“This is Chuck O’Connell, reporting live from outside the apartment of philanthropist Grace Pickering, whom you might remember as the woman who helped Justice locate and capture the notorious supervillain Alkaline, who last night escaped from Xavier Maximum Security prison. In just moments this brave woman is scheduled to make a statement regarding last night’s events.”
The doorman opens the door, and all the reporters snap to attention, shouting questions one over another so not a single word is decipherable. Flash bulbs pop in tandem with the voices. Grace walks out with her pointed chin held high. She’s thinner than I remember, almost skeletal in her black trousers and pink cardigan. Her long golden hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail. She’s pale almost to the point of sickness with hollowed out cheeks. Her wide cornflower blue eyes appear sunken in. Concentration camp survivors looked healthier, though not as stylish.
She approaches the reporters, and if she’s nervous it doesn’t show. She raises a hand to stop the onslaught and within seconds the pack settles down. “I would like to make a statement,” she says in a polished voice. “To the families of those who lost their lives last night, I want to give you my heartfelt condolences. You are in my thoughts and prayers from this day forward. I know what it is to lose a loved one. The only comfort I can give you is that with time, the pain fades. But I am sorry to say it does not vanish.”
Her fiancée Chad Caldwell was murdered by Alkaline when he kidnapped Grace. I knew Chad a little, just in passing at parties. Nice, but a tad boring. I went with Justin to his funeral. They were in the same frat in college. He actually introduced the couple.
“I would also like to speak to the people responsible for allowing this to happen.” Grace looks directly at the cameras, eyes and jaw set with fury. “To Warden Myers, Commissioner Craven, and Mayor Miracle I have three words for you: shame on you. You promised us multiple times that this very event could not happen. That every possible safeguard was in place. You promised that the reign of supervillains terrorizing our city was coming to an end. And yet, the incidents have gone up. It is your job to keep your citizens safe. You have failed in every conceivable way. So, shame on you. I am calling for your resignations at once, and I can only hope that other conscientious citizens do the same. This must stop, and if you cannot do it, then we will find someone who can.
“And finally, to James Ryder, the monster who calls himself Alkaline. Please. Whatever you are planning, whatever you think you must do, please don’t. Give yourself up. If there is even a spark of humanity left inside of you, let this end. If not for my sake, then for yours. Thank you.”
She turns around and the reporters shout more questions, but she ignores them, retreating into her building. Short, effective, and to the point. Wouldn’t expect anything less from her. I shut off the tape.
Well, that put my conference to shame. Maybe they should have her give the updates, not me. For someone who shuns the press, she sure does know how to work them. The Mayor and Commissioner must be shitting bricks because if Grace Pickering wants them gone, they better have their U-hauls at the curb.
The woman on that tape sure as shit wasn’t the Grace I knew. The Grace I have known since I was twelve giggled and went to the salon religiously. She never raised her voice or acted as if the world wasn’t as sweet as a bowl of marshmallows. Ryder killed that part of her, and she can never get it back. He may not have killed her body, but he sure as hell killed her soul.
CHAPTER FIVE
GRACE
After dropping Conover off at the station to start typing up what will end up being a novel-sized report of today’s investigation, I swing by the upper-scale downtown neighborhood of Parkscale where Grace Pickering lives. A few news vans remain outside the gothic apartment building, lying in wait. I seriously doubt Grace or Ryder will appear outside, but if they did it would be a great story. Better safe than sorry, I guess.
Our patrol car stands guard right at the front entrance with another down the block. The doorman is on guard, his eyes moving from side to side as if he’s reading. Scanning for potential threats. Grace’s last line of defense against the acid spewing psycho killer.
The press spots me as I get out of my car. They’re on me with their microphones and tape recorders as I walk toward the door.
“Are you here to interview Grace?”
“How do you respond to her request?”
“Are you any closer to finding Alkaline?”
The doorman opens the door for me, then blocks the annoying horde after I pass. “Please leave,” he says before shutting the door.