Accused (Ganzfield) (2 page)

They’re cops.

The uniformed transit police approached us cautiously. “Madeline Elizabeth Dunn?” one of the officers asked.

Ah, hell. The repeated use of my middle name couldn’t mean anything good.

What do they want?
Trevor’s thoughts flashed to us making a break for it. Trevor could stop bullets with his telekinetic ability—he also could use it to move really fast.

I think… they’re going to arrest me.
I tightened my grip on his hand. There were too many witnesses here—too many security cameras for him to try anything.

Maybe taking a vacation right now hadn’t been such a good idea.

Isaiah had leaked our existence to some very dangerous people in the U.S. military a couple of weeks ago. But then… nothing. None of the Ganzfield people who worked in the government had heard anything. No one who’d returned home from Ganzfield had experienced any problems. So, we’d figured that the two government people who’d received Isaiah’s final email must’ve dismissed it as a hoax or the writings of a crazy person.

Apparently, we’d been wrong.

“Ms. Dunn, we need you to come with us. Mr. Laurence, please come, as well.” The officer knew Trevor’s name, too. I tried to focus over the din of mental activity and my own pounding heart.

Detain them.

There was nothing in his thoughts that indicated we were anything unusual. Hey, we still might be able to talk our way out

of this. Well, Trevor could talk—but I’d give him some helpful suggestions.

Little scrape marks of various colors marred the once-white walls of the interrogation room. We sat side by side in metal chairs. Trevor’s fingers nervously chafed mine. The officers behind the one-way mirrored glass watched us with bored indifference.

They don’t know anything about us,
I told Trevor. We were away from the crowds now, in a part of the airport that required swipeable ID cards, so my thoughts weren’t being crowded by hundreds of other minds.
One of the guys behind the mirror’s looking at a computer screen. Apparently, my name’s been flagged in the system. You got pulled in because you checked in with me. They’re waiting for someone official to show up.
Telepathy could be so helpful when being watched by the cops.

We should get out of here.
Trevor’s brown eyes radiated concern.
The door’s locked, but I can open it from the outside. If we can get close enough for me to grab one of those key-cards, we can get back out into the main concourse and get lost in the crowd.

I shook my head slightly and glanced at the corner of the room.
There’s a video camera over there. We’d be seen
. Actually, three cameras focused on us right now—a close-up on each of our faces and a full-room view from the one in the ceiling. An officer a few doors down watched the images on her monitors and listened to the microphone feed from the room, waiting for us to say something—preferably something incriminating.

I can take the cameras out first.

We can’t give them any proof that we’re anything out of the ordinary. We promised Williamson.

Jon Williamson—the head-honcho minder up at Ganzfield—hadn’t wanted us to go. However, Trevor was eighteen; I was emancipated—thanks to Coleman—and the charms’ mind-control didn’t work on me, so he hadn’t really been able to stop us. In the end, he’d just made us promise to be careful and keep a low profile.

Something’s very wrong here, Maddie.

It’ll be okay.
What could they actually hold us for? Mind-reading and telekinesis weren’t crimes. The transit cops behind the glass seemed decent enough—they weren’t going to make up charges to hold us or anything. Was the problem that I was under eighteen? I was emancipated. I could go to Aruba if I wanted.

Trevor’s brows knit as he looked at me.
I’m not sure about that. This could be serious.

I’m just worried we’re going to miss our flight.
We’d put a big deposit down on the house in Aruba and there weren’t that many with private beaches.

Our flight left without us. One of the transit cops brought us some bottled water and sandwiches around lunchtime.
They’ve been in here for hours. Why haven’t they said anything to each other?

A phone rang behind the glass and I felt the flash of surprise from the cop who picked it up.
What does the Defense Department want with her? I guess that explains why they didn’t want those two to have phone calls yet; it must be a matter of national security.

Crap.
The air whooshed from my lungs. Trevor’s idea of making a break for it suddenly seemed much more reasonable.

No, wait…
Her
. He’d only thought
her
, not
them
.

If we played this right, Trevor would be okay.

Trevor, I think they just want me. We’ll be able to get you out.

Trevor’s hand tightened around mine.
I’m not going anywhere without you.

I met his eyes, seeing the concern and determination simmering there.
You need to get Coleman to spring me.
How lucky was I that I had a charm lawyer?
I’ll be fine—it’ll be like when Williamson was held. Coleman should be able to have a short talk with the cops or a judge and get me out.

Reluctance overwhelmed him.
I don’t want to leave you here.

I need you to do this
.
Please
. I could hold it together as long as I knew that Trevor wasn’t in danger.

The door opened before he could respond.

Ah, hell. It was worse than I’d thought. My gut congealed into a lump as the two FBI agents flashed their credentials. The woman in her late thirties had brutally short hair with a few threads of grey at the temples and she looked as though she rarely smiled. The other was a younger man who felt like a mental lightweight compared to his partner. I dismissed him—he didn’t make the decisions.

Behind them, a third man silently flashed a badge, as well.
Department of Defense.
The FBI agents just knew my name, but this DOD man knew a lot more. He tried to keep a low profile, but his mind was the one I focused in on. He looked to be in his early forties. His hair was still sandy blond, and although he wasn’t very tall, he was built like a bull—solid, thick, and strong. His mind had a similar feel.

She’s one of the freaks from the video link Isaiah Lerner sent me—the flying girl.

Oh, crap. He recognizes me.
I suppressed my sigh. I hadn’t been doing anything, actually—Trevor had been the one holding me aloft. I worked at appearing calm.

The DOD man looked at me like I was a creepy, giant spider and he held a huge can of Raid. I’d felt that same mix of fear and aggression in many of the Sons of Adam—the same people who’d attacked Ganzfield last spring and killed more than half the people there.

