Lois scrambled to her feet and gingerly placed her ankle on the concrete. Pain shot up her leg. She limped to her weapon, picked it up, locked it, and slipped it into the holster.
She hopped over Moyne and through the doorway.
She bent over to drag him into the staffroom, but then she hesitated.
Leaving him in the open doorway, she turned, hobbled up the steps with more speed than her ankle appreciated, grabbed her bag, and returned to the staffroom. Moyne was still motionless. She peered into the cell. The prisoner hadn't moved either.
Lois sat on the table and lifted her ankle onto the seat of the chair. She took the cell phone from her bag and called Scardino's private number.
His drowsy voice answered a few moments later. "Daniel Scardino."
"It's Lois Lane," she said. "You need to get to the compound now."
She heard the alarm in his swiftly inhaled breath. "The prisoner?" he said. "Has he killed again?"
"No," Lois said. "But I think that was the plan."
Bridge - Part 1
~~ Friday (cont) ~~
She had come into his prison.
A woman.
*The* woman.
She had come in ... forced against her will by Moyne.
Just like the other times.
She was beautiful.
Petite. Feminine. Stunning. Young. Beautiful.
Fiery. Strong. Courageous. Spirited.
Moyne had had the advantage of physical strength, but she had fought valiantly ... until Moyne had stolen her gun.
Moyne had hurt her.
Moyne was a killer.
Moyne shouldn't be near her.
She was a woman.
A beautiful ...
He had watched them wrestle on the floor of the prison - utterly torn.
He'd known that he couldn't allow the monster to continue hurting her.
But if had he intervened, he risked Moyne bringing in the poison. Then he would have been incapable of protecting her.
Moyne had shot her.
And he'd leapt into the path of the bullet. Caught it before it reached her. It was in his pocket now. He'd cleaned it on his shorts and put it next to the notes she had written him.
He opened his right hand and stared at the gouge caused by the bullet.
He wasn't at full strength ... hadn't had enough sunlight ... still weak from the poison. He wasn't at full pace either ... but he'd been fast enough.
Fast enough to intercept the bullet.
He stretched out his leg and slid his hand into the pocket - the empty one - of his shorts. He flattened his palm against the material to wipe away the drizzle of blood.
He withdrew his hand and checked it. The bleeding had stopped. He closed his fist to continue applying pressure and winced at the pain.
It would heal.
She wouldn't have.
He'd stood over her, determined to defend her until his last breath if Moyne brought in the poison.
Moyne's anger had flared, his temper had exploded, and he'd charged. Moyne's head had cannoned into his shoulder. The monster had dropped, unconscious.
Then he'd turned his attention from Moyne to the woman.
The memory of the fear on her face felt like a knife twisting through his stomach.
Every instinct had been to offer his hand - not the one holding the bullet - to help her up ... but he was sure she would have recoiled at the thought of touching him.
He had considered returning the gun to her ... but if he'd made even the slightest move towards the weapon, he was sure she would have freaked out completely.
All he could do was give her the Neosporin.
It was a pathetic gesture.
But anything else would have terrified her.
And she'd been scared enough already.
Moyne had hurt her.
Moyne was still unconscious - still in the cell, still visible. Unconscious, he couldn't hurt her.
The woman had struggled to rise from the concrete. She'd limped to her weapon and picked it up. She hadn't even looked at him as she'd gone through the door and disappeared to the outside.
When he'd seen the obvious pain that movement caused her, he'd wanted to spring to his feet, rush over, and help her.
But that would have terrified her.
And her reaction to his nearness would have hurt more than the poison.
He'd given her the only thing she would want from him - he'd taken himself as far away from her as possible.
She had fought so frantically to avoid entering his prison.
What had she thought he would do to her?
She had touched him.
Before he'd walked away - she'd touched him.
When she'd taken the antiseptic ointment from his hand, her fingertips had lightly scraped across his palm.
He stretched open his left hand and examined it. There was no evidence of her touch ... but it was forever etched in his memory.
Would he ever see her again?
She had looked so frightened.
Would she leave now?
He was nothing.
Less than nothing.
An animal.
That was what they all thought.
That was what they would have told her.
She was everything he was not.
Free.
Human.
