Over the next week, Jane filed her resignation with the department and met with a prestige lawyer to establish a trust for the winnings. Her first goal was finding her mother a new residence, somewhere with fine views and good security, but in close proximity to the hospital. Her mother resisted relocating when her home was perfectly fine and blanched at the idea of a maid or a caretaker, but Jane stated that now free of job restraints, she would feel obligated to stay with her mother until she was better. Her mother did not want that, so she consented to having someone come in a few hours a day to check her well-being and shoo dust from the spacious new house.
At the same time, Jane took a new apartment as well. During the move, Jane received an anonymous text on her phone. A call was now a rare occurrence. The few friends she had before her problems arose drifted away immediately after, and even the windfall of millions of dollars did not cleanse her toxic status. The message read: KEEP THIS PHONE AND A GOLDEN DOLLAR ON YOU AT ALL TIMES. Jane rolled her eyes at the thought of impending theatrics, but she did some shopping and made a request at the supermarket's customer service desk. She picked up two coins and kept one in each front pocket.
She didn't have to wait long for contact. Her lawyers called for an early morning meeting. She found a spot in their building's garage and exited her car when a black van screeched to a stop behind her vehicle. The driver emerged and opened the side panel door. She wore a green business suit complete with tie, leather gloves, and a ski mask that did nothing by way of a disguise.
"Get in," Deanna said.
"You're serious."
Though the mask, there was enough expression to see bafflement. "Uh, yeah. Get in. I'm kidnapping you."
"I'm not going anywhere with you. I have a meeting."
"No, you don't." Deanna smiled. "The call wasn't from your lawyers. Now, if you don't want to meet the big boss, that's fine, but this is a one-time offer."
Jane sighed, shook her head and stepped to the van. Deanna stuck out her hand. "Phone. Hand it over."
"Why?"
"You can't have it where we're going."
"Aren't you the one who told me to bring it?"
Deanna kept grinning. "Tell someone not to bring a phone, and they may hide an extra one, and then you gotta search them. If you don't say anything, a person might say they aren't carrying one, and then you gotta search them. Tell someone to bring one, and they can't say they don't have it. Hand it over."
Jane removed the sim card before passing her phone to the woman. Deanna nodded. "Fair enough. Did you bring the coin?"
Jane tapped her pants pocket as she peered into the back of the van. It was a Mercedes Benz Sprinter van with a plush chair facing a television screen that divided the front seats and the back. Computer keyboards and mice were available in pouches on the chair's sides, along with video game controllers. There was a larger reclining chair further back and the rest of the interior displayed cabinets of varying sizes. "Lie down, relax. It's a long drive."
Her final sentence seemed more as if to question Jane's desire or resolve. Instead of hesitating, Jane stepped inside, and the door slammed behind her. She anticipated instant darkness, but LED lighting clicked on and the interior flushed with a soft pink glow. Jane sat before the engine started and leaned back against the cushions. She decided to sleep and not to worry about what the psychopath behind the wheel had planned. Whether she was heading to a new life or her death, Jane could not care less as to what the future held.
Jane didn't remember much about the trip. The rocking of the van combined with the soft chair and the dim lighting allowed her to drift away between soothing relaxation and small dreams of shadowy unshaped forms. Were it not for the intermittent wails of sirens and horns outside, this could have been the perfect peace for which Jane had hoped. The serenity ended as all movement ceased and the engine purr desisted. Jane straightened up before the door reopened to another alleyway, and she stepped out.
"Okay. Here's what you do." Deanna was thankfully free of her mask. "Head down the street and go three blocks to the left. In the middle of the third block, there is a garden center. In the building, there's a vending machine. Drop the coin in, one coin only, and purchase what is in section Dee-One. Every time you come, it will be a different selection. Each of us gets a separate choice; today, you're Dee-One. Cross through the back patio to the service door of the building right behind that. Enter and head to the door with the electrical sign on it and hold the item to the camera. Make sure it's face forward when you hold it up. Some computer program figures out what it is and opens the door. Got it?"
"Plant store, Dee-One, door in back, hold up to camera."
"All right. See ya," and Deanna returned to the van and departed. Jane left the alleyway and headed into the street. She checked the newsstand by the entrance of a convenience store. The paper indicated that they were in Louisiana and probably New Orleans, or else a nearby city. She reached the garden shop in minutes and used a coin to make her purchase. The vending machine grumbled, dislodging a candy bar into its bowels, which Jane retrieved. It was an Oaty brand product, a fruity version of their nutrition bar that espoused so many healthy attributes that Jane knew it would taste disgusting.
