Defender of Mankind

It had been twenty years since I last stood before my father, I was Alix Gregory then and he was merely my father now as Alix Taft, he is a scientific madman, child abuser, and murderer of innocents. This journey had taken me around the world and back again, but it had given my life purpose. I was not just the quirky bizarre girl anymore, but a woman filled with the gifts and motivation to make the world safer for her children. Beside him, gun to his head was his greatest achievement. I couldn’t control her, I didn’t want to, she had her own agenda, and I felt no remorse for what was to happen.
“So you are the one they call Shadow?” my father spoke calmly.
“I am,” I replied.
“Are you going to let her kill me- isn’t it your duty to protect me?”
“Not this time,” I looked into his eyes. “You’re scared, but you are still full of yourself. You should be begging her for forgiveness and explaining why you chose to discard her as an experiment and not your own flesh and blood.” I paused. Her feelings of anger and pain were overwhelming. “I’m sorry Xavier, but it’s out of my hands.” I looked at my sister. “We’ll be outside.”

***

If one would ask my mother, Giselle, the happenings of exactly when she noticed I was “different” she would tell you it occurred nearly at birth. She would speak of times when I would be crying in my crib and she would be searching the house for my pacifier swearing she’d left it in the kitchen or the living room. She would be searching so hard that she hadn’t noticed I’d stop crying and when she went to check on me I’d be sound asleep, pacifier in mouth. She thought with a new mother’s case of sleep deprivation she had merely forgotten she had placed the pacifier with me in the crib.
Another time when I had nearly reached a year old, she had specifically made me a bottle and placed in the refrigerator to cool. She emerged from the kitchen to find I was a lot hungrier than previously expected. She coddled me a moment or two, and tried her hardest to deflect me from whining by letting me attempt to walk, before placing me in the play pen to retrieve my bottle hoping it had cooled enough. Once at the refrigerator she could not find the bottle, but quickly returned to me to find I’d already eaten a third of it. She’d laugh and say there were moments like that when she just knew she was nuts.
The one day that could best pinpoint being fully ensconced in weirdness occurred when I was five she had decided to take on the monumental task of painting our huge living room. My father, Xavier, spent most of his days at the office making money which, he said more than a thousand times before I turned ten, afforded him the luxury to do whatever he wanted. He apparently never wanted to act as a father nor a husband because he mostly left us alone unless he needed my mother to attend business dinners and anything involving public appearances and family values. My mother was not allowed to have a job, though she did taxes for people in our neighborhood and occasionally helped the older people with financial planning. She was completely paid under the table and with that money she made small yet miraculous improvements to our home. Other than that we were you’re typical upper-class black family living in the suburbs of Philadelphia.
Which brings me back to that fateful day when I was five and she had decided to paint the living room, she didn’t want to ask my father for any help so she decided to start at one end moving furniture as she went. She sat me dead center of the room with paper, coloring books, and crayons. She said I was always happiest creating and she set to work knowing I’d be fine. She was in the process of mixing paints when she heard me say, “Pink,” I paused then as if I were talking to myself I continued, “Pink, pink, pink, pink, pink.” A moment later she heard me say, “Blue,” she the same pause followed by. “Blue, blue, blue, blue, blue.” This time intrigued she turned to watch e go through this verbal thought process just as I said, “Red,” my face eyeing the crayon box a few feet from me on the table. The red crayon slowly rose from the box. “Red, red, red, red, red.” As the crayon moved slowly from the box to me outstretched hand and I colored with it a short time and said, “Purple.”
She watched me finish the picture of the clown before slowly making her way to sit beside me, “Baby,” she reached for coloring book. “I think I’ll color with you for a while instead of painting is that okay?” I smiled at her then reached over and moved the crayon box between us. “Can I use the red crayon?” she asked as I plucked a brown crayon from the table beside me and began to color. “Red,” I spoke as I colored. “Red, red, red, red, red.” It rose from the far side of me to her paper. My mother sat beside me a long moment unable to move before she reached up and took hold of the red crayon.
“Oh my,” she chuckled. “Alix. How long have you been doing that?” I shrugged and continued to color. “Can you do anything else?” I shrugged and colored then closed my eyes. Suddenly the chocolate chip cookie tin from the kitchen appeared on the table before us.
“May I have a cookie?” I asked.
My mother stared at me then slowly nodded.
She never painted the room that day- instead we practiced levitating things and making things appear in one room from another. It was quite a bonding day until my father came home with the news that he was moving us to Philadelphia closer to his job where he could hob knob with his new crowd having been given promotion. After his announcement he changed his clothes he left for dinner with his new boss, my mother’s comment was, “I’m glad I didn’t paint the living room.” Even then I found that funny.