Beautiful.
||_||
Lois bent low, took a firm grip of Moyne's shirt with her right hand, planted her right foot, and pulled.
He moved a few inches, but the effort to progress ratio was disheartening.
He was heavier than he looked.
She bent low again and readied herself for another effort.
There was movement and noise at Moyne's feet.
She looked up and gasped.
The prisoner was there.
He dropped to his knees and planted his hands around Moyne's ankles. He glanced up, their eyes met for a brief second, he pushed, she pulled ... and Moyne's inert body slid into the staffroom. When only the lower portion of Moyne's legs remained in the cell, the prisoner quickly withdrew his hands and rolled backwards onto his haunches.
The momentum, together with Lois's continued efforts, took Moyne to within inches of clearing the threshold.
Lois slowly lifted her head. The prisoner was still crouched low. Their eyes were level.
He stared at her.
She stared at him.
Why had he shrunk back from the doorway?
Could it be that the years of incarceration had made him fear the outside world?
Had he been locked away for so long that now the cell gave him a sense of security?
Lois broke from his gaze and put all of her concentration into dragging Moyne the final few inches. She tugged, the pain in her left ankle reared in protest, but she gained the ground she needed.
Again, Lois looked at the prisoner. She opened her mouth to thank him, but before her words had formed, he stood abruptly and faded away.
She went to the doorway and shoved Moyne's legs aside. The prisoner was walking across the cell - away from her. She closed the door.
And locked it.
It had to be locked.
She pulled Moyne's copied key from the lock and put it in her pocket.
Moyne showed no signs of regaining consciousness.
He was breathing.
Lois turned away, indifferent to his fate.
She'd seen better men than Moyne die.
She took a mirror and a cloth from her bag and surveyed the damage to her face. There was an abrasion across her cheek and darkening puffiness around her eye.
At the sink, she turned on the faucet and waited for the water to heat up. When it was pleasantly warm, she put the cloth into the flow.
He'd *given* her the tube of Neosporin.
His eyes ... the memory of them was vivid.
He'd said nothing ... but she couldn't shake the feeling that he had wanted desperately to communicate.
Don't be afraid.
He could have killed Moyne.
He could have killed her.
He could have escaped - with her gun.
She and Moyne had been in the cell without protection. The rods had been in her office - inaccessible.
Perhaps the prisoner hadn't known the rods were out of easy reach.
But he'd known they weren't in the cell.
Every advantage had been with him. Height. Strength. Position. Speed. Motivation.
He had to have noticed that she was incapacitated. Had to have known that she was powerless to defend herself.
Shadbolt had been steadfast in his belief that entering the cell without a rod would result in certain death.
It hadn't.
He'd given her Neosporin.
And then - instead of escaping or doing anything that might be expected of the savage they had portrayed him to be - he'd moved away so she would know she had nothing to fear from him.
When he'd approached her again, it had been to help her move Moyne.
Was he alien? Or human?
Suddenly, it didn't matter anymore.
It didn't matter at all.
Unless ...
What if others of his kind were coming?
Lois realised that her hand was still under the running water. She quickly turned off the faucet and wrung the excess water from the cloth.
She peered into the little handheld mirror and dabbed at the blood seeping from the graze on her face.
When the wound was clean, she uncapped the Neosporin and patted a little onto her face.
Moyne still hadn't moved.
How had he been knocked out? Her view had been blocked by the body of the prisoner. Had the prisoner done it?
If he had, it was self-defence.
Moyne had been the aggressor.
She'd seen that much.
Lois sat down on one chair and lifted her injured leg onto another one. She looked down into Moyne's vacuous face. What had happened to Deller and Bortolotto?
It was possible that Moyne's version was correct, but her doubts - which until now had been little more than nagging speculation - were bellowing through her brain.
Had Moyne killed them?
Had they voiced concern about Trask's methods? Had Moyne silenced them ... permanently?
And used the prisoner as a convenient scapegoat?
A knock on the external door shattered the silence.
Lois heaved herself to her feet and limped to the door. "Who is it?"
"Daniel Scardino."
She opened the door, and Scardino entered in a brisk, business-like fashion.
"What happened?" he said. He saw her face, and his apprehension deepened. "What the hell happened?"
