If you wish to join, then we will accept you, but I am specifically not inviting you to join the Wards at this point in time.”

“I, uh … can I think about it?”

“Certainly.” She spread her hands. “Take all the time you want.”

“Okay, thanks.” I looked at Dad. “Was there anything else we wanted to do here?”

He considered the question. “No, not really.” Turning to the Director, he went on. “We just wanted to let you know about Taylor's guardian angel or, as it turns out, her power. Is there anything else you wanted to know?”

“No,” she replied. “Let me know what you decide. I'm not going to push you on this one.”

If anything was going to underscore for me how serious my powers were, and that I had powers at all, it was the sight of Director Piggot, obviously used to getting her own way, very carefully deferring to my wishes in the matter.

Dad and I got up and he opened the door for me. “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice,” I told the Director. “When I figure out what I'm going to do, you'll be the first to know.”

<><>

Emily

“I would appreciate that,” she said. She watched the teenage girl and her father exit her office, the door closing behind them. Then she finally let herself relax, the tension of carefully watching her every word slowly draining away.

She had, in her career, faced many capes, quite often in this very office. Some had been arrogant, some reasonable, some downright obsequious. Though precious few of the latter, I have to say. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of capes with such a capricious power, one over which they apparently had little to no control, that she had encountered. She wouldn't admit to being scared, exactly, but there was a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead.

Taking a deep breath, she gathered her thoughts. “Right,” she muttered. “So Shadow Stalker was bullying that girl, huh? Let's see about that.”

Belatedly, she realised exactly what the bug had been about. Had Taylor joined the Wards, with Shadow Stalker already a member, the blow-up would have been as inevitable as it was devastating. If her power then decided that the entire PRT and Protectorate were a danger to her … She shuddered at the thought.

Picking up the phone, she dialled a number. “Armsmaster?” she queried. “Good. I need you to meet me here. We have an investigation to begin.”

<><>

Danny

I hope she'll be okay.

He was pretty sure he was worrying needlessly, but Taylor's sufferings were still very fresh in his memory. He had to stop himself from getting up and leaving the office, or at least picking up the phone and calling her.

She's fine. She's got the phone, she can call me if she needs anything. He had left her bundled up in her favourite blanket on the sofa, watching TV and eating cookie dough.

“I'm good,” she had insisted. “If TV gets boring, I'll read a book. If that gets boring, I'll take a nap. You need to go and prove that they need you at work.”

She had a point. He was perennially backlogged with paperwork even on the good days; leaving early, as he had been doing recently, was not doing his in-tray any favours at all. So he stopped glancing at the phone and turned back to the report he was reading.

Picking up the document from the desk, he turned slowly on his chair as he skimmed through it, then settled down to read it more closely. Frowning, he finally managed to engage his mind with what the report was saying, and read it a third time. Then he got up and went to a filing cabinet. From there, he pulled a sheaf of similar reports, through which he skimmed, looking for one piece of data. As he did so, the frown on his face grew deeper and deeper.

After cross-checking some old roster sheets, with the relevant reports in hand – the rest went back into the filing cabinet – he sat back down at his desk and pressed a button on his intercom.

“Yes, Mr Hebert?”

“Louise, could you please have …” He re-checked the name on the report. “Lee Adamson paged, please? I need him to report to this office immediately.”

“Lee Adamson, right away.”

“Thank you.” He disengaged the button and dropped the reports on the desk. While he waited, he checked the date on the latest one. It had been submitted just the previous day; if he had not chosen to come in to finish his working day, it may have languished in the in-tray for at least another day.

<><>

Lee Adamson

Adamson knocked on the doorframe. “You wanted to see me, Mr Hebert?”

He'd never been able to figure out how a weedy guy like Hebert had managed to make it in the Dockworkers Association, a trade that was rough and tough by its very nature. But here he was, the union spokesman and head of hiring, not the face of the Association but one of the people who managed to keep it going.

Danny Hebert looked up from the paper he was reading, the light reflecting momentarily from his glasses. Adamson saw that he looked worn, with a few more lines on his face. Maybe he was losing sleep over something. The rumour that was making the rounds was that something had happened to his daughter. Everyone knew that he'd left work in a hell of a hurry a few days back and he'd been knocking off early ever since.

