ACCUSATION (Book One of The Criminogenic Trilogy 1) (2 page)

“Good thing that I came for my key then isn’t it?” she smiled, and her resistance crumbled.

“I’d say.” He leaned over and cupped her hands in his.  Her soft skin felt alive under his weathered hands.  Hands that he remembered delicately tracing her body in candlelight. 

His face softened, he cared so for this hardheaded woman sitting before him.

“Oh my darling, can we be done with this silly argument already? What were we even arguing about anyway?” It was impossible to resist her, he didn’t want to.

Kingsley got up from the table and cautiously walked toward him, placing a light kiss atop of his thick array of graying hair, she whispered into his ear; “It’s about time you came to your senses, old man.”

***

Olli stood waiting patiently for his time to meet with Director Phelps. When you are called by Director Phelps, you drop what you are doing and go.  Sliding through the brief he’d been sent on his tablet, Oliver went over all of the details for the assignment again carefully.  It was rare for D.A.E Enforcers to be called into to work on assignments with the agents, rarer still if the Director personally requested that you do it.

Oliver Grendel had been a dedicated member of the Bulldogs for the past ten years, and before that, he’d served in the military.  He was the youngest Enforcer on the squad, and had the highest ranking within the region.  Oliver knew what he wanted, and he worked hard to achieve it.  He was a considerably large man, with broad shoulders that looked like they could carry the weight of the world with ease.  Hours spent on muscle conditioning had paid off, and Oliver was proud of his physique.  It worked in his favor when he needed to muscle information out of people.  His standard issue buzz cut and military insignia tattooed onto his head just added to his intimidation.  Oliver was undeniably frightening.

The same woman from the elevator pulled Oliver out of his concentration.  She’d snuck into the Director’s office before he had a chance to protest, but he didn’t think that she was the kind of woman you’d want to argue with anyway.  She glided past him, leaving him with a distant smile as she left.  There was something special about her, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what that was.

“Come on in, Oliver.”  The Director called him from the doorway, watching as his gaze followed Kingsley.  Dutifully, Oliver got up and went into the oversized office.  Antique furnishings filled up the large space, while the walls of glass let the whole region flow inside the office.  It was light, welcoming, and not at all what Olli expected to find inside the office of a D.A.E Director.

“Director Phelps,” Oliver extended his hand to greet the Director, “it is an honor to meet you, sir.” 

Jonathan nodded sternly, “Yes, Oliver. I’ve heard many great things about you.”

These words made Olli’s chest puff up in pride.  He’d worked so hard for years, he was happy to finally have some acknowledgement.  “How can I be of assistance, sir?”

Jonathan Phelps pointed toward the tablet in Oliver’s oversized hand, “I assume that you’ve gone through the assignment brief?”

“Yes! Of course, sir.”

“Good, then you know what we are dealing with.  Please, sit down son.”

Olli complied and took a seat, the leather chair groaning underneath his size.  It wasn’t the first time that he’d been slightly nervous about breaking furniture when he sat down.  The look on his face must have given this away, because Jonathan let out a comforting laugh.

“Oh my! You are a gargantuan, but that chair will be just fine.” That was all that was needed to ease Olli’s tension. He could see why so many people loved the Director.  With a lingering smile on his face, the Director continued; “This is a sensitive assignment, with only one agent involved.  That is why we need your assistance.  We need you to keep an eye out for trouble, protect the agent on the case from any harm that might come her way.  This is a sensitive mission, and we need to be careful.”

Oliver nodded in agreement, he would risk life and limb for the D.A.E, after all, and it was them who gave him a second chance after the war. 

“Absolutely sir.  You can count of me to do whatever is necessary to ensure that everything goes well.”

“I didn’t doubt that for a second,” Jonathan said earnestly, “I’ll update the details of the agent you will be working with on the file, you’ll receive it shortly.”

With that, Oliver started toward the glass doors once again, back down to his level.  Where the Enforcers had some clout, unlike being up here where everyone was only as significant as the Director would allow them.  Thankfully, Jonathan Phelps was a stoic leader.