Flowers cringed from the onslaught of sunlight. In the back of the massive patio, the shopkeeper fretted about the garden shop, turning on misters to drizzle his charges. Watching the gardener made Jane realized how hot it was outside. February was typically in the fifties, but it seemed like the seasons had inverted, and that the sun was out of order. The gardener hosed down everything and called for reinforcements as he fought to save his withering flock. More hurried to join in the battle against the unruly environment, and water sprayed everywhere. Jane stepped over multiple rivers of overflow to avoid wetting her shoes. At one point, she saw all three looking to the heavens, each squinting at the egg-white clouds, seeking one billowing with a graying belly full of rain.
Jane entered the service door to a motor room and navigated around cobwebbed compressors and control panels to find a door in the back labeled DANGER! HIGH VOLTAGE! with a lightning bolt in a red triangle. She started to raise the candy bar when a buzzer sounded, followed by a click, and Jane opened the door.
She stared down a dim lit stairway braced on both sides with cinder block walls and began her descent when the clamor of large dogs sounded an approach. Jane backpedaled, preparing to retreat and slam the door. There was a break in the wall to the right, and Monty appeared.
"Don't worry; come on down," he said. Facing back into the room he had just exited, he shouted over the barking, "Kill it, will you?"
The noise stopped in an instant, not as if someone stifled the beasts, but more as if a switch had been flipped. Jane stepped down to the open doorway that greeted the main room. Monty waved her in. The walls were curtained to the ceiling, and the space was littered with computer desks in the middle of the room, a couch and cabinet on the left wall, and what appeared to be a small medical area with a hospital bed to the right. Near the hospital equipment were a circular table and a large refrigerator that Deanna rummaged through.
From the back of the room, a woman in a hijab appeared from an indiscernible break in the curtains, and she finished drying her hands with a paper towel. A young Vietnamese man at the computer desks rolled his chair across the floor in Jane's direction, though a second smaller push was required to complete the distance.
"I'm Bui Ngo Bay, or Graham. Good to meet you." The terminal he had left suggested that he was the computer expert that Deanna mentioned earlier, but the thickness of his neck and broad shoulders spoke of a fitness fanatic. Jane accepted his tattooed hand that clasped hers in a soft grip. "Sorry about the noisy entrance. We're practicing with a new security deterrent. How real was it?"
"Pretty real. Sounded like they were heading towards the stairs."
Graham beamed. "That's what we were going for. We opened the door upon your entrance, otherwise it would make someone think twice. I went with three Dobermans."
"Effective. Question," and Jane held up the candy bar. "Was this really necessary to gain admittance?"
A few glances darted in the direction of Deanna, who blinked wide-eyed innocence. Graham laughed without sound and shook his head. "I don't know anything about that."
"I figured," Jane said, tossing the bar on a nearby workstation.
"A present? For me?" Deanna chirped as she brushed past Jane to grab it. "And my favorite. How sweet. Just watch out for any food you bring here. I had a yogurt earlier and someone stole it."
"Only thief here is you," Monty said.
Deanna shrugged and wandered away, allowing Jane to focus on the last person in the room. All she could see was the young woman's face under the reddish-orange headscarf. The woman made no attempt to approach but placed a hand on her chest as she spoke.
"Sheshai."
"Jane."
Jane didn't move in the woman's direction for further greeting. There was something funereal in Sheshai's appearance, as if she were one trying to smile at a wake. The awkwardness ended with an announcement.
"I'll be right there," a voice echoed through an intercom.
Monty ran a hand across his mouth to wipe away a laugh. "Can see any event in the future down to the minute except the moment when he shows up on time. "
A man stepped out from behind the curtains, straightening his hair with a hand. He may have been in his thirties, but with his pink cheeks and buoyant personality, he could have just escaped college. He was shorter than most, heavier than most, with curly red hair and a blue business suit with a crooked tie. Sheshai passed in front of him, and without Jane seeing the move, the tie was fixed as if by magic.
The man was taken aback. "Uh, thanks. Oh, hey, it's great to meet you. Ernesto Summers. Or Ernest, or Ernie, whatever you like. And you're Jane, right?" He bubbled with excitement as he grasped Jane's hand with plump fingers.
"Yes," Jane said. "And good to meet you, too."
"Have you met everyone yet?"
"Shouldn't you know?"
