Arc Angel (10 page)

Miranda James, the shut-in, hadn’t been in her apartment last night.

Determined to be as thorough as always, Kate read the list of occupants again, slower this time. She smiled when she came to Ms. Jeannie Dobrusky, but frowned when she got to the last name on the list. What had Gavin Brooks, reporter for WIMT, been doing in Miranda’s apartment building?

Kate flipped the pages until she found Gavin’s brief statement. He and his cameraman, Hank, had been in the building to interview Miranda James when the system had gone haywire, and they’d been locked in.

Kate read further: Ms. James’ apartment door had been damaged because the men had thought they’d heard the occupant calling for help and had broken in to try to assist her. But when they’d gotten in, they hadn’t found anyone. The reporter stated that they must have heard someone else’s voice through the ductwork and mistaken it for Miranda’s.

Suddenly this non-incident looked an awful lot like something much more serious. Kate knew with every fiber of her being that Miranda James would rather have chewed off her own foot than done an interview with anyone. So what had actually happened in that supposedly empty apartment? Kate set the file aside and turned back to her computer.

First things first: e-mail Miranda James to check on her safety and well being. Kate doubted that the woman would agree to come back down to the station to discuss last night’s “non-incident,” but she had to try. And if Miranda didn’t trust her enough to want to talk… Well, there was more than one way to skin a cat. She had a little free time this morning. Maybe she’d spend some of it researching a certain news reporter.

***

She was awake.

Miranda had slept soundly from the minute he’d put her to bed in one of the guest rooms. Bryce couldn’t say the same thing about himself. The pain in his chest often woke him anyway, but he knew last night’s lack of sleep could be traced directly to his unexpected guest. When the clock clicked 7 a.m., he’d finally given up and gotten up.

And he’d spent the rest of the morning making excuses to go upstairs. He desperately wanted to learn more about the young woman. How had it felt when the lightning struck her? Why did she think she’d been chosen for this strange experience? And the million dollar question: what exactly were the mechanisms involved in the zapping? But he also wanted to know why she’d returned to his house. Considering the state she’d been in when she left it yesterday, something pretty bad must have happened to drive her back here.

Bryce and Matthews had spent several hours the previous afternoon tracking down every scrap of information they could find about Miranda James. Unfortunately, those scraps contained almost nothing useful. He’d learned a little more about her family background, had found her complete rental history here in Elder’s Grove, and knew she’d seen a Doctor French once, about a year ago, though he didn’t know why. Matthews was good, but even he wasn’t that good.

But most importantly, he couldn’t find any concrete connection between Miranda James and Arc Angel, or Bryce Campion. He still had no idea why anyone had become his character, or why that anyone was Miranda. Apparently, he’d only get those answers by talking to his guest.

So he kept walking past her room, glancing at her sleeping figure through the few inches between the door and frame. He had ready-made excuses in case she woke up and saw him: finding a clean shirt for her to borrow, grabbing a book he’d left upstairs, etc. Weak, sure, but true. Of course the real reason he kept coming upstairs was that he wanted to be there when she woke up. He didn’t want to waste a minute in his quest for answers.

She yawned, and the small sound brought him hurriedly to her room, shirt of excuse clutched in his hand. He tapped at the door before slowly pushing it open.

“Good morning.”

Her sleep-filled eyes popped open at the sound of his voice, and she pulled the covers up to her chin, even though she was fully clothed.

He froze mid-stride and held up his hands. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me. Bryce. You’re in one of my guest rooms. You showed up at my house last night, remember?”

Miranda nodded, but her eyes stayed wide and fearful.

It used to be that women he surprised in the morning wanted him to come back to bed, not get out of the room.

Bryce shook off the bitter thought and tried again. “How are you feeling? You were pretty wiped out last night.”

“I’m… okay.”

He waited for her to continue, but she went silent again, staring up at him with those big deer-in-the-headlights eyes. Apparently it was still not the time for questions. Fine. He was a mature adult. He could understand the need for privacy and could curb his impatience. For now. But before too much longer, he and Ms. James were going to have a nice long chat.

