The 4400: The Face of God
Written By Dan Pickens
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Scott Peters and the USA Network.
Chapter One
Tom looked down at the glowing green hypodermic needle in his hand and wiped the sweat off of his brow. He was breathing heavily, but he took in a breath and wiped his arm with a tiny alcohol pad. The incandescent light on his bedside table seemed to flicker, but he assumed it was his imagination as he plunged the needle into his arm. There was a brief sting, and then he pushed down on the plunger.
It was as though he could feel the promicin flowing through his body. At first it invigorated him, elated him. Then he felt suddenly nauseous. He keeled over, coughing, feeling his body rebel against the foreign chemicals he had inserted into his veins.
A break in his coughing allowed him a brief glance at his palms – they were covered in blood from his coughs. Warm thick liquid began to pour from his nose, and then he could feel it from his eyes, which were beginning to burn as though on fire. He screamed as the promicin rocked his system.
Then he sat up. His forehead glistened in the moonlight, and he looked down at his bedside table, where the light was off and the hypodermic needle lay sterile beside his alarm clock. He wiped a thick layer of sweat from his forehead and laid back, thinking about what he had just seen. His gaze fell on the needle, and he turned away from it and tried to get back to sleep.
Communication with the former city of Seattle was nonexistent. Jordan Collier had made his statement, to the promicin-positive populous of Seattle and to the world, that his movement had taken control of the entire metropolis. It was the least that Governor Quail could have done to declare a state of emergency for his state, and surrounded the city with National Guard.
Quail looked down at the photograph that lay on his desk, topping piles of sensitive documents that told of the death tolls and promicin-positive cases from the captured city. The photo was one depicting a sign at the outskirts of Seattle, the sign that once welcomed visitors to the city. It now welcomed visitors to Promise City. More like Promicity, Quail thought.
Collier had announced an open invitation to any promicin-positive inhabitant of the United States of America to come live in Promise City, though the National Guard blockade had prevented the number of citizens growing at all. The rumors that Collier had intention of declaring a separate nation, and that he was organizing to become a recognized government by China, floated through his mind without course.
He hit the button on his intercom, but hesitated. Finally, he said, "Ms. Dewey, I need to find a way into Promise City. Could you bring me the head of National Defense?"
"I'll do what I can, sir," Ms. Dewey replied over the intercom.
Quail began to pace as he brooded the situation. His phone rang shortly, and he picked it up without thinking.
"Governor Robert Quail," he said into the receiver, his voice far coarser than he'd intended. "How can I help you?"
"Governor Quail," a calm, composed voice spoke slowly into his ear. "I wish to assure you that Promise City means you no harm."
"Who is this?" Quail asked.
"This is Jordan Collier," the voice said finally. "I wish to let you know that you are welcome to visit us as soon as you are promicin-positive. You are part of something much larger, Governor Quail, and I think you know deep down that we mean no one any harm."
Quail put his hand over the receiver, listening intently to what Collier was saying, and wrote down every word of it on the back of the photograph. "Collier, what you've done is insane. You have led a severely aggressive terrorist movement against the United States of America. If you let down your defenses and come easily, nobody will have to get hurt."
"I'm sorry," Collier said slowly. "Anyways, there is a very interesting young man who is on his way to speak to you right now. His name is Kyle Baldwin, and he should be arriving at your door in just a few moments. I'm afraid this phone call is over."
Quail shouted to wait, but the telltale beep off the line being closed let him know that Collier was done talking. He punched some numbers into the phone and turned it on speaker. As soon as the ringing stopped, he said curtly, "This is Governor Quail; I need the number that just called here traced. That location is where Jordan Collier is hiding in Promise- I mean, Seattle."
Quail hung up. The phone buzzed and he pressed a button on it.
"Sir, a Kyle Baldwin is here to see you," Ms. Dewey said.
"Arrest him," Quail responded without hesitation. "Arrest him immediately."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir," Ms. Dewey said.
"Why the hell not?" Quail asked.
"Well, he's not alone. There are at least four other…" Dewey stopped as she tried to think of an acceptable turn of phrase, "…positives with him."
Quail stood stunned, unable to believe that his entire building had been overrun by a small group of promicin-positive civilians. No, he thought, no longer civilians, but terrorists.
The doors to his office opened and through them stepped a young man with blonde hair wearing a black army jacket. In his hands was a book, and behind him, a group of other individuals looked warily around. The young man turned to his colleagues.
"Thank you, Jennifer," he said, and one of them nodded.
"What have you done to my staff?" asked Quail, sitting slowly in the large comfortable chair behind his desk.