***

My mother taught me over the next few years how important it was to be selective of who I shared gift with, she explained that people may be afraid of me because of it or ask me to do things that are wrong, like steal. She also helped me use my gift without saying a word or even closing my eyes. I learned however I couldn’t just control objects but people.
When I was about ten my father arrived home one evening, as usual he ignored me and went about following around after my mother chatting about this and that, none of which I paid any attention. Instead I busied myself watching TV flicking the channels back and forth with my mind. He was insisting my mother come with him across the square to one of Rittenhouse’s more expensive establishments for dinner with clients. She began to gather her things and call our sitter when my father yelled at me for my continuous channel changing. I immediately thought how funny it would be if he tripped spilling bourbon down his front when suddenly he did, not only getting it on his shirt but in his hair. I tried not to laugh half hoping I had in fact made that happen. He cursed then walked off down the main hall of our apartment. I followed hoping to test my theory I once more envisioned him tripping, this time he ended up face first on the floor. My mother stepped into the hallway at that very moment, we locked eyes, I nodded knowing her unspoken question then ducted into my bedroom. Later that night when my parents returned from dinner she informed me that he had thrown those shoes in the trash.
By the time I was twelve my gift had pretty much reached what I thought to be its limit. I could cause things, even heavy objects to move at will, and other things to appear at will, whether or not I knew exactly where it was located. I could make people say things, move certain ways like puppets. It was as if I had the Force on steroids!
I’d set myself up in the square with a sketch pad and pencils under the pretense I was drawing when in fact I was using unsuspecting strangers as practice to strengthen my skill of being able to penetrate other’s minds. Something I had not fully revealed to my mother, it scared me little and I wasn’t sure she’d approve I had the capabilities and especially of what I was doing to practice it. I only used it in school once, to help my friend get a chance to spend two hours on a bus trip to Washington, D.C. with the boy she liked. He had been expected to sit at the back of the bus with his group of friends when suddenly he sat in the third row next to my friend. I felt very good about being able to do that, she had no idea and he was pleasantly surprised to find she was in fact pretty cool. It was when I got home however that my mother had received my progress report in the mail and discovered I was getting a d in Math. In my haste to explain my side when she decided to turn a deaf ear from my excuses I took over her mind forcing her to give me her full attention.
“I’m just having a heard time…” I explained when I realized the confusion on her face and released her. “Mom.” I watched her. She looked scared then she took a deep breath.
“Exactly how long have you been able to do that?” Once I explained my artistic ventures to the square I waited in silence for a good three minutes before she spoke again. “I can’t even describe how bizarre it was- I could tell someone else was in my head, like a presence, but it had my voice like internal dialog, like it was my thought. It was scary.”
I apologized, “I won’t use it again.” I promised.
“Never say never,” she replied. “There may be a time when you will need to use it. Just don’t be selfish and use it because you want something.”
She always knew what to say.