Lois didn't answer. She shuffled into the staffroom, and Scardino followed her.
She went to the table and hitched her thigh along the edge to take the weight from her ankle. Scardino was staring at Moyne. "The alien did this?" he said, his voice punctured with alarm.
Lois swallowed down her resentment. "No," she said. "Moyne forced me into the cell."
"He *forced* you?" Scardino shrieked.
Lois nodded. "He said that he was going to let the monster take what he wanted." The wave of fear rolled through her again ... but it was propelled more by her resident memories of the night Linda had died than by what had happened here.
Scardino laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Have you called an ambulance?"
Lois recoiled from his touch. "No."
Scardino removed his hand, took his cell phone from the pocket of his coat, and made the call. "They'll be here soon," he said. "Do you have any other injuries?"
"Nothing serious."
"Nothing serious?" he questioned anxiously. "What else?"
"A few bumps and bruises. Nothing that won't heal."
Shock had leached the colour from Scardino's face. "We could have lost both of you," he said shakily. "Where are the rods?"
Lois felt outrage seethe up her throat. "You still think *he* did this, don't you? You still think *he's* the danger?"
Scardino flinched at her tone. He shook his head in dismay. "We were lucky."
"This ..." Lois gestured angrily towards her face. "This wasn't *him*. This wasn't the prisoner. *This* was Moyne."
Scardino gulped. "Moyne?"
Lois pressed her fingers into the rock-hard strap of muscle across her neck and grappled for composure. "The prisoner didn't touch me," she stated vehemently. "Moyne did this when I was trying to stop him hurling me into the cell."
"*Moyne* did it?"
"Does that surprise you?" she demanded.
"Yes!"
Lois shook her head but avoided succumbing to the temptation to itemise the deficiencies in Scardino's handling of this operation. "Moyne knocked on my office door," she said. "When I opened it, he grabbed me and hauled me down the stairs and threw me into the cell."
Scardino's eyes volleyed from her to Moyne. "So how did *that* happen?" he asked, pointing at the unmoving figure.
"The prisoner put himself between Moyne and me. Moyne flew at him ... I'm not exactly sure what happened then."
"So the prisoner *did* do this to Moyne?"
Lois eyed Scardino, knowing her lip had curled with disgust. "I expect that is how Moyne - and all the other bigots - will depict this."
"Where were the rods?"
"They were in my office," she replied coolly. "I don't know whether Moyne felt he didn't need a rod because he didn't intend to go into the cell or whether he realised that he would need both hands to overpower me."
"Why were the rods in your office? Trask insisted that they be kept near the cell door."
Obviously, Scardino was more acquainted with Trask's practices than he'd previously admitted. "I moved them into my office because it was the only way to prevent Moyne bashing the prisoner during the night."
"You left him here without access to a rod?" Scardino gasped in alarm.
Lois shrugged nonchalantly. "The door was locked."
Scardino thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat and looked away. Lois had a sudden inkling of what he was going to say. "Trask had ways of ... curbing the extremes of the alien's behaviour."
"I have ways, too."
"You're going to order a discipline session?"
She shot him her most potent look of contempt and was gratified when he wilted under her gaze.
Scardino shuffled uncomfortably. "I'll ... ah ... I'll call Shadbolt and get him to come in early."
"There's no need to do that."
"We can't leave the cell unguarded."
"It won't be unguarded," Lois said. "I'll be here."
"Once the ambulance arrives, you and Moyne will be going to the hospital."
"I won't be."
"Ms Lane -"
Lois stood from the table and choked down the pain of her foot touching the floor. "Let's get this straight, shall we?" she said. "You may be the higher-up in this operation, but it's *my* operation. You offered it to me. I took it. Unless you have tangible evidence that I have been negligent in my duties, you can't remove me from this operation. No revolving door, remember? I know too much ... *way* too much for you to -"
"Are you trying to intimidate me?" Scardino asked. He seemed more surprised than offended.
"No," Lois replied. "I'm speaking straight so there is no misunderstanding. This is my operation, and I intend to continue with it. I haven't failed; the prisoner is still in his cell. And I'm not going to the hospital because I don't need to."
