Page 101 of Saving Wyatt

“Oh, you mean the dead cop you had murdered and pinned on me? Yeah, he probably forgot to tell you that in his most recent memo.” I turned to the audience who had started getting loud and dissatisfied with me.

I didn’t let that deter me. There was a purpose to it all. I was doing it to help everyone, even if they hated me for the next few minutes.

“Do you know he’s the man behind all the recent uptick in crime around here? He’s got his fingers dipped in all the pies. Drugs, weapons trafficking, racketeering. The mastermind behind it all. He put up a front for everybody, the philanthropist. The good Samaritan. He was stabbing you in the back this whole time.”

Two cops ran up to the stage to seize me. I was ready for them. I didn’t resist. I didn’t put up a fight. I let them cuff me.

“He’s a criminal. He ran from the mafia in New York and built his own family here. On our doorstep. He set my bar on fire. He set Luna’s on fire. He killed Mr. Rogers.”

People booed. The cops put my hands as far behind me as they could and tried to push me off the stage.

“I’m really sorry, everyone. It seems we’ve got a crazy man on our hands. Wyatt Goodman has clearly lost his damn mind. We all know none of this is true.”

“Are you sure about that?” I shouted, and just as I was being forced to take the step down to get off the stage, the speakers came to life.

The screen behind Wilson flashed, the logo for Winterfest was replaced by the image of a warehouse and two figures.

“So you turn to crime? Really? How’s that going for you?” my voice crackled through the sound system.

The police captain in the video shrugged.

“It’s going a lot better than you think. Or it was, until you came back and started digging your nose into our business.”

The officers behind me stopped pushing me and stared at the screen. I did the same.

“So what’s the endgame here, Hank? Why did you bring me here?”

“Oh, I didn’t. The big guy did.”

“Wilson,” the me from the video said.

“Did you have to cause a scene? He was happy to let you run your little group of pathetic retired heroes and no one needed to get hurt. But you had to ruin it.”

“What is this?” Wilson shouted. “Stop this. Stop this right now.”

He looked at me, and I could see the panic in his eyes. Could see his composure drop little by little.

I smiled.

Footsteps echoed in the speakers as Wilson came into view, folded up his sleeves, and started punching me. Then…

“You think I wanted to kill Mr. Rogers? He did nothing to me. He never hurt me. But you and your stupid men⁠—”

The audience gasped. I turned to see their disbelief written across everyone’s faces.

“Make this stop. Stop this right now. This is doctored. It’s fake.” Spittle came out of Wilson’s mouth as he shouted—or screeched, as was the case.

I glanced at the cops and raised an eyebrow.

“You might want to get him instead of me,” I said.

Before they could react, there was screaming from the side of the stage, and I looked at the direction of a parting audience as Hank, who had been standing next to his men, tried to make a run for it.

Dakota, his son, was quick on his feet and jumped on top of his father, tackling him to the ground.

On the stage, Wilson walked back and to the side, but before he could jump off and make his escape, Alpha Team stepped up and surrounded the stage.

“The jig is up, Wilson. You’re done,” I shouted at him, and he turned.