Oh well, like I give a shit. It wasn't Adamson's problem. His job was to do the work the Association gave him and, when required, to perform the other duties set him by his real employer.

“Yes, come in. Close the door and sit down, please.”

Lee did as he was told, taking a seat in the aged chair before the desk. “What's this about?”

Hebert took his time answering, picking up several sheets of paper and carefully stacking them together. Finally, he placed them in front of Lee. “Do you know what these are?”

Oh shit. The tone of voice, the whole attitude, clued Lee in on the fact that he was in trouble of some sort. He desperately wanted to read the papers, but settled for scanning the top lines. “Uh, incident reports, Mr Hebert?”

“That's correct, Lee,” Hebert said. “Incident reports about items missing from shipping manifests in a regular pattern. Specifically, in a pattern where you're the common denominator in all the work crews that unloaded the items in question.”

“Now wait just a minute -” Lee began, but Hebert overrode him.

“No, Mr Adamson, you wait just a minute. I haven't finished talking.” He paused for a moment, to be sure that Lee wasn't going to interrupt, then went on. “I don't know that it's you that's been taking these items, and I don't know why they've been getting taken. Right now, I don't even know what's been taken. But I'm going to investigate all of these things, and I'm going to come to the truth of the matter. Is that understood?”

Shit shit shit. Lee understood, all right. He'd taken items from cargo being unloaded before; of course he had. He'd been getting paid extra to do just that. But he didn't expect the shift bosses to be as vigilant as they were; after all, he'd been getting away with it so far.

He became aware that Hebert was looking at him expectantly. “Uh, yes, I understand.”

“Good.” Hebert looked him up and down. “Now, these are quite serious allegations, so you're being suspended with pay until it's all sorted out -”

“Wait, what?” Hebert couldn't do that. There was another shipment due tomorrow evening, one that he had to be on the work crew for. “You can't -”

Hebert slapped the desk with his palm, making Lee jump. “I can and I will. Right now, you're only suspended with pay. If you're found guilty of any criminal activity, the penalties will get a lot worse. Is there anything you want to say to me that might clear this up?”

Several possible explanations scrolled through Lee's head; unfortunately, each seemed more problematic than the last.

I'm being set up.

It's all a conspiracy to get me fired.

Okay, I took the stuff, but I'll never do it again.

I'm really working for -

He cut that last thought off. No way he was going to let anyone know who was paying him under the table. Hebert was well known for not hiring anyone with gang affiliations.

“Uh, no,” he mumbled. “Nothing.”

“Very well, Mr Adamson,” Hebert told him. “I'm going to require that you leave the site immediately. We'll contact you with the result of the investigation.” He paused, his expression softening slightly. “Don't worry; I won't tell anyone why you were suspended.”

Small mercies, indeed. “But I need the work. I -”

“Perhaps you didn't hear me,” Hebert reminded him. “Suspension with pay. You're getting a vacation. If you're blameless, then you have nothing to worry about.” If we find out that you've been taking stuff, he didn't have to say, then you do have something to worry about.

Lee didn't want to push the issue. Keep my head down, don't make him wonder what's so special about that shipment. “Uh, okay.” Some part of him wanted to thank Hebert, but what was there to thank him for, really?

“That'll be all. Hand in your helmet, your vest and your ID before you leave.” Hebert's attention was already on the next piece of paperwork.

For just a moment, Lee wanted to grab the scrawny pencil-pusher by the neck and throttle him, if only to make him realise what he was up against. It's people like him that screw things up for people like me. But he didn't. His orders were to not make waves, to pretend to be a good little employee. So he pushed open the door and left.

<><>

“Hello?”

“It's Adamson.”

“Why are you calling?”

“There's a problem.”

“Those are not words I want to hear. What I want to hear is 'there was a problem but I sorted it out'.”

“No, I can't. Hebert just suspended me. Took me off work.”

“Why?”

There was a long pause.

“Adamson, why did he suspend you?”