Scardino gave the barest of nods, but it was enough for Lois to know that she had won this round. She'd known she would be able to talk him down - the one who cared the most invariably prevailed in battles of this sort.
"What about Moyne?" Scardino asked.
"I don't want him back," Lois declared. "Take him to the hospital. When he's recovered, decide what you want to do with him ... but he is not to come back here."
"Are you going to want to pursue this?"
"Do you mean in-house? Or outside?"
"Either."
Lois paused. The one who was most vulnerable here was Mr Kent. If this went further, more people would have to know about the existence of the operation. If that happened, there was a chance that someone would step up and try to right the wrongs. But there was also the possibility that someone would decide there were more advantageous ways to benefit from an alien captive.
They could insist on all sorts of tests.
They could insist that his existence threatened humanity to such a degree that he must die.
It was inconceivable that Trask had managed to keep this operation under wraps for seven years. But in doing so, had he actually protected Mr Kent from the whims and prejudices of the higher-ups?
Had Trask's tyranny - horrific though it had been - actually delivered a better outcome for Mr Kent than if someone else had been calling the shots?
Would his life have been better or worse with someone else in control?
If she felt there was a good chance that publicising this operation would provoke outrage at Mr Kent's treatment, she would insist that Moyne be held accountable for his actions.
But Moyne had friends in high places.
"No," Lois replied. "I don't want to be dragged through being questioned by the police."
"There will be an in-house inquiry."
"There's no need," she said quickly. "And that's what I'll be saying if they call me in."
Scardino nodded, and although Lois was convinced that he lacked even the most basic understanding of her reasons for wanting to put this incident behind her, she chose not to enlighten him.
"Do you want another assistant?"
"No," she said with certainty. "Longford, Shadbolt, and I can cover it." She glanced at her watch. It was half past five. "Shadbolt will be here soon. Later, when Longford arrives, I'll talk to both of them, and we'll work out a new roster."
Scardino looked set to argue, but she was saved from his objections by a knock on the door. Scardino opened it, and two paramedics entered the compound.
"I want you to get checked out," Scardino told Lois.
She nodded submissively. She had fought the important battles. The less important ones she could let slide.
Lois allowed them to prod and strap her ankle, manipulate her arm, and apply another layer of antiseptic ointment to the abrasion on her face.
"Is she all right?" Scardino asked uneasily.
"She'll be fine," the paramedic said. "She should stay off that foot for a day or so."
Scardino looked pointedly at Lois. "Let me know if you need more help."
The paramedics lifted the stretcher, and they carried Moyne from the compound.
While they loaded him into the ambulance, Scardino hovered in the doorway.
"Go," Lois said. "You need to be with Moyne."
"Be careful," Scardino said. "I don't want any more agents getting hurt."
He turned away, closing the door behind him.
"Then keep Moyne out of here," Lois muttered.
Leaning heavily on the handrail, she swung up the steps on her good foot and went into her office. The prisoner was jogging listlessly around the cell. His face was set; his eyes stared stonily ahead.
What was he feeling?
Why hadn't he spoken?
Did he regret that he hadn't taken his chance to escape?
*Why* hadn't he run through the open door?
Did he assume there would be layers of security? Other locked doors? Armed security guards? Had he been conscious when Trask had brought him into the cell? If not, he wouldn't know what lay beyond the door of his cell. He wouldn't know that he'd been so close to freedom.
Perhaps he assumed that his cell was in a high-security prison.
Lois shrugged.
Whatever his reasoning, his actions today - although baffling - made her feel as if she had been privy to a glimpse of the person that languished under the captivity-hardened veneer.
The question of his humanity or otherwise was irrelevant.
He was *him*.
A person.
Not an animal.
Not a monster.
Not a savage.
A person.
Mr Kent.
A noise sounded loud in the quietness, and her heart did a frantic circuit around her ribcage before realisation kicked in and calmed her fears.
Lois took a twenty-dollar bill from her purse, shoved it in her jeans pocket, locked her office door, and clumped down the steps.
Shadbolt was in the staffroom. He saw her, and his face darkened. "You went into the cell, didn't you?" It sounded like icy accusation.
Lois nodded.
Shadbolt's breath exploded with frustration. He turned to the coffee machine.
