Macbeth! Fred is right! They are torturing him!

“For if you need them,” Mr. Holmes said, tossing Ron some handcuffs and keys. Ron barely caught the handcuffs in time as the keys skidded across the desk and onto the floor. Ron was so confused that he didn’t even bother asking the obvious question. Why handcuff someone who already had a broken wrist?

Mr. Holmes nodded before turning around and leaving the room. Mr. Germain was leaning against the wall, looking right at Ron, and they connected eyes. Ron could not hide the shock on his face, and Mr. Germain’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Ron instantly dropped his gaze to the folder in front of him as the door shut, leaving the sound of Albert panting in pain. Ron could only stare, his brain quietly coming to the conclusion that this was no joke. He was seeing exactly what he was supposed to see. The government was torturing a teenager.

Albert finally lifted his head to look at Ron. Albert masked the pain behind a whole lot of anger. “I’m not telling you anything.”

Ron continued to stare before he remembered he was still holding the handcuffs. President Arnold, Mr. Holmes, and Mr. Germain were right outside, expecting him to get the address. Ron dropped the handcuffs on the desk, trying to come to terms with what he needed to do.

Albert stared at Ron, confused. “You didn’t know this is what would happen? That if you turned me in, they’d torture information from me?”

Ron told his higher ups he would be friends with Albert. He could still do that. He would “pretend” to believe everything Albert said in order to get Albert’s trust. But one thing was clear. He would not have Albert divulge the address. “No. I didn’t.”

A dark suspicion entered Albert’s eyes. “You work for them. You should have known.”

Ron swallowed the lump in his throat as he stared at the phone on the desk. I saw what I wanted to see. He needed to put on this act that wasn’t really an act. He needed to befriend Albert.

Ron cleared his throat, trying to sound like he was desperately trying not to cry and picked up the phone, hitting the number for the secretary.

“Ron?” Mr. Germain asked.

“I’m going to need a few things. Could you get me a first aid kit as well as some food from the cafeteria?”

“Ron,” Mr. Germain said again, this time with a warning to his voice.

Ron’s fists clenched. “I am being his friend.”

Mr. Germain sighed on the other end. “What does Albert want to eat?”

Ron looked at Albert, trying to smile politely. “What do you want?”

Albert looked confused, glancing at Ron on the phone and the door of the office, still suspicious. “Uh, mashed potatoes?”

“Mashed potatoes and gravy. Add a few extra rolls there.”

“You better make good on your promise,” Mr. Germain said.

“Just bring me the things,” Ron said.

“As soon as I can,” Mr. Germain said.

“Thank you.”

Ron dropped the phone on the receiver before his face crumpled. His mind went through the situation. Albert was here, tortured, and in serious danger. Ron was in President Arnold’s office. They were being watched. Ron had to try and get information out of him, but not all the information.

His phone buzzed again. Again, from John. Ron flipped open his phone to read it quickly.

No one at Anne’s. I’m trying their neighbors to see if anyone knows what in Macbeth’s bloody name is going on.

Ron shoved his phone back in his pocket, trying not to give in to the feeling of hopelessness.

“What is going on?” Albert asked, his voice full of mistrust. “Why am I in President Arnold’s office? What are you doing here?”

Ron abandoned President Arnold’s chair and grabbed another chair on the side of the desk, placing it next to Albert. Ron tried to go over what he should say as he sat down next to Albert. “What happened, Albert?”

Albert glanced around the room, no doubt looking for cameras. “Do you think I’m an idiot? I know where we are. President Arnold is just outside. So is Mr. Germain and Mr. H-” Ron watched as Albert struggled with the fear that came over him. He looked away, annoyed at the emotion he gave. “I’m not telling you anything.” Albert looked away, cradling his broken wrist. Ron stared at it, the discoloration and swelling making his stomach churn.

“What happened to your wrist?” Ron asked.

“Was it you that turned me in,” Albert snapped.

“No, Albert. It wasn’t me,” Ron said.

Albert scoffed, holding his wrist closer to him. “You realize I can’t trust anything you say in here?”

Ron stared right at Albert. Albert was hurt and scared. “I know, Albert. I know these circumstances make it difficult for you to trust me, but I need you to. This…” Ron dropped his voice, knowing President Arnold could probably still hear, but it didn’t matter. He needed to get Albert’s trust. “This is the only way I could see you. To make sure you were alright.”

Albert stared at Ron, blinking. “Well, I’m not.”

Ron nodded. “I see that.”

Albert glared at Ron, and Ron looked away again. He couldn’t face Albert. He didn’t think he could. This system he worked for caused a level of pain he struggled to wrap his mind around. His superiors were lying to him. He could not trust another thing they said. He thought they were protecting the city from the mad scientists, but in reality, they were punishing anyone who thought differently.

“I don’t trust you anymore,” Albert said.

Ron wanted Albert to not trust him. He wanted Albert to never talk to him again. He did not want to give President Arnold what he wanted. But he had to play the part.

A knock came to the door. Ron stood up and opened it. Mr. Germain handed over the food and first aid kit, not one emotion visible on his face. Ron took the objects and gave him a wry smile. “Thanks.”

Mr. Germain closed the door as Ron set the food and first aid kit on President Arnold’s desk. Albert stared at the food, and Ron could practically see him weighing the pros and cons in his mind. Ron had a feeling Mr. Holmes hadn’t fed Albert anything since his arrest. Was it two days ago now? Three? Ron honestly couldn’t remember.

