pads and books strewn all over her desk. Cardboard and white, the package bore no markings except for her name, which had been scrawled in thick black ink across the center of the top.
Caroline’s first thought was to call for a bomb squad. After her experience on the shuttle, her nerves prickled, filling her with edgy agitation. The appearance of the strange package seemed another ominous portent in a day filled with threats gathering like storm clouds.
She stood frozen in the doorway of her office for another few seconds before forcing herself to exhale. She ordered herself to chill out.
It was just a package. It wasn’t ticking. Audibly, anyway.
Sitting down at her desk, Caroline lifted up the box. Someone, probably her assistant, had already created a long slit along one side so she could easily open it.
She eased the contents of the package onto her desk. Pictures and letters. Loosely shoved into the package, they looked as if someone had printed them out then hastily sent them to her.
A short cover letter from the Plaintiffs’ Steering Committee’s webmaster informed her that these materials had been sent to the Committee’s public e-mail address in the last eight hours in response to a posting on the victims’ Listserv and Facebook page. Seeing Caroline’s name at the top of each letter, the webmaster had printed out and messengered the materials to her so she could “learn a little bit about the real people this case affects.” The webmaster reported that many of the letters followed a similar script. They urged her “to spend some time getting to know the victims and their families.”
Caroline’s eyes widened. Strangers were writing to her? About SuperSoy?
She picked up the top photograph. A picture of a child wearing a reindeer hat smiled back at her. The little boy’s feet were tucked into red-and-green socks with little antlers sticking up from the tops.
Reflexively, Caroline smiled at the sweet image. Clipped to it was a short letter.
Ms. Auden,
Jasper Wilkens says you’re helping us. I just wanted to thank you and tell you who I am. This is my son, Henry. He’s three. This picture was from last Christmas. He doesn’t look like this anymore. He’s currently at Children’s Hospital. He’s stable at the moment, thank God, but his right kidney had been failing, so we went to the hospital. The medication seems to be helping him for now. I just wanted you to know how much it means to me that you’re out there fighting for us.
God bless you.
Aubrey O’Malley
Fascinated and appalled, she flipped to the next picture. This time, twin infants lay in matching hospital gowns, awaiting treatment. The accompanying letter told Caroline to “nail the bastards to the wall.” Filled with vitriol and fury masking what Caroline knew had to be abject terror for the health of his children, this father had poured his desperation into the letter.
Caroline put the letter aside. It was too hard to read.
Especially since the incident on the airport shuttle had made her rethink her mission to find Dr. Wong. She shivered. One of Kennedy’s agents had approached her, had tried to bribe her. Now that she’d rebuffed that attempt, what would Kennedy do next?
She needed to stop looking for Dr. Wong. Even if it meant losing, she couldn’t risk her safety. No one could expect her to. Not even the victims. She felt bad for them, but she couldn’t help them. Not without putting herself at great risk.
Caroline’s hands traveled back to the pile of letters and pictures. She thumbed through the faces of the victims. Babies. Children. Sometimes adults. All of them depended on the SuperSoy litigation to ensure their treatment. To vindicate their injuries. To avenge loved ones who’d been ripped from the embraces of their now-bereaved families.
Caroline tried to distance herself from the onslaught. This was a blatant manipulation. Same as Jasper’s brother’s students showing up in court to try to influence the judge, this was a craven ploy intended to curry favor or sympathy from someone involved in the case. They wanted her to feel the weight of their sorrows, the heft of their nightly terrors, the full measure of their suffering. They wanted her to save them.
But she couldn’t save these people. Heck, she couldn’t even save herself.
Suddenly, her hands stopped at a familiar image.
The mother holding the child looked older, more worry worn and exhausted, but Caroline recognized the face of Amy Garber, the younger sister of her college roommate. During freshman year, Amy had visited