“He might have figured that I was taking stuff.”

“Damn it, you were supposed to be being discreet!”

“I was being discreet. Nobody saw me. But they were keeping a count of items being offloaded and he must have put it together.”

“Christ. Does he know?”

“Hell no. What do you take me for? Right now he thinks I might be a thief, but that's it.”

“Do we have anyone else who can cover for the shift tomorrow?”

“No.”

“All right, leave it with me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Whatever I have to do.”

“I don't like the sound of that.”

“I didn't ask your opinion.”

And then there was just the dial tone.

<><>

Triumph

Rory looked up as the buzzer sounded. “Masks!” he called out. Dropping his cards, he fitted his lion's-head helmet over his head. Aegis, sitting opposite him, was already masked up; Kid Win, at the monitor console, hadn't taken his visor off.

They all came to their feet as the doors opened. Director Piggot led the way into the room, with Armsmaster following behind.

“Uh … Director Piggot?” Rory queried. “What's the matter?” Did we do something wrong?

“Nothing's the matter,” Armsmaster assured him. “You're not in trouble. Though we do need you for something.” He nodded to Kid Win and Aegis. “Could you please leave the room?”

With quick glances at their team leader, the two Wards headed for the door. Triumph watched them go, then turned back toward Armsmaster and the Director. “Uh, what exactly is going on?”

“What's going on,” Piggot answered him curtly, “is that Shadow Stalker has been making fools of us all and we're going to get to the bottom of this right now.”

“Shadow Stalker?” Rory repeated blankly. “Okay, sure, she's a bit abrasive and not really a team player, but …”

“We've received serious allegations that she's engaging in ongoing bullying activities in her civilian identity,” Armsmaster said grimly. “If she's doing that, then she may be doing other things in her cape identity. We need to open her locker and look for any indication that this may be the case. Director Piggot wants you and me to be her witnesses in this situation.”

“Wait, but she's in the hospital,” Triumph objected. “You're not even giving her a chance to defend herself.”

“If we find something suspicious, then she will have the chance to defend herself,” Piggot stated flatly. “If we don't, then she won't need to. As it is, I have recently had one of the most unsettling conversations of my career entirely due to her, and I don't wish to be blindsided like that again. Ever.”

Rory blinked. Clockblocker liked to make jokes about 'Miss Piggy' – hell, they all did – but he'd grown up around politics. He'd seen the steel in her spine more times than he could count. To hear her admit to being unsettled was a new experience. She's serious about this.

“Uh, yes, ma'am,” he replied. “Her locker's right this way.”

<><>

Danny

His eyes ached from reading through forms and his hand was in little better condition from scrawling his signature at the bottom of those same forms. He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, then replaced them to look at the clock on the wall.

“Christ,” he muttered. “It's after seven. Taylor will be worried sick.”

Getting out of his chair, he glanced into the outer office, preparing to tell Louise to go home already. To his surprise, he saw that the desk there was empty, that his office light was the only one still on. Rubbing his forehead, he conjured up a vague memory of his secretary telling him that she was going home; he'd mumbled some sort of reply then gotten back to the attack on his overdue paperwork. If there was another Lee Adamson lurking in the in-tray that he missed because he'd been going home early …

Turning back to his desk, he saw that the pile in the in-tray had indeed been greatly reduced. There was still a deal of work to do, but not so much that he couldn't get it done tomorrow. And he had to get home to Taylor. Somewhat recovered she might be, but she was still fragile.

Shrugging into his jacket, he turned off the desk light and then the office light. He was just locking his office door when he heard the scrape of a shoe on worn linoleum. Turning, he watched as someone stepped into the doorway of the outer office.

“Who's that?” he asked. “Kurt?”

“No, not Kurt.” The voice belonged to a man, but it wasn't one that Danny knew.

“Who is it?” Danny frowned. “How did you get in here?”

“The door was open.” The man's voice was light, almost amused. “Who I am doesn't matter. What matters is what I'd like you to do.”

“And what's that?” Danny squinted to try to make out the man's face, but the corridor light was behind him.

“Take Lee Adamson off of suspension.” The voice was flat. “Put him back on the roster.”