Everyone had their version of laughter. Deanna and Graham were variations of loud while Monty and Ernesto were quieter. The other woman in the room almost smiled. "I can't see everything. Let me introduce everyone formally. This is Graham, our tech expert, last recruit before you. Every group like this needs a hacker, someone good with surveillance, computer stuff, things like that, and we've been able to double our results since he joined. Then there's Sheshai, our doctor and overall organizer. You've already met Monty and Deanna, so I guess that's everyone," he said, looking around. Assured he hadn't missed anyone, he rolled a wave in his direction. "Let me give you the grand tour."
He wandered to the workstations. "This is where Graham does his I.T. stuff, which I really don't understand." He pointed to the back corner. "Over there is our kitchen and medical center. Sheshai doesn't like the two together, but it was easier than installing a second sink. The refrigerator on the right is for food, drinks, whatever. The one with the glass doors is for medical stuff." Jane saw pints of blood, numerous vials labeled with warning symbols, and an open cup of blueberry yogurt with a spoon sticking out. "Deanna," Ernesto said with a sigh and a thumb aimed at the case.
"There it is," and she hurried over to remove it. She took a bite and noted the looks she received. She pointed to the medical refrigerator. "What? It's colder than the other one."
Ernesto tried to find words before giving up, continuing the tour around the curtain on the back wall. In another cinder block wall, there was a series of metal doors, each set about six feet apart with the last door open. There was a bed against one wall and shelving on the other. In the corner was a small sink and mirror. Jane examined the rooms.
"These are prison cells."
"Design wise, sort of. We built them ourselves, but they are small because of space constraints. We don't care where we sleep. What's important is the work."
"We?"
"Sheshai, Graham, and myself. We work, eat, and live here."
"No windows with a dungeon aesthetic. You think that's healthy?"
"It's cool. Graham loves it. Calls it his Batcave. I don't mind, and Sheshai wants to do this."
He guided her further down the corridor to another door that he opened to expose a hallway, followed by a small flight of stairs up to a large garage with several vehicles and some exercise equipment. They continued to the rear of the hall, passing a multi-person bathroom and shower before heading to a back office that sported only a desk, a computer, and three swivel computer chairs. Ernesto sat behind the desk and Jane took one of the seats in front. Before they could converse, Sheshai entered with a tray bearing a pitcher and two glasses that she placed on the desk. She pointed to one glass and then Ernesto. "Drink," she said before exiting.
Ernesto shrugged and indicated the other glass. "It's a pomegranate berry blend we make from the fruit grown above. Try it." As a courtesy, Jane sipped from the juice and winced. "Sorry. We don't filter it too much to try to leave some of the pulp in. How is it, though?"
"Not bad." Not great, but bearable.
"It's full of antioxidants. Sheshai has me drinking this along with some green vegetable stuff for my health, seeing as this job promotes a very sedentary lifestyle. For me, at least. So, I kind of have a regular speech I say, if that's okay."
"Sure."
Music floated in from the larger room. Ernesto indicated to the door. "If the noise bothers you..."
"It's fine. It's a decent song."
Ernest nodded and wiped his palms flat on his desk. "Okay, so let me start by telling you about myself. Until recently, I was working at a nice white-collar sports bar in D.C. The food was pricier than the average, but the quality and ambience made it good value. Everything was reasonably normal until the day after the Washington Monument was destroyed."
"Wait?" Jane asked. "What was that?"
"Exactly," and Ernesto smiled. "That's this coming May. I was working Memorial Day, preparing for the lunch rush, and the next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital. A nurse asked me my name, and then, the date. I didn't know it, I never do, but I do remember Memorial Day, and say so. A doctor is called, who said that I had a massive stroke, and that I was lucky there was no obvious paralysis or brain damage. They were concerned with my memory, since, to them, Memorial Day was months earlier, and the Washington Monument's destruction was considered a dream. The fact that I imagined an entire year was considered interesting, but not important.
"I was in good shape for someone who just had a stroke. You know, beyond the obvious," he said, a hand tapping his belly. "A few days later, I was discharged. I went back to work, but all those memories seemed real. When a news report popped up about that hip-hop singer who hung himself in his bathroom, I forget the name..."
"I know who you are talking about."
"Right. I didn't know who he was before the stroke, and I still don't, but he was supposed to be big, and I remembered that his death was treated like a national tragedy the first time. As I said, I didn't really watch the news, but I'd hear about things in passing, or see stuff on the restaurant's big screens. I started recognizing incidents, but nothing enough where I could say in advance something was going to happen. It's like a movie where you forgot everything about it from twenty years earlier, but you start to remember details while you're watching it."
"Yeah. I follow."
