Page 98 of No Capes
Here we go.I lift the first folder.
Inside are newspaper clippings about Phil’s campaign, with several lines highlighted in yellow.
Bridges pulls ahead by 50 points.
Bridges captures a crowd of 20,000.
I switch to another folder. This one contains longer articles. In the back, an Opinion Editorial is highlighted, but the quotes don’t glorify Phil.
There’s no denying the power of Bridges’ charisma, but charisma alone is dangerous.
I reach the last article in this folder, headlined, “Super Power.” Bright yellow highlighter smears over almost every line, as if Phil spilled glow-in-the-dark paint over the whole page. I read every word:
In yesterday’s mayoral debate between long-time City Council member Claudia Jane and business-mogul Phil Bridges, Bridges promised the citizens of Capital City “a power that will last.” Bridges pledged to “clean up streets and show justice to those who have wronged.” Phil Bridges wants toconvince us that he can do what our Supers do, that his job will serve Capital City in the same way, and that he is committed to and overqualified for this job. Bridges is dead wrong. Providing justice to Capital City is not about providing a lasting power; justice is providing a lasting peace. A mayoral candidate should not increase the services that our Supers provide; rather, he should decrease the very need for Supers. Capital City deserves a mayor who will commit to a future where Supers are no longer needed.
The implications in the article that the mayor would want to stay in power forever are spot on with tonight’s revelations. The journalist had predicted the future. My breath grows heavy as I search for the byline:Meredith Roberts, Capital Chronicle.
It’s dated five days before she died.
An image of Arielle and my mother arguing comes to mind, neither backing down as they debate Phil’s campaign and my mother’s role in free speech. My mom’s job and Arielle’s engagement can’t have been easy for either of them.
I flip the article over and a torn paper falls from the files. The edges are newly perforated—Phil put it in this folder recently. I take the paper and recognize it quickly. It’s my mom, wearing a flannel shirt and posing in front of a lake. Her arm is around someone who was torn off from the picture: me. It’s the other half of the photo that Raincoat Guy—Gary—had in his wallet on the night I met Dark Static.
Here is my proof that Phil hired Gary to attack me. Maybe to kill me, or maybe to push me and determine if I have powers. Either way, Phil has been watching me for a long time.
I check who wrote the first few articles that were propaganda for Phil’s campaign. Co-authored by Elaine and Jonathan Levine.
Why did Fox’s parents write propaganda for Phil?
A dark feeling crawls under my skin. Under the newspaper articles lay a pile of discs labeled “tapes.” Jackpot. I grab the most recent one.
Written on Arielle’s set of codes is the password for Phil’s computer. I type it in, but receive apassword errormessage. I try it again extra careful that I’ve typed the right code: 8p%lsH5! but receive the pop-up:password error. 5 attempts remaining.
Crap.My ten minutes must have expired, and Phil’s passwords have changed.
Do I need to hear the CDs?Or can I take as many as I can carry and run with them, without listening?
I peer back at stack, which is about eight CDs tall. If I have to do any more fighting, some of them might break. I could take a maximum of two with me—I need to hear what’s on them.
What would Mom do?Whenever she hit a barrier to accessing information, she would submit an access request to the government, then bake a receptionist some muffins to speed up their bureaucracy.
I don’t have time for that. And I don’t know how to bake muffins.
What would Arielle do?Arielle would use brute force.
Maybe I don’t need the password to play the CD.I could try to fit it into the slot, and it might play automatically. Thanks to Dark Static, I know what I’m looking for. The disc whirls as it slides in, and a voice begins.
Holy Aces.I might get away with this.
Phil begins the tape by nasally acknowledging the date, almost a month ago. Then, another voice talks. “Dark Static is doing well.” It’s the voice of Dr. Milligan, from the tape D.S. had played in my bedroom. “People phone me scared and helpless every day.”
“Arielle suspects nothing,” Phil chimes in, “But Madeline is troubling. There’s no way to prove Arielle faked her test. Arielle wouldn’t lie tome,would she?”
“Well, they can be faked,” says Milligan.
The CD cuts out. The conversation ends there, giving just enough information for Phil to prove Dr. Milligan knows about faking Super tests without implicating himself. These tapes are all he needs for leverage over Capital City’s most influential people.
The CD ejects easily, and I dig through the folders for his first recording. How had this all started?