“The bathroom’s through that door. I keep it stocked with the usual amenities, so feel free to use whatever you need. And here’s a clean t-shirt if you want to change.”

He dropped the blue t-shirt onto the room’s small escritoire.

“When you’re ready, why don’t you come down and have some breakfast with me. Stairs are down the hall and to the left, or the elevator is off to your right. Kitchen is in the back right corner of the house. Holler if you get lost.”

He backed out of the room, closing the door with a click. The temptation to linger in the hallway, to see how long it would take her to get up and moving, hung over him, but he decided not to pry further. At least not until she was safely ensconced in his kitchen.

He didn’t have long to wait this time. Miranda made it down to the kitchen in less than 15 minutes. Of course she didn’t have any of the girlie accoutrements that often delayed women in the morning. In fact, other than her wet hair, freshly scrubbed skin and the hint of blue cotton at the neck of her sweatshirt, she looked exactly as she had last night. He studied her face as she lingered in the doorway. Okay, not exactly like last night. She didn’t look like she might collapse any minute. But she did look like she wanted to bolt.

Was it him?

Despite his bravado with Matthews yesterday, Bryce was well aware of how resistible his diminished charms truly were. So maybe something about him personally made Miranda keep her distance. Was she not comfortable with him? Did she not like him? People used to like him.

He wanted to interrogate her until he’d identified the problem, so he could fix it and they could move on. He really wanted to move on…

Alright, Campion, do NOT push this girl, or she’ll fly right out of here again. Put her at ease.

“Have a seat,” he said, waving a hand toward the tall stools at the breakfast bar near the bay window. “Matthews made oatmeal this morning. Would you like me to heat some up for you? We also have some fresh fruit. Or I could make you a smoothie.” He gestured to the items spread on the counter in front of him.

Miranda drifted over to the stools and perched on one. “Whatever is fine,” she answered, looking not at him but through the window at the wide green lawn.

“Oatmeal it is. Would you like some coffee?”

That got her attention, though he lost it a second later when he added, “Decaf only, I’m afraid.” She shrugged and turned back to the window.

“It’s unfair, isn’t it?”

She looked at him. Or, more accurately, at his hair. Still, progress.

“All this healthy stuff? Sadly, it’s all I’ve got. Matthews does all the real cooking, and he’s a complete Nazi about junk food. I can’t remember the last time I had potato chips.”

A smile flitted across Miranda’s lips so swiftly that if he hadn’t been watching her closely he’d have missed it.

“I’ll add some extra brown sugar to your oatmeal. I always think that makes it much more palatable.”

He put one of the ramekins of oatmeal Matthews had made into the oven, and set the timer. Then he poured two mugs of decaf and carried them over to the window. He really should sit down, but he didn’t think Miranda would be comfortable with him that close. So he stood a few steps back from the breakfast bar and sipped his coffee, one shoulder braced against the wall.

He needed to fix things between them so they could move on.

“Miranda, I want to apologize for yesterday.”

She set her mug down so fast the hot coffee splashed over the edge and onto the granite, but she didn’t look at him.

“I know I rushed you. This whole Arc Angel thing just happened to you, and you’re probably not used to it yet. I should have been more sensitive to that. I’m sorry.”

He wondered if she’d actually respond this time. Based on her previous reactions, he decided not to hold his breath.

“I want to help you. You know that, right? I want to help you figure out what happened to you and why.”

All of which was true, if not that simply altruistic.

“Will you let me? Will you let me help you?”

He held out a hand to her, pretty sure she wouldn’t take it, but needing to close the gap between them somehow. Miranda tucked her hands into her hoodie pockets. Great. The legendary Campion charm had apparently deserted him completely in his time of need. He started to lower his hand.

She nodded.

She nodded!

“Miranda?”

