ISSUE SIX: Truth
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“Alright, Jenny, what do you have for me?”

“First of all, you owe me a whole lot of ice cream when you get back,” Jenny’s voice said from the phone; I had it on loudspeaker, lying on the small table in my motel room, while I was typing away on my laptop. “Whoever wrote that should really invest in calligraphy lessons; many of the names were nearly illegible, and the lighting didn’t help. You need to learn to take better pictures, Tonia.”

“Sorry for not being a professional photographer,” I replied. “Go on.”

“Okay so, I had to have the trio make up a completely new OCR program so they could recognise what was written in that chicken-scratch, and then I had to listen to them argue over and over whether a specific character was an O or an A or whatever. Who invented cursive anyway? Block letters are much better, if you ask me,” Jennifer complained. “And even then, written using a ballpoint? Honestly! Fountain pens are…”

“Jenny, please.”

She paused, seemingly realising she was about to go off on a tangent. “Okay, so. Written on those sheets is a list of names. But I guess you’d already figured it out.”

I nodded, even though Jenny couldn’t see me over the phone. “Yeah, and some of them sounded familiar, though I couldn’t really place them.”

“Would it help if I told you there were nine hundred twenty-seven names on the list?”

I stopped typing.

“Nine hundred and twenty-seven?” I said. “But that number…”

“…Is very close to the people who died in Dallas ten years ago, yes,” my sister continued. “But not quite, right?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Confirmed casualties were nine hundred twenty-eight. Have you--”

“Of course I’ve compared the names of the victims of the Tragedy against that list, sis.” I could almost hear her smirk through the phone. “They match. All except one.”

“And that one is?”

“A man named Ross Kyle. I’ve done some digging, but there’s nothing really unusual about him. I’ve sent what I have over to you, you should be getting it about now.”

My laptop pinged quietly. I opened up the e-mail Jenny had sent me, and started reading through the data aloud.

“Ross Corey Kyle, born August 1st, 1983, in Helena, MT.” My eyebrows rose at seeing a mention of Montana in there. “Unremarkable childhood, except that his parents died when he was eighteen, leaving the family farm to him. Graduated Seattle University School of Law in 2006, then started an apprenticeship at Murdock & Murdock… Is that the one law firm in New York? In the suburbs, near the Association’s headquarters?” I asked.

“It is,” said Jenny.

“I see.” The pieces were starting to fall into place. I kept reading, but there was just one more entry: “Presumed dead March 10th, 2009, in Dallas, TX. Presumed?”

“He was one of those whose body was never found.”

That would make sense, wouldn’t it.

I leaned back in my chair – as much as the rigid wood allowed me to, anyway. I intertwined my fingers together, and started gathering my thoughts.

Yeah, that would make sense. The picture was becoming a bit clearer by now. But why had that list been in a drawer in Claire’s house? That, I couldn’t explain yet. And the name. Ross Corey Kyle. I was sure I’d heard it somewhere before. Recently, even.

“Tonia? You still there?” Jenny asked.

“Yeah, I’m thinking.”

The only place I could’ve heard that name over the past few months had been here in Montana, of course. Probably during an interview. I reached over, picked up my notebook, and started leafing through the pages.

And I found what I was looking for.

I felt dread, deep in the pit of my stomach. There it was. It had been staring at me the whole time. The solution. There it was.

“Jenny?”

“Yeah?”

“Please do me a favour and look up the deed for the property located at… Hang on, I don’t actually know the address.” I opened up Google Maps, looked around for a bit until I found the place I was looking for. “Are coordinates ok? Or do you need an address?” I asked.

“Coordinates are fine, Dio is a whiz at stuff like this. Go ahead,” Jenny replied. I gave her the latitude and longitude, and then waited a bit. I heard Jenny tap on her keyboard and whistle a few notes over the phone.

“Alright, here we are,” said Jenny. “Looks like it’s… A farm, right? Owned by one Claire Rose.”

“That’s the one. Look up the ownership history, please.”

“Let’s see now… It was sold at auction… Nine years ago. The previous owner was…” I heard her pause. “Huh, that’s a weird coincidence. The previous owner was Ross Corey Kyle, the same guy we were talking about before. The farm was put up for auction because he had no known relatives who could inherit.”

“I see,” I said.

Jenny probably heard something in my voice, because she asked, “Tonia? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I replied. “Please pull up the information for the current owner.”

“Hang on.” More tapping, more whistling. “Here we are. I’m sending it over now.”

I opened the latest e-mail I’d received, and once again read aloud.

“Claire Rose. Born March 10th – huh – 1985, in Deer Lodge, MT. Graduated Seattle University with a degree in business administration in 2009, started working in the field, then quit, bought the farm at auction in 2010, and moved in.”

“Seems unremarkable,” said Jenny.

“Thank you, Jenny, I owe you,” I replied.

“Anything else I can help you with?”

“Nothing for now. I’ll call you again if I need some more help.”

“Okay then! See ya,” Jenny said, and hung up.

I sat at the table, staring at the information on the laptop screen but not quite focusing on the words, for a long time.

I had the solution. Most of it, anyway. The question was: what was I going to do with it? Just publish it, and let the public draw their own conclusion? That what I was planning to do when I came to Montana in the first place. But now it didn’t quite seem right. I just…

I sighed. I needed to let every part have their say. Journalistic integrity.

Reaching a conclusion, I pulled up my e-mail client, and drafted a brief, concise message.

To whom it may concern,

I have gathered some information which I think may lead to uncovering

the location of PowerJack, the hero who disappeared ten years ago after

the Tragedy at Dallas.