“Thank you, sir.  May I ask though who it is?”  Oliver asked, clutching the door handle for dear life. He usually knew better than to ask questions.

“You saw her leave my office actually.” He replied, amused. “That was Agent Kingsley.  Marguerite Kingsley.  But please, call her Maggie.”

Chapter Four

The rain was unseasonal. Giselle walked along Zone 3 with her hooded jacket pulled as tightly around her as she could.  Her tiny frame was getting soaked by pounding wind and rain, yet she walked slowly through the empty streets.  Since the Regions had separated the families of Could’s and Would’s and sent them into the outer Zones, Giselle had a longer walk home from the University.  She’d been worried, there were people asking about her, visiting her mother to interrogate her about Giselle and her father.  Everyone in Zone 3 were the polite exiled citizens of the Region, all of them were related to the potential convicts that were made up of Could’s and Would’s.  Each wanted to look out for each other, but neither were they willing to sacrifice any more of themselves to do so. 

Each Region had five zones.  The first was reserved for high-ranking officials and Region leaders, all of the people that society relied on to maintain order.  The second zone was for dutiful citizens of the State.  Those who followed the rules, asked no questions, and did their fair share of volunteer work for their region, the perfect residents lived in Zone 2.  Zone 3 was where it started to get complicated, those exiled to Zone 3 were family members of convicted Could’s.  They had to be watched closely for any signs of genetic flaws that could lead them to follow the same path as their family member.  Once a Could was detained, their families were removed from their homes by force.  Although they could still attend Region schools and hold their Region appointed jobs, they were no longer allowed to live within the freedom of Zone 2.  Zone 4 was much worse, families of Would’s were sent to the outskirts of the city where they were isolated from the rest of civilization.  There was a much higher chance of them becoming Would’s and this way the Region was capable of keeping them in check.  Zone 5 was a formality, this was where all the Could’s and Would’s were sent.  Zone 5 was more commonly known as The Facility.

The Harmon family had been stolen away from their perfect, suburban life without warning after Albert Harmon was detained.  He was charged with being a Could.  Giselle and her mother were moved to a derelict apartment block, where the D.A.E could keep a closer eye on them.  Giselle wanted to go home, she wanted to feel the comfort of her mother close to her, but she knew that they were waiting for her.  It was that damned Professor, she thought, he’s the one causing all of this trouble.  Shaking the paranoia off with the rain, Giselle stopped under the awning of a small store.  The warmth of the store was beckoning her to come inside, but she feared what or who might be waiting for her.  Finally, succumbing to the cold, she walked into the tiny coffee shop that seemed to offer her refuge.

Keeping her hood over her face, she sought out a quiet booth for herself.  A friendly smile welcomed her in, but she couldn’t return the gesture, she was too tired. 

“Something to warm you up, Sugar?” the waitress drawled, her large voice didn’t match her petite body.

“Just a coffee please,” Giselle asked in a hushed tone, she didn’t want to draw any attention to herself.  The waitress smiled, heading toward the bar and leaving Giselle to her own devices.

Lost in a pool of thought, Giselle didn’t notice when a familiar face joined her.  He watched as she slunk in, hoping to remain obscure, but a woman like Giselle couldn’t be invisible.  He silently thanked the waitress for the coffee, and edged it toward her, hoping to slowly get her attention.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he said.

Taken aback, Giselle looked at him with big eyes. “Calvin! Are you trying to kill me?” She forced some humor into her voice, not wanting her fear to show.

He smiled warmly, he’d known Giselle for years and even after her father had been detained, she never lost her fight.  But she was different somehow; now she seemed resigned.

“Nah, just keeping you on your toes. What you doing out after curfew anyway?” It was unusual for girls to be out after curfew, all women in Zone 3 and 4 had to be home before dark.  It was a way to keep control over the headstrong women of each region, and a way to keep control over the households. 