"I didn't *choose* to go in there," Lois amended.
He spun around. "What?"
"Moyne attacked me and forced me in there."
All colour drained from Shadbolt's face, and he slumped heavily into the seat. "Moyne *forced* you in there?" he asked unsteadily.
Lois nodded. "He pulled me down the stairs, opened the cell door, and tried to shove me in there."
"I thought you took his key away from him."
"He had a copy."
Shadbolt swallowed. "What ... what did the alien do?"
"Very little. He didn't touch me." Lois gestured to her cheek. "Moyne did this."
Shadbolt slid his hands backwards through his hair and halted them on the back of his head. "Did you have a rod?"
"No," Lois said. "When we reached the cell, I managed to cling to Moyne's hair. He tried to push me in, but I held on. We ended up wrestling on the floor. He ripped my gun from my ankle holster and threatened to shoot me."
Shadbolt was looking positively sick. "What happened?"
"The prisoner positioned himself between Moyne and me."
"Did he hurt Moyne?"
"Moyne got knocked out. I couldn't see exactly what happened because I was behind the prisoner."
"So the alien attacked Moyne?"
"If you want to call what was - at most - a single blow an 'attack', then, yes, I guess the prisoner attacked Moyne."
"He didn't continue? Didn't tear Moyne's flesh from his bones?"
"No. He walked away."
Shadbolt shook his head, his face a labyrinth of confusion.
"Will you do something for me, please?" Lois asked.
He managed to nod.
"I'm not very mobile, or I'd do it myself. Would you go and get some breakfast?" She pulled the bill from her jeans and held it towards him. "A few bagels. Or biscuits. Sandwiches. Anything."
His eyes lingered on the bill and then leapt to her face. "Is it for you? Or him?"
"Both. I'm hungry. I'm responsible for him. I have no intention of starving him."
"Are you worried about what happens when he reaches full strength and fitness?" Shadbolt asked.
Lois didn't sense any animosity in his question. "No," she said.
Shadbolt took the bill and left.
"Thanks," Lois called after him.
With Shadbolt gone, Lois hobbled around the staffroom. The washing bowl was still inside the cell, so she rinsed the bucket and filled it with hot water.
She clambered up the stairs to her office. She picked up a pen and wrote on a piece of paper from the notepad - 'THANK YOU.' She stared at the words. They didn't seem to be enough.
Moyne had meant for her to die tonight.
Lois put the pen to the paper again and added two words. Now it read:
'THANK YOU, MR. KENT.'
That was better. It was still short. It was still impersonal. But he had saved her life, and she wanted to acknowledge that. She wanted him to know that she appreciated what he had done for her.
Lois slipped the note into her pocket and returned to the staffroom. Just as she finished making two cups of coffee, Shadbolt let himself in. He put two bags, some bills, and a few coins onto the table.
"Thanks," Lois said.
"Do you want me to take them in?" he asked.
"Are you willing to go in there without a rod?"
"No."
"Then I'll do it."
He nodded tersely. "I want a rod here - just in case."
"OK."
"Is your office unlocked?"
"Yes."
"Do you want me to get the rod?" Shadbolt asked. "Or will you?"
Lois paused, remembering how difficult it had been to negotiate the stairs on one foot. "Would you mind getting it?" she asked. "They are just inside the door."
He turned, and she heard his footsteps echo up the stairs.
Lois picked up one bag and looked inside it. It contained two toasted bacon and egg sandwiches. The other bag held two bagels. Clearly, Shadbolt had expansive ideas about breakfast.
Lois put one bagel on a plate. She took the note from her pocket and added it to the bag with the remaining bagel.
Shadbolt returned with the rod, and she unlocked the cell door. She swung it open and hopped forward. He handed her the two bags, which she placed on the cell floor. Next came the cup of coffee. She gestured to the bucket, and he handed her that, too.
As she straightened from placing the bucket on the floor of the cell, Lois looked up.
Mr Kent was sitting on the far side of the cell. He wasn't turned away. He wasn't cringing in pain. He was looking at her.
Lois lifted her hand in a tiny gesture of greeting.
A moment passed as she awaited his response.
Then slowly, his hand rose a few inches from where it had been positioned on his knee.