I am about to confront someone whom I think is involved, and there is

a remote – but real – possibility this may cost me my life.

I have attached the information I have to this message; if you don’t hear

from me in three days, make it public.

Antonia Shaeffer

Attachment: information.zip

I gave the message a once-over and BCC’d it to Jenny and to my editor Emily; after thinking for a few seconds, I added Helen Spencer – Moonshine – to the list of recipients.

I pressed “send”, and sighed. That was that. It was done with.

I looked at my watch. It was time to get dressed; my date with Claire, the replacement for the one that had been cut short a few days before, was scheduled for that night.

Later that afternoon, I drove all the way up the dirt road to Claire’s house. Once again I checked my cellphone when I got there, before getting out of the car, and once again I found that I had no signal. That made me a little nervous, to be honest; considering what I was about to do, it was somewhat scary to be unable to call for help in case I needed to. But then again, I didn’t really think I was actually in any real danger. I’d come to know Claire over the past few months, and I didn’t think she would actually put my life in danger.

Sighing, I got out of the car and walked to the front door of the farmhouse. Claire had probably heard my car approach, but she’d waited until I rang the doorbell before opening the door.

“Hi Tonia!” she cheerfully greeted me. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” I replied, trying to prevent my nerves from showing. I had to play this slow and careful; it wasn’t even six PM, I had the whole night to try and get any information Claire might have out of her.

“I have a few beers in the cooler, do you want one? We could go sit on the back porch, there’s a wonderful view of the mountains from there,” she said.

“Gladly,” I said, and let her lead me there.

She was right. The view was wonderful. Once again, I found myself thinking living in a house in the mountains wouldn’t be that bad. I’d probably buy one myself when I would retire.

We sat there for what seemed a long time, just chatting about stuff, until the sun started to set; then Claire said it was time for dinner, and we moved back into the house.

“I made casserole. Again,” she said, with a laugh. “It’s my speciality, I was really sad you didn’t get to taste it last time. So just sit on the couch, I’ll go warm the oven.”

“Okay,” I replied. Claire turned to walk to the kitchen.

Here it goes. I took a deep breath, mentally activated my powers.

“Who is Ross Kyle?” I asked.

Claire froze. She had her back to me, so I couldn’t see her expression – a mistake on my part, I realised, I’d missed her initial reaction; but when she turned back to me she had an unsteady smile on her lips. A smile which didn’t reach her eyes.

“Who?” she said. “I’ve never heard that name before.

Lie.

“I don’t believe you,” I said.

“Why? It’s the truth. I’ve never about… What’s the name again?”

Lie. “Ross Kyle. Ross Corey Kyle,” I replied. “And please don’t lie to me, Claire. I know when you’re telling the truth. Who is Ross Kyle?”

She looked at me, her smile faltering. “What do you mean? Tonia, what’s this all about? Why are you asking me that?”

“I’m just verifying some information I’ve come across. I’ve managed to piece most of the puzzle together, but I’m still missing something,” I said. “So now, please tell me: who is Ross Kyle?”

“I…” she hesitated. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lie. “Claire, please. I already told you, I will know when you’re lying. Please, just tell me the truth,” I pleaded.

“How could you possibly know that?” she said, almost in a panic.

I took a step forward, put my hands on her shoulders, and stared straight at her, right in the eyes. “Because I’m a Numan. My power is that I can discern truth from lies. I know when someone is lying, Claire, and you were lying just now when you told me you hadn’t heard the name Ross Kyle before.”

She shook my arms off, took a step back towards the middle of the living room, and looked at me, fear in her eyes. “It’s impossible,” she whispered.

“Is it now?” I said, my voice slightly bitter. “You know what Numans are. Some people fly. Some people run very fast. And some people can tell when you’re lying. Why are you surprised?” I paused, then continued: “Here, I’ll prove it to you. Say something I couldn’t possibly know for sure.”

“What?”

“Like,” I went on, “How old your mother was when she had you. Or what your grandmother’s name was. Or what your cat was named when you were young. Stuff like that.”

She stared at me for a few seconds, then said, “My mum was twenty when I was born.”

Lie. “That’s not true,” I said.

“Okay, then she was twenty-seven.”

Lie. I shook my head. “Nope.”

“She was twenty-eight! Twenty-six! Twenty-five!” Claire was almost rambling now.

Lie. Truth. Lie. “There we go. Your mother was twenty-six when she had you.”

Claire stared at me again, horror dawning on her face. She was realising.

“I didn't have a dog, but my cat’s name was Bilbo,” she said.

Truth. “True,” I said, nodding.

Claire’s eyes became even wider. She took a few steps back, and collapsed in the armchair. “...Fuck,” she said. She put her face in her hands, and started sobbing.

I took a step forward. “Claire, I hate to do this, I really do. Because I really like you,” I said. “But I must know. Who is Ross Kyle?

Claire continued sobbing for a few seconds, then managed to force her voice out.

“...PowerJack. Ross Kyle is PowerJack.”

Truth. “Okay. This is just confirmation, I’d already kinda figured it out. So.” I took a deep breath. “What is Ross Kyle to you?”

Claire just kept sobbing.

“Claire, answer me! Who is Ross Kyle to you? Is he your brother? Your cousin?”

“No,” she said, between sobs.

Truth. “Alright, so what? Is he your husband?”

“No!” Claire shouted. Truth. Then she took a deep, shuddering breath, and looked up to me. Her beautiful eyes were full of tears, and her make-up was completely ruined.

“It’s me,” she said. “I am Ross Kyle. I am PowerJack.”

Truth.

To be continued in: HEROES AND VILLAINS

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