Tales from the P.A.D.

Better Safe than Sorry

There is a certain phrase we here at the P.A.D. are rather fond of: better safe than sorry. When you consistently deal with entities and anomalies with the potential to kill thousands, it makes sense to be cautious. Sometimes what seems to be innocent is actually insidious. It's also not unusual for a sentient anomaly to pose as something ordinary. If we wrongfully treat a normal person as an anomaly, at worst a few people might be hurt. If we wrongfully treat an anomaly as a normal person, well you can imagine how that might go.

In regards to this phrase, there is a landmark case that we have new recruits study during their training that illustrates this very point. The case is controversial, to say the least, and it is still hotly debated amongst our agents. Two or three new recruits often drop out due to this one incident. They don't have the stomach for it. I can't blame them myself. I was there, and my presence afforded me no extra clarity.

When I arrived, the interrogation was already underway. It was a bit of a protocol breach to start an interrogation alone, but it was excusable. I made my way down the dimly lit hallway, nodding at the armed guards as I walked past them. When I finally arrived, the guard outside of the interrogation room checked my I.D. and had me scan my thumbprint to open the door. I entered to find agent Bronson interrogating an elderly white male wearing one of those birthday party cone hats, some red flannel, and some blue jeans.

"Oh, what's this?" asked the man as he leaned over the table. He reached behind Bronson's ear, flicked his wrist, twiddled his fingers, and retrieved a quarter. "You had all this money?" he laughed. "And that's the trick, sir. That's all there is to it."

"Damnit," growled Bronson as he slammed his fists onto the table. "I know you're holding out on me." Bronson grabbed him by the shoulders and violently shook him. "Where does the money come from? What else can you summon? Do you need human ears to do it?" He slapped him hard across the face.

"Woah, woah, woah," I said as I scrambled to restrain the agent. "What's going on?"

"You saw that. This thing just materialized a quarter out of nowhere!"

"Have you — wait. You've never seen anyone do that?"

Bronson answered, "No. You've worked here longer than I have. I've seen some messed up stuff, but nothing this bad."

    "Uh," I said, "you know that what he did is basically Grandpa 101? It's just a magic trick, and it's a basic one at that."

"Please," the old man croaked, "I was just at my grandson's birthday party when this man pulled me aside and brought me here. They're probably worried sick."

"Shut up," spat Bronson. "I have the whole thing on video." He pulled a smartphone out from his pocket and walked over to me. I leaned over his shoulder and watched the video. "See," he explained, "I was taking my kid to a birthday party when this sicko materializes a quarter out of thin air."

The video started with the grandpa using a large knife to cut the first slice of a birthday cake. He set down the knife and bent over and offered the plate to a beaming child, presumably the birthday boy. With his free hand, he reached behind the child's ear and performed the magic trick.

"See?" said Bronson. "Right there, he just rewrote reality to create a quarter."

    "I don't think that's what happened."

    "That's what I said," the grandpa added. "Please, my wife is waiting for me at home. My dinner is probably cold. Just let me go."

    "The only place you're going is a cell, monster." Bronson returned his attention to me. "You didn't see it? Let me show you frame by frame." I played along and leaned in even closer to get a better look at the video. He inched it along frame by frame. In one frame, the old man's hand is behind the child's ear. In the next, he has a quarter.

    "That doesn't prove anything," I said. "You didn't really have a good angle and sleight-of-hand tricks always happen fast."

    "Jesus Christ, you guys just don't get it. This is worse than Las Vegas."

    "Vegas?" I had a pretty good idea of where he was going.

    "Yeah. Chris Angel is clearly a demon."

    "Chris Angel is not a demon."

    The grandpa chimed in with, "I knew it. Fox News said he was a satan worshiper."

    Bronson gave him a death glare. He marched over and stood behind the old man. I just watched him. I wasn't sure what he was planning, and I was still a little confused as to how someone like Bronson had managed to qualify as an agent.

    "So," he said with a maniacal grin. "You wanna talk about Satan?" He grabbed the back of the grandpa's head and slammed it into the desk. He pulled him back up, blood dripping from his nose. "Is that how you get your powers? Huh?"

    I rushed to restrain Bronson before he could do more damage. He tried to shove me, but I managed to get wrist control and put him in an armbar. I had barely restrained him when the guard from outside opened the door. Security had seen everything through the camera in the top left corner of the room. They were fine with him assaulting the old man, but attacking an agent was a different story.

    Sometimes I wonder what I could have done differently. I know deep down that it's not my fault. I doubt I would have been able to stop it had I even been expecting it. Sometimes, I still go back and review the camera footage. We show it in our training courses, so it's always easy to pull up.

    Bronson didn't put up a fight. I let go of him and walked out of the room. I left the door open behind me for the guard to follow. The grandpa seemed to be disoriented from the head-slam, so the guard helped him up. I've looked over the next part frame by frame. In one frame, the old man's hand is behind the guard's ear. In the next, he has the same knife he used to cut the cake. I don't know if he had it hidden up his sleeve from earlier or if he was actually an anomaly. I only know three things.

    One: Bronson no longer works for the Paranormal Anomaly Department.

    Two: Even if the grandpa had any powers, an immunity to lead was not one of them.

    Three: Better safe than sorry.