The young man turned to face Quail, and smiled congenially. "They're all fine. Jennifer's ability allows her to sort of stop time for a short while. Your staff is quite aware that time is passing, but they are unable to participate in it. My name is Kyle Baldwin."
"I know, I recognized you from television," Quail said stiffly. "I thought you didn't force promicin on anyone."
"I am not here to force you to do anything," Kyle stated simply. "Did you know that something like 90 years ago, your grandfather, just a young man at the time, was a member of a little-known following that predicted the events that are currently going on today?"
"My grandfather?" Quail said. He chuckled. "Did Collier also tell you that my grandfather was a drunk? He died in a bottle, you know."
"Collier didn't tell me anything," Kyle said. He moved closer to the desk, but made no move to sit down. "And no, I didn't know that he was a drunk."
"What you're doing is highly illegal," was all Quail said, and he crossed his arms across his chest. "You'll be arrested as soon as you leave the premises."
"The reason I came here is because your name is on a list," Kyle continued without being phased at all. "A 90-year-old list that says that if you take promicin, you won't die."
Quail laughed out loud this time. "And I'm supposed to take your word for it? Or is my name in that book you're holding? How am I to know that Jordon Collier didn't write that book?"
"Your name is in this book," Kyle assured Quail. "But, like I said, I am not here to force you to do anything. I am here to deliver that message, and to give you a gift."
Kyle reached into his pocket and pulled out a hypodermic needle. Inside it glowed the green liquid identifiable only as promicin, the chemical that unlocks secret abilities in human beings.
"Get that out of my sight," Quail said. "I'm not taking your stupid shot."
Kyle calmly placed the needle on top of the photograph. He looked levelly at Quail, his smile gone. Now he split open the book and pointed to a page covered in strange glyphs. Quail felt a strange twinge in his mind, and he leaned forward curiously.
"This page roughly translates into a list of the people who will help bring heaven on earth," Kyle stated, pointing at the page. Quail reached out, but Kyle retracted the book.
"I'm sorry," Quail said, leaning back, a nonplused expression on his face. "The book seems very familiar."
"You know," said Kyle, "I was told that all of the members of the original following died in a fire."
"Maybe they did," said Quail, whose mind was somewhere else.
"It was nice talking to you, Governor Quail," Kyle said, stepping backwards. "Jordan and I look forward to seeing you in Promise City very soon."
Kyle turned and walked away.
"I am not like you, Kyle," Quail said after them. "I do not believe that Jordan Collier can bring us heaven on earth."
"I am not here to debate that," Kyle replied without turning around. He gathered his friends and left.
Diana closed the door to Maia's room and wrung her hands. It had been two days since Collier had annexed Seattle, and she and her partner Tom were the only promicin-negative citizens living in the Seattle area. She walked into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. She took a pair of Tylenol and walked back into the living room.
When Jordan Collier's men had showed up yesterday to catalogue her ability, she informed them that she was negative and couldn't get an ability. She hadn't gone into work yesterday, but Meghan had called and said that it wasn't a problem. There was no way to communicate with DC, but she had been compiling reports to file as much as possible. Tom hadn't showed up either, which Diana wasn't entirely surprised about.
After the death of his sister and nephew, she suspected that Tom wouldn't be back for a while. The last she saw him, he was going home with his son, and she dearly hoped that they would be able to patch things up once and for all.
She ran a hand through her red hair and grabbed the cordless phone from the end table by her couch. She sat for a little while before she dialed Tom's number. Once dialed, she waited a moment before she hit the call button.
The phone rang and rang, and then the answering machine picked up. She left a brief message, and then hung up, staring blankly out the window. Yesterday there were columns of smoke rising from the skyline, but today the city was quiet. There had been some unrest between Collier's people and those who didn't want their new powers, but the assimilation had gone as smoothly as possible, as far as Diana was concerned.
Maia had said very little after Diana had denied her the chance to go out into Promise City to help clean it up. Diana didn't feel it was safe, despite her daughter's assurances that the promicin-positive citizens of Promise City had everything under control. She had known too many 4400 with abilities that were used for evil rather than good – even a serial killer who could use others to do his killing for him. She wondered, with a whole half of a city converted, how many of those were criminals, rapists, murderers?
The one time that she had looked out the front door into the hallway of her apartment building, all she saw were volunteers who were helping to remove the dead bodies of her neighbors whose bodies could not take promicin. As horrible as some of the things Maia had seen were, she didn't want Maia immersed in a city half full of corpses.
A knock woke her from her thoughts, and it took a second knock to get her up from the couch and over to the door. She opened it and saw Marco, the cute guy from the Theory Room at NTAC. He wasn't wearing his customary horn-rimmed classes, and his jet-black hair was done in a style that highlighted his eyes – his blue eyes.