Her eyes finally met his. The eye contact alone surprised him, but then he saw the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. Oh god. His breath disappeared, like someone had sucker punched him. Guilt oozed out of his every pore. He tried to regain his equilibrium.

You’re not doing anything wrong. You said you wanted to help her figure out what happened, and you will. It doesn’t matter that you’re doing it for you, more than for her. She’ll still benefit from it. It’s still a good thing. Stop feeling bad about it!

He hadn’t managed to convince himself, but the stakes were too high for him to let the lingering mild queasiness in his stomach derail him.

He sank onto the stool next to Miranda, hoping that now they’d crossed the first hurdle she’d be okay with having him in closer proximity. She pulled back slightly, but didn’t get up and run away, which he decided to take as a victory.

But the war was far from won. He needed to gain her confidence fully in order to figure out the full extent of her transformation. Until he knew the strength of her abilities, he wouldn’t know if she could help him. So he’d start small.

“You surprised me, turning up here last night.”

The wariness returned to her eyes, but at least she didn’t look away. Maybe if he focused on the details, she’d relax and be willing to volunteer more information.

“Did you take another cab? I didn’t see one.”

“I ra— er, walked here.”

“From your apartment? That’s quite a long walk. It must be at least 15 miles from Jackson Avenue to here.”

The wariness in her eyes turned to outright suspicion.

“H-how did you know where I live?”

Because I’ve spent several hours researching every detail of your life?

“Uh, from the news story, remember? It said the incident happened outside an apartment building on Jackson Avenue, and you were on your way home.”

“Oh yeah.”

“So you walked here?”

She paused for a moment. “I don’t drive.”

He nodded. “Neither do I.”

Nice one, Bryce. You want her asking you about that nugget of information?

“How did you manage to get to the house?” he asked quickly. “The guard didn’t call, and there’s no other way to get through the gate.”

Miranda pulled one of her hands from her pocket and held it up as if greeting him. He stared at her blankly. She kept her hand raised, and he finally noticed the thin sheen of blue electricity crackling over the surface of her skin.

“The guard…?” he blurted out before he realized what his words implied.

A look of hurt appeared in her eyes but disappeared almost as soon as it had arrived. She shook her head and said, “The gate. I w-waited for the guard to go on his rounds.”

Holy crap, she really did have super powers! He’d believed her yesterday, but actually seeing the power… He stared at her hand, mesmerized by how the power flowed around her without harming her.

“What exactly did you do to the gate, to get it to open?” He wished he had a notebook or a tape recorder. He knew better than to wish for a video camera.

“It’s electrical. I just… opened it.”

“But what did you… Okay, you opened the gate.” Bryce forced himself not to push, even though he desperately wanted details as to how exactly her power worked. “So the gate’s broken now?”

“Of course not. I closed it.”

“With your…” He pointed to the hand she’d returned to her lap.

She nodded.

The utter wonder of the situation hit him again, and he couldn’t help but babble a bit.

“Wow. That’s just… that’s just amazing. That you can do that. It’s so… cool!”

Another quick smile played around her lips and disappeared.

Despite the delight that still bubbled within him, he hungered for more information. Miranda looked as happy as he’d ever seen her. Well, not happy, but calm. Now was his chance. Pressing his excitement down, he deliberately softened his tone and his facial expression.

“So we’ve determined
how
you got here last night. Now do you think you’re ready to tell me
why
you came?”

He expected her usual response: silence. Instead, though she spoke to her coffee mug, not him, she whispered, “I didn’t know where else to go.”

The statement rang with truth. Bryce’s research discovered that Miranda didn’t have any close friends, at least not in the real world. She had a few people she chatted with online on a semi-regular basis, but none of them seemed to be in her physical reality. Which he didn’t quite understand. From everything he’d learned about her online persona, she was bright, witty and had a wonderfully dry sense of humor. He remembered the way she’d described the latest Apple hardware as being named for the wrong kind of fruit—not yellow and sour enough—and smiled.

But then it hit him.

“Why did you need to go anywhere? Did something happen at your apartment?”