42
Cataline
Norman gives me a medium-sized suitcase, but I don’t have anything to put in it. I arrived with nothing, and as I stare into the closet full of expensive pieces, all I can think is that these things aren’t mine.
When Norman finds me in the same place he left me, he tells me to leave my suitcase and leads me up the forbidden staircase. I’ve cut the memory of Calvin as Hero off at the root every time, but now that I’m back in the doorway, it’s proving difficult. I turn my face and inhale deeply as Norman waits. When I’ve collected myself, I enter what appears to be another study. I can’t imagine Calvin picking out the rug with threadbare spots that sits under a large, oak desk. Yellow lamps break up brown leather chairs and wooden end tables. Worn book spines are organized by author. I glance at Norman from under my lashes and then at the phone centered on the desk’s surface.
“For emergencies only,” Norman says. “It takes incoming calls only. Sources around the city alert us to imminent danger. They don’t know too many specifics. Master Parish likes it that way. Demands it, rather,” he says with a hedging smile. “You know me as a butler, but my most important job is to receive calls, investigate their validity, and send Hero on assignment.”
The alarm-like ringing throughout the house that sends Norman running every time makes more sense now. I walk over to a bulletin board covered in newspaper articles and photographs.
“That’s my doing,” Norman says from behind me, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Master Parish despises it. There isn’t much to show because he insists on limited exposure, but it’s important to me to track our progress and success.”
I finger an article: “Hero Strikes Again? Witnesses claim mystery man lifts overturned car to rescue elderly couple”
“He’s a good man, Cataline. He’s done a lot of good here. As you can see, he loves this city, and it loves him back.”
“His parents did this?” I ask.
Norman sighs. “It’s complicated. Their intentions were good. They meant for him to be an answer. It was their passion for progress, humanity, and their only son that fueled them to perfect that formula. I’m not sure how much Master Parish told you, but New Rhone was only the beginning. They wanted every major city to have its own Calvin.” He shakes his head. “He’d never share the injections, though. He doesn’t think of himself as anyone’s hero.”
“Stop,” I say. The article’s black words blur together. I swallow it back just as quickly because I’m not that girl anymore. And I don’t know the man Norman speaks of.
“There’s a secret door,” Norman volunteers. When I turn, he gestures to the opposite wall. I peer closely but see nothing. Norman demonstrates by tapping a spot on the wall to uncover a hidden keypad. After typing in a code and scanning his thumb, the entire wall rises to reveal a pair of steel doors. It’s an elevator, but more importantly, it’s validation for all the manic searching I did for secret exits around the house.
“Downstairs is Hero’s . . . lair, if you will. It houses his armor, weapons, the security system. It’s completely protected should we ever need it to be. His body is his best weapon and the key to his survival, but he needs his tools as well.”
“Tools?”
“Of course. We never know what he might encounter. Tranquilizer darts, retractable, industrial strength rope, chloroform capsules. Those are just the things he keeps in his belt.”
“Chloroform? Is that what he used on me?”
“Yes. And then I gave you a mild tranquilizer when you arrived.”
“What makes you think that’s okay?”
He shrugs. “I suspect it was a nicer way of knocking you out than whatever the Cartel had planned.”
I cross my arms. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“You must be curious. You know the secret now, so I don’t see the harm.”
“I don’t care what Calvin needs to justify his psychotic behavior.” It’s a lie. I am curious about the downstairs space, which I envision as a dark and dank cave filled with the things of comic books.
“There’s no Batmobile or anything like that,” Norman says, and my eyes grow big. In light of recent events, I’m not entirely sure they can’t read my thoughts. “The car’s in the garage. He drives a high-class vehicle, but there’s not much more to it than your average car, aside from bulletproof windows and some upgrades catered to speed and agility. Much like Master Parish himself,” he murmurs, chuckling.
“Is this funny?” I ask. “I’m sorry, I just—is there some humor in the situation I’m not seeing?”
“Oh, dear, no,” Norman says, rushing to my side. He surprises me with a strong hug. “I don’t find pleasure in any of this. And though you may not believe me, the same is true for Master Parish. He’s not the monster you believe him to be.”
“Then you don’t know him as well as you think,” I say, limp in his arms. “Either that, or your definition of monster needs updating.”
He sniffles in my ear as his chest crackles against me. This old man, who has devoted his life to helping from the wings, is going to cry right here while he holds me.
“You’re a good girl.” His voice splits down the middle. “He just wants to keep you safe. That’s why he took you. That’s why he’s sending you away.”
“He’s not sending me away,” I say, my first flicker of anger returning. I wrestle out of Norman’s embrace and step back. “He’s giving me back something he took. That wasn’t his to take in the first place.” Norman’s face falls. “What’s the next step?” I ask.
“Cataline—”
I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my hands into two solid fists. “The plan, Norman. I’m not free until I’m free. What’s the plan? Where am I going?”
“Sit,” he says with a defeated sigh, gesturing to a chair in front of the desk. He takes the seat next to me and slides a pile of papers into his lap. He shows me a long, rectangular envelope. “Your plane ticket,” he says. “New Rhone is no longer your home.”
I swallow. My head shakes involuntarily. “I’ve never wanted to be anywhere else.”
“You have to go. These people only want you as a means to an end. They have no regard for your life like Master Parish does.”
I look out the window and nod.
“You have a full few days of travel ahead of you. You’ll be staying each night of the next week in a new location to throw anyone off the scent.” He hesitates. “You will pick up a new ticket in each place you land. I can’t tell you your final destination, just that someone will be waiting there for you.”
“It’s that serious? They’d follow me out of New Rhone?”
“We’re not sure, but Master Parish is insistent we take all precautions. Your safety is his responsibility, or so he believes.”
“It’s not.”
“In any case, do not tell anyone of your plans. Carter is fully briefed on the situation. He’ll take you directly to the airport and see to it that you get on the plane safely. He’s been on staff as long as anyone, and he’s the strongest, most capable man we have.”
“Aside from Calvin.”
“Yes, aside from Calvin. But, uh, he’s indisposed today.”
“Of course,” I say. “I don’t expect another minute of his time.”
He clears his throat. “Very well.” He holds up a blue booklet and passes it to me. “Your new passport.” He averts his eyes when he says, “You’re no longer Cataline Ford.”
My fingers tighten around its smoothness. “What if I don’t agree to any of this?” I ask. “What if I want to be Cataline, and I want to go back to work at Parish Media, and I want to go home and see Frida and live in New Rhone? Why can’t I do that?”
“I suppose you can if you don’t think their threat is serious. But Calvin will always be here. He’ll never leave this city.”
“Then why not kill everyone involved? If he wants to protect me so fervently, why not just wipe out the bad guys?”
“The people of New Rhone love and respect Hero, therefore they let him do what needs to be done. In a way, they protect him too. If he were to start killing recklessly, he’d lose their support. You must understand, without this, Master Parish has nothing.”