"Cool. So, one night, I try to sleep, but I can't stop thinking about what I remembered, so I try to think about what happens next, and I feel something. I can't explain it. It was like my spirit was pulled out of me. I won't go through the whole process of how I figured out to see ahead; I was told to cut that part out so as not to waste time. Basically, I was up several nights, learning how to move myself forward. I can't pinpoint an exact moment, but I'm getting better. I'm good at short jumps, but less accurate over longer distances. If I need to be at a certain date twenty days in the future, I aim for eighteen days, and at most, I'm off by one. Nineteen days out, and I only need to move ahead a day, which is easier, but when I overshoot, I have to start over. I can't jump backwards, or at least I don't think I can. Oh, wait. Do you know what I mean by 'jump' or 'push'?"
"Yeah. Monty covered it."
"Good. Yeah, we have our own terms. I push or jump forward, and I check to see how things work out in advance. If one of us is badly injured or they fail, I tell the person what went wrong. We call this a reset, or a do-over. Deanna would have a ton of speeding tickets, but in the future, she tells me the where and when, and I warn her. Seeing the future has its benefits."
"Like the lottery, I suppose."
"That is only to finance Madrigal." Ernesto noticed her confusion. "Sorry, that's what I call us, or me. Originally, just me. I'd send anonymous information to the police or the FBI, but they weren't taking it seriously. I wanted results, and one day, I saw that the lottery was six hundred million dollars. I only had hours before the drawing, so I looked ahead and saw the winning numbers without a winner. I wanted to know if I could win more, so I checked out the next drawing and saw some guy from Marietta would win nine hundred million. Waiting for the next week would mean splitting half with the other guy, and so if I was going to do something, get money for resources, I figured six hundred million would help. I made it in to the convenience store with twenty minutes to spare. Later, I met Monty, and we started Madrigal."
"Well, if you all have money," Jane asked, "Why are you living in this place?"
"Graham said being in a big city hides his computer signal stuff better. He explained it once, but it's too complicated. And we have places to live. It's just that this is where the work gets done, and instead of leaving and coming back every day, it's easier to stay. Graham hasn't left since he joined us, and Sheshai only goes out for supplies and groceries. I only leave on rare occasions, and only when it is work related."
"You mean like shooting my mother. Did she do it, or you?"
"It was me," and his chubby eyes welled up and had trouble meeting hers. "I swear to you, I swear, that was the only way I could see to save your mother's life. I went through the timeline twenty or so times. Every time, every chemotherapy attempt, the radiation, none of it worked. The cancer moved fast. The only way we could figure it out how to kill it was to damage it directly. Shooting it was Deanna's idea, actually."
"I'm not surprised in the least."
"It was that, or to kidnap your mother and do surgery against her will. It was the only way to save her. Sometimes we do harm to help, but I'm sorry. With all my heart, I swear, I'm sorry."
Slowly, the man's jubilance and confidence waned, and between his slight slouch and drooping face, Jane felt his words as true, and actually sympathized with him. Jane had come there to confront some malicious supervillain; instead, she found herself before a blubbering mess with runny nostrils. Perhaps it was an act, but she didn't see him as the bad guy. "Well, we didn't know about the cancer, so I have to believe that you were acting in good faith. If you were trying to help her, then I guess it's okay. If it was to save her life."
"It was. I promise."
"All right, then," she said, thinking of what her mother would do if she were there. The answer was obvious; her mother would have hugged her shooter by now, telling him that he was a good person and that everything would be fine. "You were trying to help someone. Maybe you didn't do anything wrong, but if you feel that way, I can't speak for her, but I forgive you."
Ernesto's face began to bubble with joy and he sniffed deep to inhale his remaining tears. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you."
"So, can I ask something?"
"Sure. Whatever you want."
"Why are you so convinced that working with the government would be bad?"
"Because I tried, and it wasn't that it was bad." He ran a knuckle under his eye and wiped at his nose with a napkin from the tray. "It just stopped being about helping people, I tried a timeline where I offered my services. I was up for two days straight, pushing forward bit by bit through months. It took some time, but once they were convinced of my abilities and good intentions, they kept me in a white room for observations and tests. I had access to television and newspapers, and we stopped some mass killings, and I think I was pretty reasonable, but things changed when I asked when I could leave. I wasn't trying to quit. I always thought it'd be cool to work for the CIA, but I had no freedom of movement. That's when they said that it'd be a while, because of security concerns. They let me out of the room, where I found I was in a splendid manor.
"Where it was, to this day, I still do not know. They offered me whatever I could want; the best foods, comfort, luxuries, companionship if I desired. Not that I did," he said with a stammer. "I mean, I'm not saying I didn't desire, or that the woman wasn't desirous. She was probably a very nice lady. It's just that I didn't think it would work." He blushed. "When I mean it wouldn't work, I don't mean... I mean, it wouldn't work for me. I don't think that that is right. Love should --"
"Yeah, I get what you're saying."
