Nick Stephenson - Panic

Today’s America was different. In earlier times the country had fought itself free of tyranny and had forged an empire that now spanned the entire globe. Perhaps not an empire in the traditional sense, but an empire of economics and political power that affected the lives of more than seven billion people. Today’s America was weak in comparison, left frail by the disease of corruption that went all the way to the White House. Crippled by the endless greed that had sucked the soul out of this once-great nation. A nation that millions of men had died fighting to protect.

The battle-worn soldier recalled the days when distinguishing between good and evil was a lot simpler. During his combat days, Stark would simply follow orders and trust that his superiors were on the right side. Now, in his civilian life, he found those lines had become blurred, and evil was no longer wearing armor and carrying a rifle, it was dressed in an expensive suit, armed with a bright smile, and carrying a Mont Blanc pen.

Stark made his way back to the entrance hall, pausing as he passed the photograph of the senator and the president shaking hands at the birthday party. Two men, smiling and laughing in the knowledge they were safe and secure, unaware of the people who had suffered and died to protect their way of life.

The tiny earpiece nestled in Stark’s ear canal crackled, and Dolph’s voice came on the line. The colonel listened to the report with growing concern and adjusted his orders accordingly. It wouldn’t be long before Blake and his friends discovered what the senator had done. The next phase of the plan would need to be moved up a little.

Leopold, Mary, and Jerome stood outside the Columbia halls of residence, fumbling with a folded paper map of Manhattan and trying to look like tourists. A heaving crowd pushed past them, largely uninterested. Every now and then the towering bodyguard would catch the attention of the more curious passers-by, but his cold stare ensured they didn’t linger. Most of the people on the streets were dressed in business suits, many carrying briefcases and wearing thin overcoats. Despite the unseasonal warmth, the threat of sudden rain showers kept the summer wardrobes at bay. One particular figure, dressed unusually in a long coat and brimmed hat, passed close by, but kept his eyes down and his hands in his pockets. A few students passed by carrying stacks of heavy text books, chatting animatedly.

Though this was an upmarket part of town, there was still no shortage of hustle and the smell of warm bodies mingled with the whoosh of musty metal-tinged air rising up from the subway. The unseasonal heat and the thick humidity of the city were beginning to feel oppressive, as though there were a constant weight pressing in from all sides, prickling the skin.

Leopold dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief and wished they were indoors taking advantage of the air conditioning.

“Looks like we’ve got our chance,” said Jerome, pointing at the small group of students heading toward the locked doors that led into the halls.

The three of them slipped through the doors as they swung closed and crossed the lobby to the elevators where they rode to the thirteenth floor. The corridors were busy as dozens of students returned to their dorm rooms to grab their books for the afternoon classes before going for lunch. Many were standing in the hallway, curiously eyeing the strangers as they walked down the corridor to room 1340, which nestled at the farthest end of one of the lesser-populated areas.

When they reached the room, Jerome tapped lightly on the door, which opened quickly to reveal the grinning face of a slim, blonde student, her hair hanging casually at shoulder length and her blue eyes framed by expensive-looking glasses. She wore a preppy halter top in navy blue with white polka dots, skinny jeans, and a pair of dark heels. Her expression was paused, as though she had been expecting someone else. With one hand resting on a tilted hip, she looked like a walking J.Crew commercial. Behind her, the girl’s roommate looked up from her bed and shot the trio a quizzical look. She looked and dressed much the same, though was maybe ten or eleven pounds heavier, and didn’t pretend to be pleased to see them.

“Hi,” said the slim blonde. She had aimed the question at Jerome, but her eyes flickered over to Leopold when she didn’t receive a response.

“Hi,” said Leopold, “I wonder if you could help us. We’re looking for Christina Logan. I understand that you girls know her pretty well.”

The slim blonde raised her free hand up to the door frame and looked back at her roommate, who shrugged lazily.

“What’s this about?” she asked, shifting her weight uncomfortably.

Leopold glanced at Mary and flicked his eyes in the direction of the girl. Mary took the hint.

“We’re friends of Christina’s dad,” Mary said softly. “There’s nothing to worry about. We just know that Christina hasn’t been around for a few days, and her dad’s really worried. Would it be okay if we came inside and asked you some questions?”

The girl looked back at her roommate again. “Sure, I guess.”

“Thank you. My name’s Mary,” she held out a hand.

“Isabelle,” said the slim blonde, taking her outstretched palm, “and this is Beth.” Isabelle thumbed toward her roommate.

“It’s nice to meet you,” said Mary, stepping through into the dorm room.

Once the police sergeant had crossed over from the hallway, Jerome and Leopold followed, quietly closing the door behind them. The dorm room itself was of modest size, with two single beds separated by a nightstand. The room had two desks, upon which sat an array of jumbled textbooks, handwritten notes, and stuffed animals. Both girls had laptops flipped open on the beds; Isabelle’s was dimmed and Beth was using hers to check email. Jerome and Leopold stood near the door, not quite sure what to do with themselves, as Mary took a seat on the empty bed and motioned for Isabelle to sit down next to her.

“When’s the last time you remember seeing Christina?” asked Mary.

“Monday, I think,” said Isabelle.

“Okay, think back. What were you girls doing last time you were together?”

“We were at a coffee place around the corner, talking about this week’s study group session and what time we were gonna go over there.”

“And you three were going over there together?” asked the sergeant.

“Yeah. Christina said she’d meet us there around eight-thirty,” said Isabelle. “Then she left and we haven’t seen her since. She said she was going over to meet this guy she’s been seeing.”

“Belle!” Beth slapped the lid of her laptop closed and glared at Isabelle.

Isabelle looked nervously at Mary.

“Fine, tell her,” Beth shrugged, turning back to her computer.

“Don’t tell her dad,” said Isabelle. “He’d kill her. The guy she’s seeing isn’t exactly someone her dad would approve of . He’s not a nice guy.”

“What do you mean?” pressed Mary.

“Well, I never saw it happen, but I’d see Christina with bruises on her arms and legs. She’d say she fell, or that she’d been knocked over during hockey practice, but it never felt right. This guy’s a real piece of work. I’m pretty sure he’s got a record.”

Mary nodded in support. “What’s this guy’s name?”

“Hank. I don’t know his last name. Christina would just vanish for days and then say she was just staying with him at his place off campus. I’ll bet that’s where she is. Just don’t say anything to her dad, please,” said Isabelle.

“Don’t worry,” said Mary, “we’re just trying to find out where she is. We don’t want to get her into any trouble.”