Stopping on the other side of the street, Angela glanced at the drug store to make certain prying eyes were not following them. The doorway was clear, but the glass was too filthy to see through. Although the hairs on her neck didn’t tingle, she couldn’t be sure. She started to walk again, her pace slower.
She paused at the end of the broken walkway. The only way the boy could see them now was if he stepped outside. “Have you found out anything about Davis?” she asked.
Dyllon touched her arm.
“Don’t.”
Small lines furrowed in the middle of his forehead. “What’s wrong? Why are you acting like this?”
“May I remind you, Captain, I am not one of your officers, but your superior?”
Confusion clouded Dyllon’s features while he studied her. He looked over his shoulder, and when he looked back at her, his bewilderment was replaced with a knowing look.
“I get it. No more friendly working together,” he whispered.
Angela nodded.
Dyllon straightened his back and lifted his chin. “Yes, ma’am. I just brought you this,” he said, officially. He shoved a clear plastic bag she hadn’t even noticed into her hand. “The items you requested to be tested.”
The bag contained a fragment of the blood-spotted shelf and the shotgun casing from the store. The analysis on both items had run into a dead-end. The blood was not in the computer system, the wounded individual obviously birthed in secret, and the shell was not from a registered gun.
Angela slid the evidence under her arm. “Thank you.”
He glanced at the empty storefront, then turned toward her. “I understand.”
Working with the captain and his team had been somewhat pleasant. A break from the stress of The Center. That time was over, as Micah’s arrival had reminded her of who she was. “No. No, you don’t.”
“Who is that kid, anyway?”
Angela glanced back toward the store. She couldn’t see him, but knew he was somehow watching her, filing away every move she made to report later.
She’d been made a mockery of. All this time, Angela thought she had known everything about the subjects, priding herself in her ability to observe. She hadn’t known anything, except what the doctor wanted her to. It astounded her and made her question herself, that she had provided security for the doctor’s creations without ever being aware, until the recent events had unfolded. And even with all that had transpired, the doctor still had refused to answer her other inquiries, stating a need to know basis, as if she was some lackey. Anger and jealousy curled in her and, for a moment, she thought about blowing the whole operation out of the water as she looked back at Dyllon’s expectant face.
The confession stuck on the tip of Angela’s tongue. If she did, she would be more worthless than she already felt, and her purpose at the moment was to prove her superiority.
Of course, it was Dr. Hirch, and not her, who had invited the captain to know about Micah. There was no way around it. She scoffed and shook her head.
Dyllon gave her a strange look.
“Come with me. You’re about to find out.” Angela pulled her shoulders back, her demeanor icy. She marched back toward the drug store and walked through the entrance. “Micah,” she said.
“Yes,” he replied. After being in the company of Dyllon and the other Missouri citizens, his accent sounded strange to her ears.
“This should interest you.”
Micah took the bag, showing no interest. He emptied the shelf fragment into his hand. He fingered it with his eyes closed. After a moment, his lids opened, but his expression didn’t tell her if he could make a reading. It remained as stoic as before.
“Well?” she hinted.
“Blood is rather personal. Gives a clear picture, even with the interference of others. It belongs to a woman with red hair and freckles.”
“Red hair,” Dyllon exclaimed, his eyes rounded into spheres of disbelief.
Angela wasn’t sure if it was due to Micah’s parlor trick or if it was because there was a girl with red hair. She shushed him.
Micah’s impassive eyes shifted to the captain. “Not very pretty. Small. Very forthright. She is angry.”
“How do you know all this?” asked Dyllon.
“I receive images from things I touch. They come to me, much like a movie.”
Angela shot a shut up glare at Dyllon. Taking the hint, Dyllon’s mouth snapped shut before he could question Micah’s talent further, but she could see the amazement on his face like a neon sign.
“Can you tell us where she is?” she pressed.
Micah turned toward the detective. “Of course not. Parts of the physical body can only give physical details. I need a personal item from the subject. But even then, I doubt I will come up with an exact location.”
“What about the casing?”
He dumped the casing into his palm and closed his fingers around it. “This was taken off the floor by one of your officers and analyzed by a researcher.” He handed the shell and the bag back to the detective as he spoke to the captain. “The evidence has been tainted. Touched by too many people. I suggest that if you find anything else, you leave it alone.”
“Of course, Micah.” The captain’s tone was polite, but brusque.
“I am finished in here,” Micah told Angela. “If you do not mind, I will examine the other buildings.”
He said it in such a way as to give her little choice in the matter.
“My officers have already examined every building in town, including the residences. There wasn’t anything of any significance.”
The young man settled his azure eyes on the captain. “If I am correct, Captain, there is suspicion of possible laundering of excessive supplies. I imagine that, if that is the case, then they would use a store on this main road as a drop-off point. Easily accessible.” He started for the door. “And in the future, do not question me again.”
Resentment worked at Dyllon’s jaw. He opened his mouth to say something, but Angela bumped his arm. A deep scowl bunched his forehead, but he held his tongue.
Angela waited until the sound of Micah’s footsteps faded. “Be careful what you say or do around him,” she said in a low voice.
“What a pompous ass,” said Dyllon, the words seething into long drawn-out syllables. “Who does he think he is?”
“Shh.” She waved her hand in his face. She edged toward the door and poked her head out. Micah walked along the weathered planks. “You have to be careful.” She waited a moment longer, just to ensure the boy wasn’t going to return.
“So, we were never looking for a Renegade?”
“No,” she said, turning back around toward him.
Dyllon hadn’t moved, his face a mask of awe and anger. His gaze slid from the door to Angela. “I can’t believe that. Are all of The Center’s children so…?”
“Yes, I believe so. They are superior to us in every way,” she said matter-of-factly. Superior to her, despite all of her hard work. Her gut twisted in rage at the unfairness of it all; jealousy tugged at her core. “They’re stronger and faster, and the gifts they possess are beyond comprehension,” she continued.
“Can they all read objects?”
“It seems the subjects of The Center possess many gifts.”
“Like what?”
“My job is security,” Angela stated, her tone terse so there wouldn’t be any more questions from Dyllon. “You do realize that everything you’ve witnessed will be kept to yourself. I need not remind you what could happen without me threatening you.”
“Yes, I do understand that,” Dyllon said, moving toward the door. “I just don’t understand why.”
She lifted a shoulder in response. “I’m assuming they’re the next wave of soldiers.”
“Soldiers? The war is long over.”