"Okay, yeah, cool." He dabbed the sweat glistening on his forehead with the napkin. "So this was in late September, and I warned them about catastrophes and terrorism and shootings, but soon, the questions focused on the upcoming election. What campaign tactics gained or lost votes? Which congressional elections of the president's party were lost by the least votes? How will a bill be viewed? Did it pass or fail; by how much? They said maintaining a smooth course in politics helped the government function better so we could help more people in turn. When I said, 'I told you that eleven people were shot in Chicago this weekend. Why didn't you stop it?', they said they couldn't arrest people for crimes they were considering. A few things they dealt with, but it was the little things that could be stopped with one call to the cops that bothered me.
"Maybe long term, they were helping people, but I wanted results. I don't want some child's death ignored for some greater good. We can't stop everything, but I keep track. As of today, we've saved the lives of five thousand, six hundred and forty-two people. It's the most fulfilling thing I've ever done. And it can be for you, too." Ernesto smiled. "What do you say?"
"I say, there was an incident with that ship from London last week, where the pilot crashed after following a naked woman on a jet ski. Do you know anything about that?"
Ernesto giggled. The omniscient, millionaire leader of the underground vigilante group giggled. "Originally, thirty thousand gallons of pesticides spilled along the Delaware coast. Tankers can't turn quick, and there was the fog. Deanna got him to move enough away so that the ship ran aground and didn't crack open. The pilot of the Mariposa blew a point-four-three on the breathalyzer. He lost his job, as he should have. No reason to change that."
"Yeah, well, I'm not doing that."
Ernesto giggled again. "Deanna's methods may be unique, but her creativity is useful. I never tell anyone how to save lives, only if something that happens gets them caught or killed or if their methods fail. If you can do the job and stay relatively under the radar, please do. I prefer the use of non-violent means."
Jane nodded and looked into her glass. "So, what's it like, the world in the future? How real is it?"
"As real as it is now, like now. I mean, for instance, what month do you think it is?"
"February."
"Nope. I don't know for certain, but when I laid down earlier today, it was January. I jumped ahead a month to meet you."
"What?"
"I'm like asleep in January, and--"
"No. I got that. You're saying this isn't real, that it actually is January."
"No, and no. It's like time travel, for me, at least. This is happening in February. I'm just seeing it from January."
"Wait. Wait a damn minute. So how am I supposed to know if I'm living in the real world?"
"You are. This is real. It's just possible it won't ever happen. This moment happens, unless I go back and change the day of our meeting to tomorrow or yesterday, and then it wouldn't."
Jane stared at him.
"Hey," he continued, "I'm in the same boat. Just because I think it's January, that doesn't mean there's not some version of me in December that's--"
"Stop." She buried her face in her palms. "Just stop."
Jane could feel her head pounding, the precedence of a migraine. She leaned back, closed her eyes for the silent count of ten before looking at Ernesto. "All right. If I were to do this, how does it work?"
He beamed. "I look for a small geographic area or two where we can do the most good, anything with multiple casualties or incredible damage. From there, we look for as many terrible things that are avoidable in a small radius and try to stop them. So, are you in?"
She glanced at him. "When you ask these questions, they're actually rhetorical, aren't they? You already know the answer."
"Most times, yeah." Ernest grinned.
"Fine, then," Jane said, "If you're saying I've already agreed, I'll trust my judgment and give it a shot."
"That's great. Oh, I do have a question I didn't check, as I couldn't ask until the real thing."
"Okay..."
"How did I do?"
"What?"
"I've always been bad at public speaking, and Sheshai's been helping me with it, but if you could tell me any places where I could possibly improve?"
"I don't... I'm talking to a time traveler who isn't travelling in time, and how you're not really here, because you're in January and I'm not, and that I'm here, and this is real, but all this may not happen... I really wasn't paying attention to the presentation." She could tell he was looking for more, so she added, "It was fine, I guess. Nothing stood out."
"Really? That's great, because the first few times, I really blew it. Sixth time's the charm. Thanks."
"Okay, yeah, well, what now? Do I have to fill out paperwork, or something?"
"No. Not at all." He stood and escorted her back to the main room. "We only ask that you not mention what we do to the police. Every time it's happened, it's been bad for us."
"I know. First rule of Fight Club..." she said, letting the rest drift away.
"Yeah?" Ernest said, stopping. "And? What's the rule?"