***

About eight months later I awoke with a very bad headache. My eyes couldn’t focus and I felt dizzy. My mother took me to see a specialist at Children’s Hospital who couldn’t find anything wrong with me. He sent us home with a very strong migraine prescription and directions to see how I felt after a day in bed. The next day I felt even worse so my mother took me back. I had x-rays, C. T. scans, and an MRI. My brain had unusual functions in several normally unused areas but no one could say how or why that would be causing me to have blurred vision or headaches. For one month I stayed in the hospital having test after test. Then one morning I woke up and the headache was gone, I knew it before I even opened my eyes. I could hear my mother and father talking at the foot of the bed about where my father had been and why he had not been there to see his sick daughter. I opened my eyes, I wanted to see his face when he answered, “I have been at the office working with Dave…” Suddenly I could see it, at first I thought my eyes were still acting funny when I realized what I saw was him lying, his blood vessels rushing blood to various places. I couldn’t resist, I willed him to tell the truth. “We’ve been…”he stuttered. “She’s my life. I couldn’t bare it if anything happened it was too overwhelming.” He looked away from both of us. I looked at my mother who frowned at me, “I’m glad you told the truth dad.” I spoke. “I think I’ll be ok now. The headache has stopped.”
My newest ability was the best. Entering high school I used it more often than not to make friends. There were people who did nothing but lie, from what they ate for breakfast to what time they went to bed. My favorite person to talk to was not a liar however, but Seth, he always told the truth. One day I asked him if he had any ability, any “super power” what would it be and why? His response was quick, “To see the future. So I can prevent bad things from happening to good people.”
Until that very moment I’d never thought about what my abilities could do to impact other people besides the petty things one dealt with on a high school level. I had seen both Superman and Spiderman, the wise words my mother rang deep with me was instilled in them- Power = Responsibility and doing what’s best for the greater good. I always thought I’d be an art teacher or artist after high school, but now I wasn’t sure.
In comic books and movies the hero was always working somewhere or with someone who managed to be in the know. Clark Kent worked for a newspaper, Diana Prince, the government, even Daredevil was a lawyer. Or they lived in the streets fighting criminals like the Punisher. It was hard to see how living in one of Philadelphia’s wealthiest neighborhoods with an artist degree was going to get me in touch with those who needed me most.
If only I had developed some “super” strength or speed. I could round up drug dealers and street punks and force them to tell me all their secrets and then mentally help those lead better lives. Who was I kidding? My list of options was short.

***

One afternoon I was making my way across the square going to meet my father for lunch when this woman bumped into me. She looked at me and said, “I’m such a klutz.” Then proceeded to turn and walk away Justas quickly I knew she was lying and I grabbed her shirt.
“No you’re not,” I held fast. “You…” I paused. I could tell by her eyes I’d gotten into her head. “took my wallet.” I pulled her close to me. “You have other, too.” I dug into her arm with my nails. “Hand it over!” I yelled.
She frowned, “let me go!” she yelled back, clearly freaked by the mental intrusion. “Let me go!”
“Not until you give me what you took!”
She became aggressive, then suddenly docile as I took full control, “let me go,” she began rooting through her purse.
“Is there a problem here?” I heard a male vice from behind her; I looked up to see a nicely dressed man.
“She stole my wallet and those of other people,” I replied. “I’m not letting her go.”
“Here,” she emptied her bag; a rain of wallets hit the pavement. “Let me go.”
“Officer!” the well dressed man flagged down a uniformed officer just across the square. “Officer! Arrest this woman!” he beckoned.
I stood holding her arm even though I had her subdued, I thought it would look funny if she just stood idly waiting for the cops to arrest her. I claimed my wallet then watched as a squad car took her away.
“That was quite a hunch,” the well dressed man complimented.
“It was,” I smiled.
“My name’s Samuel Reynolds,” he flashed a badge. “NSA It’s nice to finally meet you Alix.”
I looked at him closely.
“You know I’m not lying.”
I took a step back, “Excuse me?”
“Why don’t we go get something to eat?”
I’m supposed to be meeting my father…”
“That was a set up,” he continued to tell the truth. “Even the pick pocket.”
I took another step back, finding another man standing behind me, “Okay.” I agreed. Damn, no super strength or super speed, or I’d be gone. This would require me to do something I’ve never done; focus on two people at once.
“Listen,” the identified man spoke softly. “You just need…” his mind was easy to get into. I could see in his face the discomfort and bewilderment. I then thought of both men at once, as if they were of one mind. I needed to get away and very much like the instant I made my mother pay me attention I had been emotionally involved enough to make it happen. Within moments both men were more than ten feet from me on their hands and knees, forehead to the ground as if paying homage to Allah facing Mecca. I held them that way until I had left the square. I didn’t think going home was the right thing to do just yet.