Well, silver lining time—at least we now knew the identity of one of the classified military recipients of Isaiah’s last email. Colonel Paul Hunter wasn’t in uniform at the moment, though. I flashed his name to Trevor.
Pass it on to Coleman and Williamson when you get out. Colonel Hunter needs a visit from a charm.

I barely registered that the FBI agents were officially charging me.

Wait… Charging me? I started paying more attention and tried to remember to keep breathing in and out.

Trevor inhaled sharply at the word “murder.” Four counts.

Del, Mike, and Carl were the three boys from my old high school who’d pulled me into a van last fall. Isaiah Lerner was missing and presumed dead. His body hadn’t been recovered—primarily because it was currently a pile of ash at the bottom of a secret hidey-hole in New Jersey. Federal charges were being filed because the cause of death was an unnamed “weapon of mass destruction.”

That WMD would be my brain, I guess. The FBI people didn’t know the details.

Ah, hell.

There were six more federal agents outside the door, in case the “dangerous detainees” tried to make a break for it. Colonel Hunter actually hoped we’d do something—he wanted confirmation of our special abilities.

“You have the right to remain silent…” the male agent began. I felt a little bubble of semi-hysterical laughter nearly burst out. Hell, if they could get me to talk, they weren’t just great interrogators; they were miracle workers.

Oh, Maddie. No, no, no.
Trevor’s trembling hand squeezed mine.

They don’t have anything to hold you on. Contact Coleman as soon as they let you out. I’ll be okay.
These were federal agents. I was an American citizen and I had no criminal history—other than my fingerprints showing up at the scene with three corpses. I’d be fine until Coleman could get me out. It might take a few days, but Coleman would manage it. And even if I threw a few nightmares to my entire cellblock, I was pretty sure that wouldn’t give them any proof of my ability.

They waved in a pale-faced guy with a camera and fingerprint kit to process us. I wiped the ink stains from my fingers with the wet wipe, annoyed that our only vacation photos were going to be mug shots.

“Separate them,” Hunter said to the female agent. His voice was barely audible, but his mind was cold and loud.

“Why are we still holding him?” She indicated Trevor with a sharp gesture.

Hunter watched Trevor warily. “He’s a person of interest in the disappearance of Isaiah Lerner.”

“My records indicate that Isaiah Lerner died four years ago. It was ruled an accidental death.” She glanced down at the passport in her hand—the one Trevor had gotten in Michigan three years ago for a school trip to Canada. The earnest, younger version of Trevor in the photo stared back at her. “This guy would have barely been in high school. Why would a couple of middle school kids kill a former Congressman?”

“Hold him anyway,” Hunter ordered.

The female agent bristled. In her mind, people who weren’t charged with crimes didn’t get detained.
That’s not the way the American justice system works.

My eyes met Trevor’s. The thought of being separated from him caused my throat to tighten.
I love you,
I thought to him.
No matter what happens, always remember that.

He pulled me close for a moment, whispering, “I love you, too,” into my ear. Then the male agent had him by the arm and escorted him from the room. I watched him leave, drinking in the last seconds of his presence.

CHAPTER 2

I had to hold back a giddy, relieved chuckle when I realized Trevor had only been moved one room away. I could still hear his thoughts—he was closer than when we slept in the church.

What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?

Don’t get too cute. You’re still facing murder charges
. I felt an invisible hand reach through the cinderblock wall and grope around a bit until it landed on my shoulder. The renewed contact soothed us both. I nudged my chair closer to our shared wall and felt a second invisible arm snake around my waist.

Murder charges.

The lump in my gut gave a clammy twist. Killing those three guys had been self-defense—and an accident. And Isaiah had been a… a serial killer! I didn’t like what I’d done, but… but it had needed doing.

Paul Hunter perched in the chair across the metal table and stared at me. The female agent took a watchful position by the door. I ignored them both and focused on Trevor. The strain in his thoughts wove its way into mine with little fishhooks of anxiety.

Stop worrying. I have a really good lawyer
.
I still think it’s hilarious that I have “the right to remain silent.”

Could you please take this seriously?

I’m seriously pissed about missing our flight. Those were non-refundable tickets!

Maddie, this isn’t funny.

Across the table, Hunter continued to stare at me. I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes to try and block him out. Of course, that didn’t work—his thoughts pressed as intently as his gaze. The only thing that blocked incoming thoughts from a minder like me was distance. If I needed to, I could overload his mind with a blast of energy. I cracked open an eye to watch him. I could incapacitate or kill him at any time. It was like I was sitting here with a loaded gun pointed at his head—he just didn’t know it.

That kinda put being detained in perspective.

I could put up with the inconvenience for a few days. Eventually, he’d have to release me—even if I had killed those four people. It’s not like they had any real evidence—at least anything that’d hold up in court. And the killings had been justified. Would Metropolis have brought Superman up on murder charges if he’d killed Lex Luthor?

Seriously.

I knew it would be okay. This Hunter person might be able to detain me for a little while and ruin my vacation, but he had no real power over me.

The DOD guy is trying to stare me down,
I told Trevor.

I know. I can feel your thoughts.

When all of this is over, we’re still going to Aruba.

When all of this is over, I may lock you in the church to keep you safe.

Ooh, will you tie me up?
I sent him a rather explicit image. The invisible hands on my shoulder and waist flexed tighter around me.

Cut it out!
He tried to stay serious, but I felt his reluctant amusement. Trevor had been left alone next door, but a quick mental check down the hall showed that two video feeds recorded his every movement.

Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me about the boys in New Jersey.”

I hadn’t been paying attention to his mind games, which seriously annoyed him. I opened both eyes, but I didn’t answer.

“How did you kill them?”

I looked at the FBI agent. She remained at the door, but now she watched me, too. I pantomimed writing on my palm.