"How do you not..." and she stopped to sigh. "It means, I promise I won't tell."
"Oh. Cool, thanks. So anyways, look around. We'll be getting started soon."
Jane watched the members of the group work at certain jobs, except Deanna, who lounged on the couch. Sheshai started putting gold-etched black cards into envelopes; where some held many cards, and others, only one. As if to answer an unspoken question, "We find that pocket sized envelopes are better. Full sheets of paper can get lost. It's just easier this way."
Graham handed her a new phone. "We'll send all you the details. Deanna will give you the cards of who you can help."
Jane looked from the phone to him. "Why cards when you have technology?"
"I'll tell you when you when there's time, and less people around," Graham said, grinning. "It's a great story."
"It's a terrible story," Sheshai inserted.
"It's great, but terrible. Just don't ask Monty about it."
"Do not," Sheshai emphasized. "You can do what you please with the cards. Some of our group like keeping them afterward as mementos."
"Yeah, I get it." Jane said." I saw Dexter."
Graham laughed and stated that Deanna dealt out assignments because she was a genius when it came to the logistics. The effect of this statement was blunted as the genius became possessed with the idea that she must sing along with the latest song playing, and a set of lyrics made Deanna realize that she didn't have ribbons in her hair and that she needed ribbons for her hair and insisted that those around her provide her ribbons for her hair, but when Sheshai informed her that they didn't have ribbons for her hair, she yelled about how they could not have ribbons for her hair, and what kind of piss-poor shit-shackle operation were they running here, and on and on until the chorus invoked her to start wishing everyone well and she was off again in her own reality where she was the star.
Jane shook her head as Monty approached. "That woman doesn't wish anyone well."
"And how. But there are times when she reminds me of my daughter." At Jane's horrified expression, he added, "When she was three."
"Oh. That I could see."
"We won't be starting for a while. Do you want to see the rest of the layout?"
"I thought I saw everything."
"Sure, down here, but we own everything topside. If you want to check out upstairs, the gardening center has some nice landscaping setups. The fountains are really nice."
***
"So, is that our code now? See the fountains?" Jane had followed Monty to a wooden bench under a plastic gazebo in the patio area. The gardening shop had multiple water features and miniature ponds around, and Monty sat to watch sunset-orange koi dart under some blue lotus lily pads and around the aerated water the fountains provided.
"So, what do you think?"
She dropped next to him. "Of all this?"
"Yeah, but more specifically, him."
"He's not what I expected."
"Believe me, I know. What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Taller, a deeper voice, something more... epic."
"Yeah. Definitely not epic, but one of the best people I've ever met."
"I just don't know how to say it."
"I do. I know exactly what you're thinking. It's what we all think at the start. Imagine a nice guy in school or work, a guy who has spent the last decade working for a non-profit, trying to make the world a better place. He reads to old folks in a senior center, tips the servers in fast food restaurants, and in his off hours, he volunteers down at his church's soup kitchen, feeding others, totally selfless, always with a smile on his face and kindness in his heart."
"Okay..."
"And now that same sweet guy is running an illegal vigilante organization."
"Yes. Exactly," Jane said. "That is exactly what I'm thinking. And are we the only ones?"
"What do you mean?"
"He said that you all got a hacker because that's what other groups have. What other groups? Are there other branches, other people?"
"No." He shook his head and hesitated before continuing. "He means from what he's seen."
"Seen where? In some vision, the future, what?" With no answer forthcoming, she examined his face before the realization, "Wait. From television and movies? Are you kidding? Are you kidding me? So, this place operates based off of what he's read in comic books?"
"First, to be fair, Graham has been a great asset, as I'm sure you'll be as well. Second, everyone here thinks what we do is important, but there are some who see what we do as important and fun, while others believe that it is important and serious. Sheshai is serious, I'm in that camp as well, and I believe that will be the case with you as well. Shesh runs the day-to-day operations, and she knows what she's doing." Monty said. "Oh, on the serious / non-serious issue, just in case Graham ever asks, to avoid any arguments, just agree that something called Firefly should have been renewed and that Han shot first. It'll save you hours."
"Well, yeah, that's just common sense," Jane agreed, "but I don't want to be led by someone who thinks they're a superhero. I've already heard that from one of you."
"Hey," and Monty raised a finger in front of himself, "do not get me wrong. He is a superhero. He has an actual superpower, and when lives are at stake, he's the most unbelievable shot I've ever seen."
Jane lowered her eyes at him. "Really."