***

I found myself at the Art Museum searching the quiet halls for my mother. She had been taking an art class with the Rittenhouse Art Society that actually worked out of the museum itself. I had gone with her once to see the special exhibit they set up for a charity event. Her picture sold for 200 dollars and she had been very proud. I was turning a corner when I caught a glimpse of her, talking quietly with another woman. I waited until they finished then made my presence known, “Mom.”
“Al…Alix?” she frowned. “What?”
“I was confronted in the square by these men who said they were from the N.S.A.,” I began; I could tell she was scared. “You said Dad’s office called and said he wanted to meet me for lunch.”
She looked me straight in the eye, “They did.”
“I’m confused…”
“Alix. We have to get outta here.”
I looked at her a long moment, “Mom?”
She grabbed me by the arm leaving her class; he paints, even her purse behind. We rode in her Mercedes in silence the streets were crowded with July 4th tourists and roads had begun to be blocked off so it took us a little longer to get back to our building. I could tell she was suspicious of something because we parked in an entirely different floor and took the service elevator to our apartment where we entered through the back door.
“Go get some things, anything you think you need. I don’t know how long this will last…”
“Last?” I watched her.
“Alix,” my father called from the dining room. “Giselle?”
I looked at my mother. She was clearly frightened, unsure of how to gain control of the situation which she deemed far more serious than I could have ever imagined. She caught my gaze and stared deeply into my eyes willing me to read her mind, “Get out of hear and run. Go to a house on the corner of 43rd and Market. Go!” She pleaded then reached into her purse. She had a gun.
“Mom…” I whispered. She shot me a look of anger. I turned from her suddenly feeling a sharp pain in the side of my neck as the room instantly began to spin and grow dark.

***

The slight rocking first jarred my senses back into consciousness as my eyes fluttered open to the pitch black room and my body stiffed with anticipation. I attempted to sit up finding my wrists tied behind my back. I moved my legs, free, I let them slide from their perch into the abyss; happy they found a solid floor. I moved forward raising slightly I found the space was definitely taller than I. I sat back down, the rocking was constant, but not strident, yet I could hear no traffic.
“I wouldn’t move much farther,” her mother’s voice came from the darkness.
“Mom?’ I looked toward the direction where her voice had come from. She seemed far, at least 20 feet or more.
“There is nothing in this train car but the two of us,” she added.
“Train?” I tried to loosen my restraints. I focused on my mother entering her mind briefly to learn she too was tied and scared. “I don’t understand. Why is Dad?” I paused. “What is all this about?”
“I was hoping we would be at head quarters when I could sit down and explain, but Xavier and his people through a wrench in that.”
She never called him by his first name he was always Dad or Father, “Xavier? Mom?”
“First off Alix I am not your real mother. My name is not Giselle its Danae Hadwin.” I wished more than anything to see her face. I concentrated hard on her mind as she continued. “I was placed in the N.S.A. nearly 20 years ago when this project was first coming on line. I was given the assignment as surrogate mom to an embryo that was going to change the way warfare was done in this country,” I listened to her intently, delving in and out of her mind as mental pictures of the places and moments she spoke of popped in and out of her mind. “I was then given the assignment of pretending to be your mother and the wife to the scientist and man in charge Xavier Gregory. It was the quote unquote, normal environment. My job was to track you progression and report the info to Xavier. He is your biological father.”
“What exactly did he do to me?”
“Xavier is a pioneer in gene therapy and manipulation. He used his own sperm influencing various genes to enhance areas of the brain he had long believed held the bodies ability to control things through telekinesis,” she paused. “The egg was a donor.” She envisioned laying back on a hospital bed, her legs in the stir-ups, she had not been nervous then. “You were implanted in me. They weren’t sure exactly when your abilities would show themselves and they wanted an agent to explain exactly how she felt.” She had fallen in love with me during the pregnancy. “I volunteered to be the agent who raised you.”
I chuckled, “That’s why you were always so calm during all of this?” I was growing very angry at her. “So they want me to spy? Tell them who’s lying and stuff like that?” I asked, my mind trailing off to what that would exactly entail.
“At first yes, until you went even beyond their expectations the moment you developed the gift to control others. You became better than a human lie detector. You became an assassin.”
“What?”
“Think about how convenient if the leaders of terrorist cells committed suicide or suddenly…”
“Killing Osama doesn’t sound so bad,” I leaned back, my head rocking back and forth with the train.
“Committing genocide to ensure America’s right to use oil or buy weapons. Sure they can have Osama gone but what about those that follow? What about the fact that these people feel justified and right. And it’s not your place to kill then because they disagree…”
“And you’re people? The people you work for… What do they want from me?”
“They want you to open doors and minds to possibilities,” she replied, instantly a picture of a high tech well lit room filled with people wearing black came to her mind.
“Who do you work for the Justice League? Do I get to wear the uniform?” I sighed. “I…”
“Alix.”
“Mom…De…De…”
“Denae.”
“Denae. Who do you work for?”
She instantly had that room back in her mind, followed by a tall man about her age sitting behind a desk, “I work for an organization called Sahale, its run by a current agent of the CIA, named Julian Taft. He has known Xavier since childhood. He naturally comes by the exact abilities you have, as does his son. Your father knew this and dreamed of harnessing it since he was very young. Xavier has a good heart, but he knew he could get it funded by the government faster than with public money.” She paused. “We have to figure out how to get out f here before we reach Roswell.”
“Roswell? As in New Mexico?”
“Yes,” the entire operation is based there.”
I again attempted to stand up, “Do you think…?” I began to speak as I slowly made my way toward her voice. “We can untie…” I stopped; a picture had just popped inside my head, one I couldn’t quite explain. “Denae?” I began when the train gave a sudden jolt sending me face first onto the floor. The train screeched and suddenly I was tossed from the floor to the ceiling. “Mom!” I yelled.
“Alix!” she screamed, as the train rolled us over and over before coming to a sudden stop.