“What? No.” Danny shook his head. “The man's under suspicion of theft.”

There was a sigh, then the man reached into his jacket. Danny tensed, but the only sound he heard was the rustle of paper against cloth. An envelope, quite visible in the dimness, came into view; the man held it out to him. “Here's an incentive. You never took Adamson off the roster. I was never here.”

“How much?” The question came out before he thought about it.

“Five large.” He could hear the smugness in the voice. “I hear your little girl has some medical bills to pay off. This'll cover that with room to spare.”

Involuntarily, he took a step forward, his hands clenching into fists. “Don't you bring Taylor into this,” he grated. “And don't you ever come in here trying to bribe me for anything. Adamson's on suspension and that's where he'll stay till I find out what he's guilty of. Now get the fuck out of here before I throw you out. And take your dirty money with you.”

“Now, now.” The voice was still urbane, still calm and collected. “No need for any rough stuff. This doesn't need to be anything more than a civilised arrangement between gentlemen. I'll give you twelve hours to think about it.”

Danny breathed heavily. “Twelve hours, twenty-four, forty-eight, I don't give a flying fuck. The Dockworkers don't do business with organised crime. That's the way it's always been and that's the way it'll always be. Now fuck off. And the moment I find one shred of evidence that Adamson's connected, he goes too. For good.”

“Twelve hours. You'll be hearing from us.” The man stepped back then sideways, disappearing from his sight. Danny came forward, snatching up a dimly-seen chair, brandishing it as he moved into the corridor. He saw nothing; all he heard were diminishing footsteps.

“Damn it,” he muttered, stepping back into the office. As he put the chair down, he became aware of his racing heartbeat, the sheen of sweat on his forehead.

<><>

Armsmaster

“Damn it,” muttered the Director. She looked over the contents of Shadow Stalker's locker, arrayed on the table. A spare costume, knee and elbow pads, two masks, each bearing the scowling-woman visage, her Tinkertech crossbows and several cases of arrows. Colin had been over the arrows carefully; they were the blunted type or the tranquilliser type exclusively. “I was sure we'd find something.”

“I'm sorry, Director,” Triumph said carefully. “Maybe she just isn't … what you think she is.”

“I was given evidence that she is, or rather was, bullying one of her classmates to an extraordinary degree,” gritted Piggot. “Now, do you think she'd do that in her civilian identity and not break the rules in any way as a cape?”

“I still think it's unfair on her to be targeted like this while she's still in the hospital,” argued Triumph. “She can't even present her own side of the story. She doesn't even know this is happening.” He gestured at the paraphernalia spread on the table. “And it looks like there was nothing to find anyway.”

Armsmaster was rubbing his chin and frowning. Something was off, here. Something was missing.

“There's something.” The Director's voice was iron-hard with certainty. “I just -”

“Director.” He nearly had it.

“What?” snapped Piggot.

Colin snapped his fingers; a hard trick in armoured gauntlets, but one that he had worked to master. “Her Wards phone. It's not here.”

She scanned the table. “You're right. It's not.”

“Uh, that's because I've got it,” Triumph admitted.

“You? Why do you have it?” Colin got the question in just before the Director, but only just.

“Aegis took it off of her after the accident and he handed it over to me.” Triumph shrugged. “I was gonna hang on to it, give it back once she was conscious and lucid.”

“Sensible,” Armsmaster conceded. “Though you really should have handed it in to one of us.”

“In fact, you'll hand it over right now,” Piggot ordered him, holding out her hand.

Slowly, Triumph withdrew the phone from a belt pouch and gave it to her. “What do you think you'll find on it, ma'am? She'll have known you have access to anything that's on it. Even if she's been breaking the rules, she won't be doing it using that phone.”

“Doesn't she carry a second phone, a civilian one?” Colin asked.

“She did,” Triumph agreed. “But I heard it got stolen. She was really upset about that.”

Piggot snorted. “'Upset' wasn't the word. But I'm not interested in her message traffic. I'm interested in another type of data.” Turning, she placed the phone in Armsmaster's hand. “I want you to do something for me.”
 

Part 6