Project Vigilante

Three

Malone examined me behind his oval shaped glasses specs. I abruptly looked up, shell shocked and dazed at the same time.

“No…”

That was all I managed to say before tears poured out of my eyes. I covered my mouth with my hands and closed my eyes in agony. This can’t be real.

Malone gently reached over and held my free hand, “It’s okay. I understand how shocking this must be for you.”

I wiped away my tears, “It’s just…I never dreamt that- nobody’s ever told me-”

“I know.”

He let me cry for a little while longer, before taking back the picture and putting away the envelope. The door slid open and in came another man, redheaded and powerfully built, bringing my coffee. Detective Malone let go of my hand as the man put down the cup in front of me.

I composed myself and took a sip of the hot coffee, holding the cup with both hands, warming myself up with the heat.

“You need some sugar with that?” he asked.

“No.” I said, “So what happens now? What do I do?”

Malone shrugged in a nonchalant manner, “Well, I guess we’ll escort you back to school after asking your some questions.”

I looked up in alert, “Questions?”

“Well yes,” he cracked what he must’ve believed an understanding smile, “now that we established your relationship with Electro Raven, we have to keep you protected.”

“Protected how?”

            “Well, for starters, we need to move you to a more secure place than a local police station.”

            As if on cue, his colleagues swarmed over. The redheaded man opened the door. Malone remained seated and continued. “Come on, Miss Rynn, we have a car waiting outside.”

            I glanced around me, “Where exactly are we going?”

            Malone casted a look at his colleagues before reaching into his inner blazer pocket, “We’re the FBIs, Miss Rynn. We were in charge of the Arlington case in ’46, and we’re taking you to our field office.”

            He slapped his ID on the table. And I recognized the blue-yellow shield and the three unmistakable letters. Underneath his picture read, “Special Agent Terry J. Malone.”

            “You’re an FBI?”

            “Yes,” Malone flashed another smile, “You’re in good hands now.”

            I scanned across the room, hoping someone to jump out and yell “Surprised!” and tell me it was all a joke. But the room was intensely still. Everyone was waiting for me to comply. This was the real deal. These people meant business.

            I swallowed hard, “Okay, ok. I see, well-”

            I flung the coffee mug at Malone. The hot liquid poured out of the mug and splattered all over his face. The mug dropped on the floor, shattered in half. Malone yelled out in pain and stumbled backwards. His colleagues, stupefied by the turn of event, rushed over to contain me. I threw my best right cross at one of them, numbing my fist and hearing his jaw break, and power kicked another in the chin as he flew backwards, crashing a chair and crumbling to the floor. Stunned by my own action, I looked up and saw the amazement on the men’s faces. But the hesitation only lasted a second, before I leapt over the body of the men on the floor and bolted for the door. I elbowed the redheaded man on the stomach and dashed out of the room.

            If they thought shoving a picture to my face was enough to sell their story, they better rethink their strategy. Had they really read through my file, they would’ve known that I was a black belt in Taekwondo and my mom was not a real estate agent, but a local gymnastic coach. From the moment Malone showed me the picture, I knew it was all a setup: it was dated to 1951, I was two by then and not an infant. How they managed to doctor the blanket into the picture I didn’t know, I only knew that Malone and his colleagues were not who they claimed to be. It only took me a second to put it all together.

            I ran through the crowded hallway, pushing aside everyone in my way and headed straight for the entrance. I heard someone shouting my name but I didn’t stop, nor did I turn and look. The only thing I could think about was to get out and leave them behind. I won’t let them sweet-talk me into a trap. Not again.

            I slammed open the front door and stumbled outside. The crimson sunset illuminated the parking lot as I bounded down the stairs. Spotting a van pulling up from the parking lot, I waved at it to stop. Behind me, my persuaders were quickly catching up.

            “Don’t move or I’ll shoot!”

            I froze and looked behind me. Malone, with coffee still dripping from his face, pointed his gun straight at me. His hair disheveled, and the muscles on his face tightened. Through my peripheral version, I saw the van getting closer. Slowly, I raised my hands, gesturing to surrender. Just a few more seconds and I’ll be free.

            Malone’s colleagues joined him, it satisfied me to see all of them were a little more cautious then before. Perhaps they realized I was not the damsel in distress like they expected. The van pulled up behind me. I steadied myself and prepared to hijack the driver.

            Unexpectedly, Malone lowered his weapon. Before I could figure out what happened, a pair of hands aggressively grabbed me from behind and pulled me into the van through the backdoors. I screamed and tried to resist, but my assaulter was too strong.

            What happened next was a chain of events that happened in a blur. As I struggled feebly to break free from a man whom I’m by sure know must’ve worked for Malone, the agent himself walked up to me and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. I wriggled and fought, but I was no match for the man subduing me. I tried all tactics, and even resorted to biting, but it was someone else that put a stop to the chaos.

            “Let her go!”

            I didn’t recognize the voice, but it was powerful enough to catch everyone’s attention.

            I turned my head and saw an incredulous sight: the driver of the vehicle was twisted into a hold. Holding the chain to a pair of handcuffs to his throat was a guy around my age. Though he had a square-jawed face and a muscular physique, his sandy brown hair gave away a boyish appearance.

That was when I realized I wasn’t the only one in the car.