***

It was almost as dark outside the train as inside, but we managed, both of us still tied, to push ourselves along the side of the train, tripping over rail ties and debris, until we could duck into the brush and head away from the road but towards the lights of a nearby town. I was so unfocused with pain and all the information I had just learned I couldn’t concentrate on anyone other than Denae. She had quickly formed a plan as we moved something about finding a phone booth and a red pick up truck. I still couldn’t figure out how we were going to call anyone or steal a car with our hands tied behind our backs. She led us down back alleys away from EMT lights and townspeople who were pouring from their beds and into their cars on their way to the scene of the crash that had rocked them from their small town slumber. We rounded a corner to find a payphone across the street in a well lit area. I got the vision that Deane was searching the street for a pick up truck as well as a man with brown hair who would be our contact. She crossed over the street, me tight on her heels to find the phone booth was out of order, and the receiver was actually missing. She pushed me back into the darkness of a storefront and leaned against the glass. I continued to intermittently get the odd picture of darkness accompanied by the intense feeing of safety. I shook it off as a police car went barreling down the street, lights and siren in use. I backed up further into the darkness as I followed down the street fearful it would screech to a halt and come get us. Yet I wasn’t exactly sure we had done something wrong. Denae stood up straight, “Here we go.” She moved forward, as a red pick up truck, its lights off pulled up in front of the pay phone. We hastened our way as the driver met us half way. The brown haired man immediately began helping Denae from her binding then moved onto me while she opened the passenger side door and removed a larger flannel top and a baseball cap, “Put this on.” She instructed me as she began putting on a jean jacket and cowboy hat. “Get in.”
I did as I was told, snuggled between them I was hesitant to relax but my body was giving up on me, everything ached.
“Are you okay Denae?” he asked.
“I…” she inhaled as we drove. “I think so.”
I frowned, concentrating on our driver. He was taking us to a farm, there we were to get on a helicopter, then fly south to New York City, “I’m sorry, but where are we?”
“Just north of Syracuse,” he replied.
“Syracuse?” Denae sounded panicked. “They weren’t taking us to Roswell?”
“A lot has been uncovered since they tried to take Alix yesterday,” he admitted. “Julian will debrief you when we arrive.”