Lois hopped backwards, closed the door, and locked it.
Shadbolt eyed her - a smattering of amusement in his expression. "How are you going to get up the stairs with a rod, a bagel, and a cup of coffee?" he asked.
Lois pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "One at time?"
"The coffee could be a challenge."
She gave him an embryonic smile. "Could I impose on you one more time?" she said.
He didn't reply. He picked up her cup of coffee, the plate with her bagel, her change, and - still carrying the rod - he went up the stairs.
She was halfway up when she met him coming down. "You OK?" he asked.
"Yeah. Thanks."
Shadbolt stood aside to let her pass, and Lois continued her rather awkward progress up the stairs. In her office, she shut the door, but she didn't lock it.
She sat at her desk, elevated her foot, ate her bagel, drank her coffee.
And watched Mr Kent.
He was eating one of the bacon and egg sandwiches. He was so clearly relishing it that she felt a smile tickle her mouth.
However, much as he seemed to be enjoying the toasted sandwiches, she had a feeling that what he found in the second bag would mean more to him.
She watched him closely - determined not to miss the moment.
When he had finished both sandwiches, he wiped his fingers on his shorts, opened the second bag, and looked in. His hand dived into the bag, and when it emerged, it wasn't the bagel he held, but the note.
He stared at it for a long time.
It was difficult to ascertain his expression through his beard and falling-forward hair, but Lois found it heart-wrenchingly easy to empathise with what he was feeling.
His hand lifted and dove under the cloak of his hair.
Perhaps he was brushing hair out of his eye.
Or perhaps it was something else.
Lois wiped her own eyes. And she wasn't wiping away hair.
||_||
Just before lunchtime, Scardino arrived at the compound.
Shadbolt let him in, and Lois looked down on them from the top of the stairs.
After a very brief exchange with Shadbolt, Scardino climbed the stairs. When he reached Lois, he said, "I need to speak to you privately."
She gestured for him to go into her office, followed him in, and shut the door. There was only one chair. She offered it to him.
Scardino shook his head. He looked uncomfortable. Lois noticed that he was careful to avoid looking through the viewing window.
"What's up?" she asked.
"Moyne has regained consciousness," he said.
Lois didn't respond.
"He has relayed to me the events of this morning," Scardino continued.
"What's the problem?" Lois asked, although she had an idea of what was coming.
"His version of events is different from yours."
"Oh." That wasn't unexpected.
"He says you insisted on going into the cell. He says the scuffle came about because he was trying to prevent you from going in."
"I suppose he also has a story to explain how he ended up unconscious?"
"He remembers the alien charging at him, but nothing beyond that."
"Convenient."
"Mr Moyne was most insistent that I pass on his gratitude to you for rescuing him. He figures that you must have gotten the rod to nullify the powers of the alien."
"Nice story."
"You don't sound too perturbed about this," Scardino said. "You do realise that it's your word against his?"
"I'm the superior."
"Yes, and that will probably be enough to ensure that no action is taken against you," Scardino said. "However, the suggestion that your ill-advised actions put a member of your staff in mortal danger could be enough to have you removed from this operation."
Lois looked at him scornfully. "Have you spoken to Shadbolt?"
"Not yet. But I called Longford."
"And he would have said that I'm unsure the rods are necessary."
"Yes."
"Shadbolt will confirm that, too," Lois predicted dryly. "I haven't made a secret of my disgust at the way things were done before I took over this mission."
"Ms Lane," Scardino said quickly. "No one is blaming you. I shouldn't have allowed you to take on another assignment so soon. This won't even appear on your record. We'll put it down to the unfortunate consequences of not having recovered from the trauma of your previous assignment."
"When you said it was my word against Moyne's, you didn't mention that you had already decided that his version was more reliable."
"Ms Lane," Scardino said. "I have been concerned that you are getting too personally involved with this assignment. I think that you have allowed your judgment to be impaired. It happens to all of us in this job."
Lois reached into her pocket for the keys.
She thrust one into the padlock on the closet door and opened it.
She sensed Scardino's surprised reaction to the set-up inside the closet.
"Watch this," Lois said. "I'm sure you'll find it very illuminating."
