Slip

The Last Wainwright Escapee

I woke up in the hospital with a bandaged shoulder. It throbbed as I came to. I opened my eyes and found Betsy staring down at me. I smiled half-heartedly and croaked, "Hey."

She grinned back at me, but it didn't reach her gaze. "Hey."

"What's wrong?" I hesitantly sat up. My head ached in protest with the kind of painful heaviness one feels after lying in bed all day. I cradled it with my left hand and, as the pressure in it equalized, I knew I didn't have a concussion. I let out a grateful sigh and refocused on Betsy's hazel eyes.

"I was just worried is all," Betsy responded.

"Is Ashcroft all right?" The words fell out of my mouth in a panicked way.

"Calm down." Betsy placed a firm hand on my shoulder. I took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of sterile plastic tubing and an almost sour scent that I could vaguely connect to the saline being pumped into my veins. Saline had always had a cold iron-like sensation in my nose when I'd received it. "The doc is fine. He rode with you."

"What about Diamond Jack and 13?"

"They're both in custody."

"Did you get Harold's tag?"

Betsy nodded. "We have it under lock and key."

"Do you have any information about it for me?"

"I knew you'd ask, so I confirmed that Dirk made it..." Betsy then admitted uncomfortably, "I had no idea how smart he was."

Betsy's shoulders slumped and she glanced at the floor awkwardly rubbing an arm. I raised an eyebrow. "And that's why you're concerned..." I put the action together with her more than friendly worry. She was scared. "What is it?" I encouraged. Betsy met my gaze and I knew. "He's trying to mask my aura?" I whispered.

Betsy nodded again. "That's what we've pieced together."

"That's why he's been so quiet..." I said more to myself than her, "he wants to sever my aura from other Supers' detection... Isolate it for himself..." Betsy didn't deny any of my inferences. I paused and thought for a moment. If Dirk could be block me, I could maybe resume some semblance of a normal life rather than the almost hermit-like one I'd been leading for fear of encountering someone's secret identity. Did I want him to?

Betsy seemed to know what I was thinking and frowned deeply. I'm not 100% sure what tipped her off, but she folded her arms across her buxom chest and said, "No." I grimaced and waited for her to continue - as I knew she would.- "You know you can't trust him."

"I do," I admitted, "but I also know that I make him feel powerful again, and he'd do anything to keep that sensation to himself even if it meant helping me in some twisted way."

Betsy slumped into a chair by the head of my bed. "As your friend, I accept that it might have benefits, but as a cop I have to remind you that that sort of obsession is incredibly dangerous..."

She had stopped again and I could sense that there was more. I watched her closely, trying to gauge her expression, trying to read the unspoken in her features. I did have some training in psychological cues, so I could tell by the way her hand cupped her head and her body sagged that she was exhausted. However, the way her other hand sat on her leg and her spine remained straight I realized she was feeling fairly confident. "You know where he is... because of the tag?" I asked.

Betsy looked at me a little surprised but nodded hesitantly. "We're close."

"How close?"

Both of us tensed up as an unexpected answer came from the doorway. "This close..."