"Oh, yes, really," Monty said, and he proceeded to tell her about Green Bay, ending with, "Six shots from the revolver, only three hit the paper, one actually hit the ground. The ground." He shook his head with a small laugh. "When my life, or your mother's life is at stake, then he's unbelievable, and he knows what he has to do to save those lives. Otherwise, he's just Ernie."
"I'm sorry. I'm still not following."
"You don't believe me?"
"I just don't see how pickles are so vital a part of that story."
"I... just trust me, they were. You had to be there."
"Fine, so what now? We wait?"
"Sometimes they're done quicker. He likes to get every last bit he can before we leave. Once we're gone, they'll start checks."
"So you come out here." Jane viewed the scenery. "It is nice."
"The smell of the plants, the sound of the water, it reminds me of the outdoors." He leaned towards her. "I hate the outdoors."
The fish frolicked under the fountains, nipping at the surface. Monty looked at them and smiled, talking to the koi as he watched them play.
"I was Army for over fifteen years. As I keep Madrigal's confidences, so to, I keep theirs. I can't talk about some of what I did, but when I married and had a baby on the way, I wanted a permanent posting, so I became an instructor at the SERE school at Fort Bragg."
"I've heard of it."
"Okay, good, so if you ever want to improve your shooting or hand-to-hand, I'm more than happy to help. I worked out of Camp Mackall. Things were really good, up until my wife was killed in an auto accident. I wasn't in great shape for a while, but I had to stay strong for Lilian, and though it took time, I was able to return to a normal routine.
"A year passed, Lily was twelve, and her school was only a half- mile walk and our house was only five blocks from the base. Everyone thought it was safe. No one ever imagined that someone would do something so close to an Army base, where every face is recognizable. She never made it home; she was gone like smoke. When Lily disappeared, my world fell apart. I placed posters everywhere, knocked on every door, mortgaged the house to hire private investigators, and mortgaged it again. I was granted compassionate leave for the few months that remained in my tour, and I resigned in place of re-upping. I hounded the police and harassed every reporter in town. It wasn't their fault. There was just nothing to do.
"I gave up on life. The house went into foreclosure, and everything was sold. I wandered the streets, anywhere and everywhere looking for her, inspecting every homeless woman and prostitute, seeing her face in every young girl I came across.
"Soon it became too painful to pass so many people, seeing Lily everywhere and nowhere, so I went off into the woods. I hunted small animals and lived off edible plants. When it wasn't enough, I'd come into the city and dig through dumpsters for discarded take-out or rotted foods. This went on for years.
"They say not knowing is the worst thing. It's not true. I knew in my heart, after a time, that she was dead, but I didn't need the details. One of the detectives eventually tracked me down and told me. Someone called in a tip about a hand protruding from the ground. They dug the first body up, and found thirteen more, including my little girl. I had no money for a proper burial, so she ended in a Potter's field. I felt like a failure all over again, having her moved from one mass grave to another.
"They never found the person responsible. A body was buried there every two months or so, and there was a six-month gap from the last victim and when the grave site was found. It's believed that the person responsible is either in jail or deceased. He's gone, and I'll probably never see justice, but a part of me hopes he is alive, and that one day I'll be able to find the person who killed my little girl. It's what helps me get out of bed every morning."
Monty paused to brush away something at the edge of his eyelashes. A deep breath before, "So, one day, I come out to look for scraps behind a restaurant when a man walks up to me and says he can help me, help me regain my humanity, help me stop what happened to my daughter from happening to anyone else's daughters. He offers me a lottery ticket worth millions. He said that I could use the money to make a difference. I cleaned up, gave my child a proper funeral, and started to work with Ernie."
"Yeah, that's something I wanted to ask about," Jane said. "When the psycho first introduced herself, she said that he didn't know whether or not I would survive, and that she wasn't supposed to help me, even though she did. She said that if I failed, she wouldn't interfere and that family would die. Any of that true?"
"No. Under no circumstances was she supposed to let you die or let harm come to that family. Protecting them and you was the job."
"Hmm. And she acted like she didn't know who I was, or that my mother was in the hospital."
Monty rubbed his eyebrows, wincing as he spoke. "We never send people out without as much information as possible."
"Right. So, pathological liar. Got it. And the fact that she showed up earlier in a ski mask, took my phone, insisted I sit in the back of a dark van..."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Monty said, standing and storming back to their headquarters. "Come on."
***
Downstairs, Monty shouted at Deanna, "Give the woman back her goddamn phone."
Deanna was nonplussed as she withdrew it from her pocket for Monty to grab away. "I wanted to make sure that we weren't interrupted. You tell people to turn them off in theaters..."