"Marco," she started.
"I know, the glasses, right?" Marco said as he invited himself in. "Someone helped me out on the way over here. I mean, I had a picture of your building, so it didn't take me long to get in here, but he was in the stairwell on the way up, so I…"
"Marco, what are you doing here?" Diana asked. "It's after eleven."
"Oh," Marco said, embarrassed. "I came by to see how you were doing. I hadn't heard from you since Collier…"
"Well, no, but…" Diana was lost for words. Finally her mind connected a loose end and she asked, "You had a picture of here? What has that got to do with anything?"
"You don't know yet!" Marco exclaimed, suddenly excited. "Where do you wanna go? Anywhere?"
"I don't know, visiting Ben in Morocco would be nice," Diana admitted, finally closing her front door.
"Do you have a picture?" Marco asked.
"Of Ben or of Morocco?" Diana asked.
"Both, or just Morocco," Marco replied. "It's my ability. When I see a place, like in a picture, I can instantly go there – like teleport there."
"That's very…" Diana started.
"Cool, huh?" Marco said. He had begun flipping through a photo album that was stuck on a shelf with several other volumes by the kitchen. After flipping through several pages, he stopped and looked up at Diana.
Diana had a perplexed look on her face. She wasn't sure whether she was happy to see Marco or not. She was happy that he was okay, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to see anyone at all right now.
"Look, Di, if this is a bad time I can come back later," Marco said.
"No, no, this isn't a bad time," Diana lied. "Sit down; I'll get you something to eat."
It was the first proactive movement that Diana had taken since Marco walked in the door. She walked across the apartment and opened up the refrigerator. "What do you want, I've got leftover meatloaf?"
"Hah," Marco chuckled dryly. "I think I'll pass on the Skouris meatloaf. I'm not hungry anyways. Are you sure you're alright?"
Diana closed the refrigerator door and looked at Marco. For the first time, she smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine, Marco. Have you heard anything from Tom, by any chance?"
"I haven't," admitted Marco. "NTAC is pretty shut down as long as there is no communication to the outside world. Nobody knows exactly why communication is down, but we think that it's a promicin ability. Jordan obviously doesn't want any information going in or out of Promise City for a little while."
"That's a strange move for him," Diana said. "Usually he wants the world to sit front row while he makes his miracles."
"That's true," Marco agreed. "Unless his plans are somewhat darker now than they have been in the past. It's quite possible that he's planning something far worse than anyone ever previously thought. He certainly has a lot more followers now than ever before. Has Maia had any visions lately? Maybe they can give us a clue as to why –"
"Maia hasn't said anything," Diana replied. She moved over to the kitchen table and sat down. "She's becoming more distant and rebellious."
"Well, as she grows up that's bound to happen," Marco said.
"I know, I just didn't think it would happen so soon," Diana said.
"No one ever does, or so they tell me," Marco said. "She probably just needs some space."
"Maybe, but I don't want to send her out into the world to become another of Jordan Collier's assets," Diana replied. "Pardon me, but I won't let my daughter become a tool for his dictatorship."
Marco put his hand on Diana's. "Everything is going to be alright in Promise City. You should stop worrying."
Tom walked into NTAC Medical looking around nervously. He wondered if anyone could sense that he was up to something, or see the form of the hypodermic needle in his pocket. Checking to make sure he wasn't followed, he opened the door to an empty examination room and slipped inside.
Flipping on the light switch, he looked in on the white room. Blue fluorescent light flickered above him, and he took an uncomfortable seat on the gurney. He slid backwards to get more comfortable, tearing the butcher paper beneath him. He pulled the needle out of his pocket.
Opening up a drawer, he searched for an alcohol pad and found one. He split it open and rubbed his arm. Quickly, he removed the cap from the needle and put it to the inside of his left arm. He hesitated.
His cell phone rang. Relieved, he put down the needle and answered the phone.
"Tom Baldwin," he said.
"Dad?" it was Kyle's voice on the other side. "Dad, I wanted to let you know where you can find me now, after you've taken the shot. Jordan says that if you don't take it, your invitation will wear out quickly, but I've assured him you're going to take it. Have you…?"
"Not yet, Kyle," Tom said, a little overwhelmed to hear his son talking so fast.
"I'm going to be staying at the 4400 Center with Shawn," Kyle said. "You can find me there tomorrow."
"Kyle –" Tom stammered.
"What, Dad?"
"You're safe, right?"
"Of course," Kyle replied. "Look, I've got to go. There's a lot of work to do. I'll see you soon, Dad."
"I love you, Kyle," Tom said.
