Chương 45: Habeas Corpus

"My babies," Charlotte whispered into her palms, the words catching in her throat. Steven sat beside her on the steel bench, rubbing her back. She kept her head buried in her hands, tremors racking her shoulders. Across the small cell, Gloria stood with her back pressed against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest as she glared daggers at him.

"You drove them there," she said, her own voice trembling.

"Kenji was at your house for training and a sleepover, and you drove him to a giant spider." From his spot beside his wife, Steven looked from Gloria to Roland. He swallowed the lump in his throat, a tension that had been there since before the day's events.

"They saw the news footage and were convinced they were the only ones who could do anything," Steven said, the words tumbling out.

"I drove them there because they were probably right. Short of the F-16s or whatever JDAMs they keep over at Buckley, they're probably all that could have stopped that thing."

"So let the jets handle it." Roland turned from the door, his tone carrying a hard edge.

"My son's in an ambulance because of your decision to bring them there."

"They were going to go no matter what. They made that much clear. Physically moved me out of the way and told me they'd walk," Steven defended.

"Really?! That's your defense? They may not have gotten there in time!"

"And how was I supposed to physically stop them? Those boys can run faster than we can drive. They can toss us aside like feathers! So tell me, Roland. Tell me how you would have kept them from doing whatever they damn well wanted! At least I was in just as much danger being right there beside them!"

"Congratulations, you're stupid."

"You weren't there, Roland. You didn't see how your son was the loudest voice for them going."

"One of your own children may not survive this because your stray lost his mind and turned on them," Roland pressed. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he stepped closer, narrowing his eyes.

"But the choice wasn't just tonight, was it? This started months ago."

"Roland, stop," Steven warned.

"When you took in a stray you knew absolutely nothing about," Roland continued.

"Found a kid with no history and no family, adopted him, put him in public school, let an unknown sit next to my son in that school. What was it you saved him from? Some religious enclave? Abuse? Did you think to get the kid a psych eval, anything?" And there it was. The exact argument he and Charlotte had been having for months. Jaw clenched, Steven ground his teeth. He had driven the truck tonight, but Charlotte had insisted on the adoption. Begged—no, demanded —they keep the boy.

Insisting that with a loving household, whatever trauma of his past would be erased. He'd known then it was probably stupid, but he'd never expected something like this. At the very least, the kid should have gone to counseling. Hell, his wife needed counseling. This urge of hers to protect was out of control this time, but he'd tried to keep her happy, and now here they were. But that was his bone to pick with his wife, not someone else's.

"I didn't know!" Steven shouted.

"We didn't know, Roland! For ten months, he's never shown a violent urge. He sets the table, helps with housework, and we never saw that thing inside him. Sure, he's a little withdrawn, but everyone's entitled to their space."

"Oh please," Roland scoffed.

"Ignorance isn't a defense. You brought a predator into your house you hoped was a golden retriever. You rolled the dice with your children's lives, and with mine."

"And I guess you knew all along he was trouble, right?" Steven asked.

"Don't act like you knew he was a problem from the start. This whole time, you were blindsided just as much as we were." Mouth hanging open, Roland tripped over whatever he was going to say.

"Fine, we're all just as much to blame. Is that what you want to hear?"

"As long as it gets you off our back."

"Enough!" Charlotte yelled, her fists clenching in her lap.

"Pointing the finger doesn't help anyone get better."

"And yet, our situation hasn't changed," Roland said, gesturing to the locked door.

"Here we are, incarcerated. Ace might not survive, and if he does, he'll never walk again. Kellevra's maimed, and my son's coughing blood in federal custody." Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. As the silence stretched, the accusation hanging in the air, Steven clenched his fists. A knot formed in his stomach as he remembered the metal cuffs the boy had arrived in. Before tonight, he'd assumed them to be tools of abuse, but now that knot grew.

What had a supposed child done to earn those? He'd asked, and the translation app had said he was a slave—slavery in many places was punishment for crimes—the boy was a prisoner. Oh God, what did I let into my house? Looking over at his wife, Steven set his jaw. This was about to get ugly, but it was time for the boy to go. It was Gloria who broke the silence.

"We all misjudged him. A superpowered boy who seemed to have the answers to everything, right? You told us about the timing with selling your house, that wall. Maybe his willingness to help disarmed you a bit," she said, looking at Steven.