Ron pushed some of the documents off President Arnold’s desk, many of them falling to the ground. Ron motioned Albert to stand up, which he did, staring at the stuff on the ground, confused. Ron grabbed Albert’s chair and moved it closer to the desk before placing the plate of food next to the empty chair. Albert sat back down.

“I don’t know if they’ve poisoned it. If they have, they will have me to deal with,” Ron said, his voice serious.

Albert looked distressed, but was clearly starving. As soon as he picked up the fork with his good hand, he couldn’t stop himself and started shoveling the mashed potatoes into his mouth. Ron looked away as he opened the first aid kit to see what he had to help Albert.

Albert stopped inhaling his food long enough to completely drain his glass of water before returning to stuffing the rolls in his mouth. His broken wrist was still held close to his chest.

Ron pulled out a roll of gauze. It reminded him of how little he knew basic first aid care, let alone a broken wrist, but he had to do something. There were medical sticks in the first aid kit. It seemed like something to help with a broken wrist.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a person you felt comfortable sharing this information with. I… I could have helped you,” Ron said.

Albert gave him another suspicious look.

“Then again, I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t think I would have believed you back then,” Ron said, feeling the stab of guilt as the truth of it settled in his soul. He reached out to take Albert’s wrist, but Albert still held it like it was a valuable prize. Ron paused, holding his hand out, waiting. Albert froze, then surrendered his wrist. Ron placed it on the desk, placing two sticks on either side of his wrist. This felt like something medical professionals did. Albert looked away as he scraped his plate clean. Ron leaned closer.

“Don’t… tell me… a thing,” Ron said, trying to make his voice as quiet as possible. Albert froze, staring at Ron, but Ron refused to make it seem like he said anything at all.

Albert set his fork down. “Are my parents okay?”

Ron focused on wrapping Albert’s wrist. “They’ve been arrested.”

Albert’s eyes widened. “Why? What for?” Ron couldn’t say the true reason. Albert was a smart individual, though. The realization dawned on him. “Murphy’s Law.”

The wrist wouldn’t be nearly as professionally done as the medics would do, but it was something. “Can you check on them? Tell them…” Ron glanced at Albert. Albert wanted to ease his parents’ minds by letting them know he was okay, but he wasn’t.

“I’ll get you out of here. You don’t deserve this. You can tell your parents yourself,” Ron said. He didn’t care if President Arnold could hear that. Albert looked surprised, glancing at the door of the office before looking back at Ron.

“They won’t let me out,” Albert said.

“I’m going to appeal it,” Ron said. Under the current laws, President Arnold had the right to arrest anyone who is in the underground, as long as there’s proof. If Ron asked President Arnold, he would have to say who it was that ratted Albert out. And if there was no one, all the better. President Arnold couldn’t hold Albert in the basement if there was no proof.

Albert’s eyes widened, and fear trickled into his eyes. “It could backfire. You could lose your job.” Again, Albert checked the door before turning his attention back to Ron. “Or worse.”

“Yeah, well, I can still keep fighting even without this job.” Ron studied the contents of the first aid kit again. “I don’t feel comfortable enough to touch that.” Ron pointed to Albert’s nose. “But we’ll get you out and have a medical professional look at it, okay?”

“Mr. Reagan, if you get them angry enough, I could…” Albert took a deep breath, lowering his voice. “They might kill me.” Ron didn’t want to believe that, but after everything else he heard from Albert, he couldn’t doubt it any longer.

Ron nodded, determined. “Hold on, Albert. I’ll get you out soon enough.”

Albert nodded, but he didn’t believe Ron. “They might kill you.”

Ron stared at Albert, this seeming just as crazy as his co-workers killing a teen, but he didn’t doubt the fear in Albert’s eyes. There was a knock on the door before Mr. Holmes opened it.

“I’m here to collect Albert. He’s needed elsewhere,” Mr. Holmes said.

Ron saw the immediate reaction in Albert, the way he seemed to crumple in on himself at the sound of Mr. Holmes’ voice. He bowed his head, holding his now wrapped wrist closer to him, a flicker of distrust in his face as he glanced in Ron’s direction.

“Mr. Holmes, come now. Let me have more time,” Ron said, channeling his anger into this phrase while at the same time giving Albert’s good hand a squeeze. He hoped it was enough to convince Albert that he wasn’t on President Arnold’s side.

“President Arnold wants to see you.” Mr. Holmes bounded into the room and picked Albert up by his collar again. Albert gasped for air as he tried to move to keep his collar from cutting off his breathing.

“Is that really necessary, Mr. Holmes?” Ron couldn’t help but ask, already halfway out of his chair himself.

“This is a dangerous boy who is a member of the underground and is known to resist arrest. Of course it’s necessary,” Mr. Holmes said before dragging Albert out of the office. Ron followed, pausing at the doorway as Mr. Holmes dragged Albert into the elevator. Albert looked at Ron, the fear and terror in his eyes reminding him of Agatha’s not that long ago, and now Agatha had disappeared. The doors closed, leaving Ron with the strong feeling that he needed to do something about this.

Ron refused to look at Mr. Germain or President Arnold as he headed straight for the elevator.

“Ron, we need to talk,” President Arnold said, his voice soft. Ron didn’t trust his tone at all.

“After lunch, maybe? I have some work,” Ron said. He almost pressed the down button when Mr. Germain placed his hand over the button.