"Love you, too, Dad," Kyle replied, and hung up. Tom put his cell phone beside him and closed his eyes as tears began to well in them.
He wiped them out of his eyes and picked up the needle. Without another thought, he plunged it into his arm and pushed down the plunger.
When the needle was empty, he removed it from his arm and put pressure on the point of penetration. He placed the needle on the bed beside him, and suddenly the world began to spin.
Tom stood in a dark room, full of strangers with indistinguishable faces. He stood in a clearing amongst the strangers, and one woman, a tall woman with blonde hair and red lips stepped forward from the crowd and bowed at the waist slightly.
"Tom Baldwin," she said, smiling. "Welcome back."
"What's going on?" Tom said. He finally recognized the room from his previous visits to the future, but it had never been filled with people before. "Why am I back here? Was I dying?"
The woman smiled even broader. "No, Tom. The time has come for you to learn a little more about your purpose, about Jordan Collier, and the world that you are helping to shape."
Tom looked from stranger to stranger in the crowd but could distinguish no faces.
"Who are all these people?" Tom asked, moving slightly closer to the crowd.
"These are players in the story I am about to tell," The woman explained, "pay close attention, Tom."
A young woman stepped out from the midst of the crowd, a woman with a familiar face and long blonde hair. She had a very pale complexion, and bright blue eyes. Tom stared, agape. "Maia Skouris?"
"Hello, Tom," Maia replied.
"This isn't the real Maia Skouris," the tall woman said. "The real Maia Skouris has been dead for a very long time. Maia is instrumental in the movement, and she is someone you must protect at all costs."
"Tom, I had a vision that I never got to tell you when I was alive," Maia said. "In the vision, eight men were standing in the Oval Office, looking at the President. One of the eight men was you; you killed the President of the United States, Tom.
The tall woman looked at Maia, who nodded, and stepped back into the crowd. Next, a tall black man stepped forward from behind Tom. Tom instantly recognized him as Richard Tyler, one of the original 4400.
"Hey Tom," Richard said. He nodded quietly.
"Richard Tyler?" Tom was confused. He looked from the tall woman back to Richard.
"Your nephew is on to something, Tom," said Richard. "He has always stood for good, and Jordan Collier is on the wrong path to the right goal."
"I don't understand," Tom said. "This is an awful lot to take in."
"You will understand in time," the woman assured him.
Richard stepped back into the crowd, and this time a third person stepped out from the crowd, an older man, overweight with white hair. "Tom," he greeted Tom nominally.
Tom recognized this man from somewhere, but he couldn't remember where off the top of his head.
"Former Governor Robert Quail," the woman introduced the elderly man to Tom without having to see the look of confusion on his face.
"Tom, the research that is being done at the 4400 Center is vital to the survival of mankind," Quail said. "Enough people have died, and it's up to you and a few other individuals, like myself, to help prevent more from dying unnecessarily."
"But we've tried telling that to Collier," said Tom. "He won't listen."
"True," agreed Quail. "But he will listen to you when you tell him this. Trust us. Collier needs guidance. That is why he seeks advice from your son, Kyle."
"Even if he does listen, what am I supposed to do?" Tom asked.
Quail stepped into the crowd and a young woman with straight black hair stepped out of the crowd, a 4400 by the name of Tess Doerner. Tom knew that she was often seen with Kevin Burkhoff, and was personally responsible for freeing Burkhoff from a long sickness that he once possessed.
"Kevin Burkhoff is working on a test to tell who will survive the promicin shot and who won't," said Tess. "You need to make sure that he finishes his research and moves onto developing a drug that will allow everyone to become promicin-positive. You must keep Jordan Collier from expanding Promise City."
"So let me get this straight," Tom said as Tess meshed back into the crowd. "You want me to kill the president, keep Jordan Collier from killing anyone else, and ensure that Kevin Burkhoff develops a miracle cure?"
The tall woman smiled. "In so many words, Tom, yes."
From far away, a familiar voice called to him. "Tom? Tom?!"
"That's Meghan!" Tom exclaimed. "Meghan!"
Tom looked down at the woman, who was now his beautiful blonde-haired boss and lover, Meghan Doyle. She shouted his name again, "Tom!"
Tom awoke looking into Meghan's eyes. A small team of NTAC Medical staff was gathered in the small room, looking over Meghan's shoulders at Tom. The empty needle lay on the floor, and a concerned look was boring into Tom from Meghan's beautiful blue eyes.
"Tom?" Meghan askedquietly.
"Meghan," Tom said, slightly surprised.
"Are you alright?" she asked him.
"I just had a vision," he said, sitting up. "There's a lot of work to be done."