“Pah!” she scoffed, “They watch us anyway, and nothing we do is good enough for them.” Giselle took a big gulp of the bitter warmth.  Calvin urgently scanned the room, her agitation was becoming apparent, and he didn’t want to attract any more attention to them.

“Shh! Calm down, fireball!” he whispered. “Let’s get out of here. Go some place where you won’t get us into trouble.” He left a few notes on the table, before leading Giselle out of the coffee shop.  She didn’t protest, since she didn’t know where to go to anymore. 

The rain had stopped, but the streets were soaked and cold.  The two reprobates walked closely together in silence, Giselle being lead through the empty streets by the resolute Calvin. He led her toward a service entrance of a run-down warehouse. 

“Come on, there is something I want to show you.”  He pulled the heavy door open, leading her inside.  It took a moment for them to adjust their eyes to the darkness, and the sound of water dripping echoed through the empty space.

“I don’t know if I like this, Calvin.” Giselle gripped onto Calvin’s arm, and squeezed a little bit tighter with each step they took. 

“Don’t worry,” he wrapped his arm around her, trying to comfort her. “It is okay. I’ve got you.”

They navigated a staircase to where abandoned offices housed scrounging vagabonds, hiding from the cold.  Curious eyes peered through dirt-crusted windows and around doorframes. 

“We shouldn’t be here,” Giselle said with urgency. She felt the glares of whoever had made a home out of the forgotten ruin. 

“Just calm down, I know what I’m doing,” Calvin tried to reassure her, but he knew that he should have explained himself better before leading her into uncertainty.  “You will be fine, don’t worry.”

They finally made it past the rows of forgotten people, and toward a large room at the end of the hall.  Calvin knocked on the door three times before a gritty man, demanding their names, greeted them.  Calvin did all the talking.  Frantic, hushed commands and requests were spoken before the rough stranger let them in. 

The room was lit only by a collection of candles; cloaked strangers stood talking in huddled circles.  At the center of it all stood a regal woman, her white cloak swam behind her as she silently moved through the crowd.  Her features were soft, comforting, and calming.  Giselle had never seen anyone as lovely before.  Her skin was the color of the caramel, just like Giselle’s.  Mixed race children were very rare within Regions; it was frowned upon to have relations with anyone other than who the State dictated.  This was especially the case with interracial romances.

“Who is she?” Giselle breathed, captivated by the beautiful stranger walking toward her. 

Calvin smiled broadly before responding proudly; “That is Evelyn Strongborn.  Fearless leader of the Uprising, regal queen of Zone 3, and my mother.”

Evelyn sashayed toward Calvin and Giselle.  Cupping Calvin’s face in her hands, she grinned warmly; “Bringing strays home again?”  Motioning toward Giselle, she requested warm clothes be brought forward for their unannounced guest, and before Giselle could do anything, she was ushered towards warmth.

“Tell me, where did you get your lovely eyes from?” Evelyn spoke with an educated drawl; her accent wasn’t typical of Zone 3.  It intrigued Giselle; she wanted to know more about this mysterious matriarch.

“My mother,” Giselle squeaked. “she is the fair one.” 

“And your father?” Evelyn pressed.

“My father was not.”  Giselle lowered her eyes, talking of her father was a sensitive topic for her.  They all fought so hard to preserve his innocence, but it was all in vain.  It felt like he had been in The Facility for so long, that she hardly remembered what he looked like anymore, but it had only been a month.  Evelyn recognized that sadness; she’d felt it too. 

“Ah, not to worry dear. We don’t mind a bit of mystery here either.”  Evelyn led Giselle to her private chambers, where she could get changed out of her wet clothing.  It was hard to believe that they were inside an abandoned warehouse.  Giselle hadn’t seen such finery in Zone 3 before; she didn’t think that it existed outside of Zone 1 and museums.  Delicate paintings adored the walls, while intricate furnishings decorated the space.  Evelyn had an impressive collection of antiques, and that was something that had Giselle’s attention.