***

My body ached to the point I was afraid to move but I forced myself to sit up in the bed. I had been given a generous living space in the house we had been taken to on Manhattan’s upper west side. I was also given clothes to sleep in and a long hat shower. It was so surreal. I looked at the clock on the bedside table. Twelve hours ago I was crossing Rittenhouse Square on my way to meet my father, Xavier, mad scientist. I chuckled at the thought. I was just your average seventeen year old high school senior with the uncanny ability to control people by just thinking about it. I was at most “special”, but now I’m hunted and hiding out in the Big Apple with my fake mother and her renegade friends, known as Sahale.
“This is crazy,” I stood up, even my feet hurt. I moved over to the dresser looking myself over, I had a larger bruise on my forehead above my left eye and as if I had to be balanced, a big cut on the lower right side of my chin that was held together with a monster butterfly bandage. “This sucks.” I removed my t-shirt, staring at the various bruises covering my upper body, starting with the cuts embedded in my wrists from the binding.
I began getting dressed in the clothes someone had so nicely laid out on the chair; everything was so nicely neat and furnished. I sat on the side of bed, trying to focus on Denae, again getting the picture of darkness and the overwhelming feeling of being safe. I tried again, but instead found someone in my head, his voice deep yet kind; he introduced himself as Julian Taft. He then instructed me that breakfast was waiting in the kitchen as was everyone else.
I found my way easily from the bedroom to the kitchen it was merely down the hall. Denae was sitting at the table laptop before her and a large glass of orange juice, “Good afternoon Alix.”
“Alix,” the brown haired name from the night before pulled out a chair for me.
“Hi,” I sat down, he then placed a large plate filled with eggs toast and sausage before me.
“Eat up,” he moved towards the coffee pot. “Coffee?”
“She hates coffee,” the deep male voice spoke from behind me. “Give her tea instead.” He instructed as he entered the room and stood before me. “Alix.” He put out a hand. “I’m Julian Taft.”
I was scared to actually make eye contact with him, “Hi.” I looked up into familiar gray eyes. I blinked. “Have I met you before?” I asked. He smiled, that too was familiar. “You look like…”
“My son- or should we say my son looks like me,” he moved back, blushing almost.
“Seth?” I looked at Denae.
“Yes,” he replied. “Only you knew his last name as something different. He’s on his way here from Penn Station as we speak.” He added. “I should think you would be happy about that.”
I sat back putting down my fork, my curiosity had just over ridden my hunger, “What’s this latest information?”
Julian smirked, “I like you Alix- you managed to have many of Xavier’s likable qualities. I think you know Denae is not your mother. And you know that your father wants to use you as a spy. Would you have wanted to do it?”
I sat there conflicted; I could do so much right with this, but at what price to my own morals, “I don’t think I could make someone kill someone else or themselves. I not without good reason.”
“They were planning on holding something over your head. Something you could’ve never said no to,” he replied, suddenly that dark place with the warm feelings popped back into my head, this time I heard a sound. “Denae…” he paused.
I looked at her she was staring at me, this time when I entered her mind I saw her again laying on the bed feet in the stir ups, looking very much like she looked now, “You’re pregnant?” I moved the chair back. “So I have been seeing what’s in the baby’s mind?”
Julian nodded, “We managed to stop Xavier, but he’ll do it again. He’ll find some other agent, or some other government means.” He paused. “Alix. Seth was working for us. We have people in every government agency in the United States. Our goal is to use my abilities, Seth’s and hopefully you’re to thwart things we uncover to cause the least amount of death.”
Denae motioned for me to come look at the computer screen, “We have helped thousands of people so far. I know you know we’re no lying Alix. We just want to stop bad things from happening to good people. We will always watch Xavier. We will always know what he’s up to, but until he makes another move.” She turned the laptop before me. “We will use our gifts and resources to stop atrocities like genocide and suicide bombings.”
I stared at the screen where they had been visually monitoring my father still in the small town outside of Syracuse, “He’s looking for us?”
“Long and hard,” Julian said.
I stared at my father’s digitally distorted image, and entered his mind. He was furious and scared; if he couldn’t find us they would possibly pull the plug on his whole operation. I became hopeful it couldn’t be that simple. I lingered there longer then began to withdrawal when he became filled with joy. He had another baby, this one was hidden from the government and this one would hopefully have the ability to make itself disappear and reappear other places, as well as foreign objects, “Oh my God,” I mumbled.
“I know,” Julian stood beside me. “We don’t think he actually knows where this child is. Sort of a safe guard from you so to speak. We think he knew you’d probe his mind to learn where Denae was as well. But we gather he has hired people through his years at the NSA to help him.”
“Are you willing to learn how to better train yourself to use your abilities? To help us in our cause as well as find this sibling, and train the one Denae has growing inside her?” Julian asked.
I sat there a moment, staring at my father on the computer screen; he was yelling at one of the agents, they had discovered the red pick up truck and the telltale signs of a helicopter in the field behind the barn and an old farm. He was insane with anger.
“I’ll do it."