He turned to the others in the room. "She shows up in the middle of the day, wearing a ski mask, tells Jane to climb in the back of one of our vans..."
"First of all, that's all heresy from a tattletale teller."
"Hearsay," Sheshai and Jane said in near unison.
"Whatever. Did you want her to drive four hours here, take one of our cars, drive home, do some jobs, drive back here and back home again? This was a nicety on my behalf."
"What do you mean, jobs at home?" Jane asked.
"All your work tonight is in your hometown. We don't use our own cars in case they get destroyed. Am I right?" Deanna said to the rest of her audience. No one voiced a disagreement, and she snorted a laugh. "So, I was right. Again. Let's start this crap so we can get out of here." Deanna whipped a long white envelope out of her back pocket. "Me, first." She pulled a medical report from the inside and held it overhead. "No condoms, no pregnancies, no diseases." She hooted with her hands high in the air. "Three months in a row. New record. And I'm done," and she wandered to the couch.
Graham and Ernesto were trying not to laugh, while Monty tried to stay angry. Sheshai waited for a pause to say, "No change."
"Same," Monty offered.
Graham shrugged. "I got nothing."
Jane felt eyes focused on her. "This is where you need to tell us what's new or a significant change in your life," Ernesto said.
"I'll do it, I'll do it," Deanna said, raising a hand, and she jumped to rejoin the group. "This is Jane and she blew her brains out on January 26th at 8:47 PM because she's a crazy head. Her mummy is cancerfied and we got the x-rays to tell us where to shoot her because the tumor can only be killed by gunfire aimed with love. And I'm done," and she returned to the couch.
"In the future," Ernesto specified, "if there is harm to your family or friends, we try to prevent it without drawing attention, but we won't let you lose someone if we could help it."
Deanna sounded a loud groan of boredom. "Can we get going now? I want my cards." She walked to the printer and picked up all the envelopes and a flash drive. "Thank God for my cards." A quick motion and she kissed Ernesto on the cheek. "Thank you, God."
"Stop." He wiped his face with the heel of his hand. "I told you to not call me that."
Monty aimed a thumb in Deanna's direction. "Come on. I'll walk you out."
Monty showed her to the garage. There were several cars, vans, and motorcycles stored of different years and models. Deanna was already placing plastic totes in the trunk of her Cadillac. Monty withdrew a key from a wall cabinet and handed it to Jane. "Take that one over there," he said, pointing to a gray Lincoln. "It's a little older and doesn't have much flash to it, but the engine's in fine shape. Also, here," and returned her phone.
"Thanks," as she re-installed the sim card.
"You can follow her or the GPS. And don't worry about the car. If anything happens, just dump it. Wipe it down if you can, but otherwise, get rid of it. And good luck."
"Thanks, I guess."
Monty headed towards Deanna's car, passing Sheshai as he did. Jane heard her tell him she was going shopping; he said he was fine. She nodded and continued towards Jane. Jane thought Sheshai's approach was directed towards her, but instead, the woman headed to one of the motorcycles and straddled the bike. Jane felt a need to speak with her; Sheshai seemed familiar. "So, you like to ride?"
"No," Sheshai replied. "It terrifies me."
"So why do it?"
"Because one day, the job may require it, and every time I do this, the fear is a little less." Sheshai started placing the helmet over her headscarf when she turned to Jane and said, "I wanted to say something earlier. I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For, well, your life. If you ever need to talk to anybody about things, I understand." She took a breath and said, "My full name is Sheshai Al-Masri. Different roads, same path."
"Yeah. I think I understand." Jane knew the name and should have recognized the woman from before. "And the same with you. If ever you need someone to talk to."
Sheshai nodded. "Thank you. That is most kind," and they shared a look that conveyed a message between them. Both women were sincere in their willingness to help one another, and neither was the type to ever accept such an offer. A loud bleat from a horn, and Deanna leaned out of her driver's side window and pointed to the rollup door. Monty wagged a finger at the woman and pointed in Jane's direction. Deanna waved him off and banged her horn, chanting "Door" with every honk. Sheshai started her motorcycle, and as Jane entered the car, her phone revealed a multitude of messages from her mother.
Monty pushed a button on the wall and the metal door chugged upwards, but their exit was stymied by a line of traffic on the street. Jane texted back so her mother could stop worrying about her absence. There was a break in the traffic, and Deanna and Sheshai exited the garage. Outside, the sky grumbled its discontent as storm shadows skirted across Jane's path. She turned her key, and the engine awoke from its slumber with a grumble of its own, and after a moment's hesitation, Jane drove out to the unknown.