"Maybe he is just an abused boy," she added, looking to Charlotte.

"Maybe there's an explanation for all this, but is any explanation good enough for what he's done? I don't think so." Beside him, Charlotte bristled, and Steven wrapped his arm over her shoulders.

"I just wanted to protect him," she whispered.

"He was all alone. There was nobody for him. I couldn't let him go to one of those homes. He'd be bullied, or left out." Nodding to her husband, Gloria walked over to Charlotte and knelt on the concrete floor in front of her.

"Charlotte, honey, that boy is over six feet tall and blows up mountains with his fingers. Who in the world is going to bully him?" Charlotte shrugged.

"I guess nobody would, given that."

"I know you just wanted to help him, but look what that did to your boys, your real boys." Gloria glanced at Steven, who gave a nod and looked away.

"When you get a chance, try going in for some counseling, yeah? If not for yourself or your husband, do it for your boys. You two need to decide what you're going to do, but I don't want him anywhere near my son anymore." With a soft sniffle, Charlotte wiped a hand across her nose and nodded. Announced by the squeak of grinding hinges, the steel lock disengaged, and the door swung open. Agent Cox stepped into the cell holding a stack of papers, the door shutting behind him.

In a rush of motion, Charlotte sprang to her feet, trying to cross the cell before Steven caught her.

"Give us back our children! After what they've gone through, you're out of your mind separating us like this!" Cox stared at Charlotte, his tongue pressing a bulge into his cheek.

"I'm out of my mind," he nodded, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced the cell.

"You harbor multiple individuals with firepower on par with military-grade explosives, let them destroy half of the city, and I'm the one who's out of my mind? Processing's complete," he stopped, holding up the stack.

"With the paperwork for your indefinite detention under the Patriot Act ready for signature, I suggest you sign it. Through cooperation, you might earn a supervised visit with the biological weapons you're harboring."

"Patriot Act, my ass." Steven stepped forward.

"Sit down, Steven," Roland snapped. Her grip tightening on Charlotte's hands, Gloria locked eyes with her.

"I feel the exact same way you do, but that'll only make things worse. Just let Roland handle this one. It's going to be okay. Alright? It'll be okay."

"We refuse to sign," Roland said.

"In fact, you're going to let us use the phone. Now." Cox smirked.

"Phone calls are for police stations, Mr. Tetsuya. You're being held as enemy combatants."

"We're American citizens arrested on US soil," Roland countered.

"Because the 'Enemy Combatant' designation requires a declaration of war or a direct link to a foreign terrorist organization, you lack both. Furthermore, with that fight broadcast on every news channel in the country, the sharks know by now—""Sharks?" Cox interrupted, eyebrow raised.

"Civil rights attorneys," Roland said, a smile pulling at his lips.

"With the personal number of Marcus Thorne on my speed dial, denying my Sixth Amendment right to counsel won't just end with our release. Thorne will file a civil rights suit, strip you of your badge and your pension, and put you in a cell in our place."

"The hospital already has the boys under local police watch," Roland continued.

"By logging their injuries into the state system over an hour ago, the ambulance crew locked that data behind a judge's warrant, and you're holding nothing of the sort. And calling them 'biological weapons' is total nonsense." Roland narrowed his eyes, challenging the agent's stare.

"Since they're American kids, holding them without an order from the Attorney General is kidnapping. Before you even finish your paperwork, a federal judge is gonna throw this case out." Cox stared at Roland, his smirk having long vanished.

"Fine," Cox said, turning toward the door.

"You've got five minutes before we process you for holding."

"Five minutes is all I need," Roland said to the agent's retreating back. Taking the cordless receiver from another agent as the door opened, Roland stood with his back to Steven. After both men left the cell, he made his call.

"We're going to get them out, but we should probably reevaluate our judgment of that boy," Roland said, looking over his shoulder. He murmured badge numbers and statutes into the receiver, while Gloria and Charlotte clung to each other on the bench. Ending the call, Roland set the phone on the table.

"Thorne's filing an emergency Writ of Habeas Corpus with the U. S. District Court," he announced, looking at the security camera in the corner.

"Judge Kincaid's taking the call." With another loud clack, the steel lock disengaged. Returning to the room, Cox wore a tight-jawed expression, his eyes fixed on Roland's.

"Conference Room B," Cox said, stepping aside to clear the doorway.

"The Federal Magistrate's waiting on the secure link."