Samantha (3) “Just something to loosen you up.” I try to sound provocative as I grind my hips against his. Just buy more time. He’ll pass out any second. Any second… “Liar. Who sent you?” My acting skills are obviously not up to par so I take another approach: silence. That earns me a sharp slap to the cheek. It’s been a long time since anyone’s done that and the memories fill my mouth with a vile taste. “It would be a shame to cut this pretty little face of yours.” A small knife dances up into my line of sight. With one hand free now and his threat pumping adrenaline through my veins, I am able to escape his hold. He wipes his mouth where I hit it with the hand still holding the knife and blood smears the back of it. I disappear and scamper to the opposite side of the small apartment. I should be able to avoid him until the serum kicks in. Why isn’t it working? “Bad idea. Very bad idea,” he mumbles as he searches a nearby cabinet. His find is a small canister which he begins to spray into the air. “Revealing dust. Ever heard of it?” I have indeed heard of it, but never experienced it. My move to duck under the bed is too late, the dust already having settled on me enough for him to make out my shape. The long, narrow apartment leaves me basically cornered as the angry Jeffery Locke approaches. Without taking his eyes off me he grabs the back of a dining chair with one hand and swings it towards me. I dodge it, but move farther into the corner. My eyes scan my surroundings for something to defend myself with. Fight or flee. I’m fast, but not fast enough apparently. My attempt to get past him results in his fist tangled in my hair. I’m forced to my knees when his other arm wraps around my neck in a headlock. “Reveal yourself,” he demands. I ignore his order, continuing to struggle until he tightens his grip. “Don’t make me ask you again.” I gasp when he loosens his hold, filling my deprived lungs with precious oxygen. In my moment of respite he forces me onto my stomach and trusses my wrists behind my back. “Now tell me who sent you and what was in that needle,” he commands after he’s rolled me onto my back and placed the knife against my neck. When I swallow, I can feel the pressure of the blade threatening to break the skin. The room is much too warm now and the air still has the strange odor of revealing dust. “I’m not bluffing, Beautiful. Start talking.” When I don’t respond, he presses slightly harder and inches the knife horizontally to make a small, clean cut. It is gone immediately and I know I’m caught. Could this have gone any worse? He was supposed to be unconscious in seconds. “The audacity of that man! To send… Oh to send you.” He can hardly contain his demented excitement. “I never would’ve guessed it was you even with the disappearing and the speed, but now…” He kneels next to me and roughly wipes away the blood on my neck, still surprised. My head is forced back as he examines the place his knife broke skin. Frustrated and unable to use my arms, I kick him in the ribs as hard as I can. His fist connects with my cheek without hesitation and my tongue immediately senses the metallic taste of blood. “What to do with you? You’ll have help arriving any moment won’t you?” My response is to spit the bloody saliva filling my mouth into his face. “I will not tolerate that, Miss Garner.” He stands quickly, swaying a moment before crossing the room in search of something. I’m sitting up struggling with my arm restraints when he crashes to the ground. I just sit there a moment, realizing how close I probably was to being killed, but only caring that I’ll have Mr. Garner to deal now. I hop to my feet, knowing I shouldn’t waste any more time. After quickly giving up on freeing my arms, I clumsily fish my cell phone out of my coat and fumble with it until I put it on speaker phone and make a call. A few of the boys from the van show up shortly after, dressed as paramedics. “Sammy what happened? Are you okay?” “Just get this off me please,” I sigh, dejected at the complete failure of this mission. Maybe I’ve been conditioned or maybe I’m just hard on myself, but I can’t help but feel it’s all my fault somehow. Once my arms are free and my coat is on, I follow the boys and the stretcher outside and slip into the van while they load the unconscious Mr. Locke into the fake ambulance. Thankfully no one is around because the vehicle doesn’t contain a single piece of medical equipment. Inside the van, I recount my interaction with Mr. Jeffery Locke. They inform me there was a miscommunication about how long to wait before interfering. Originally, the plan was that no one enter until I made the call. However, Mr. Garner is apparently furious that I was left alone so long. “Well, debriefing is going to suck,” I say. The remainder of the ride is silent. When we enter headquarters, I automatically look up to the large window wall opposite us on the third story. Even from this distance across the atrium I’m fairly sure I can make out Mr. Garner’s form. I can imagine him standing behind the oversized desk in his office, leaning against the window with his arms folded, wearing a scrunched, angry brow. Chapter 6 [Rev 3-11-2013] I sit in the debriefing room, both hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. The huge, circular table is filling slowly with other tired-looking people. I certainly didn’t sleep well last night and I notice other eyes with dark circles beneath them like the ones that stared back at me this morning in the mirror. After taking another sip of my coffee, black as always, I notice the usual plate of doughnuts is missing from the center of the table. Apparently this crew doesn’t deserve an early morning treat, not that I’m supposed to eat stuff like that anyway. It wouldn’t have stopped me from sneaking one before Mr. Garner shows up though. “So where do I begin?” Mr. Garner starts once we’ve all assembled. “Whatever was in that needle didn’t work like you said it would.” No one is surprised when I am the first to speak, but a few people who don’t know me well enough are shocked at the tone I use. “We can never account for everything, Samantha. Why didn’t you call for help?” His voice is unnaturally calm. I can tell he’s trying to hide his anger. “I was overpowered and you had assured me that he’d be unconscious in a couple minutes.” “We can discuss how to deal with unexpected circumstances at a later time. Now why did the rest of you do nothing when the phone call didn’t come?” Mr. Garner asks, effectively blowing me off. “Sir, we thought our orders were to enter only after we received the call. We were not aware of any exceptions.” Mr. Garner regards the answer suspiciously, sensing the underlying message: You told us to let her fend for herself. Everyone knows this is true. Perhaps that is why Mr. Garner is so upset. He’d never admit his mistake though. “Samantha, please join me in my office. The rest of you are dismissed.” I stomp down the hall, livid that I have to speak with him by myself and the rest of them got off with the shortest debrief in history. When I enter his office, the usually-friendly secretary senses my anger and says nothing. The other woman seems to be holding back a lecture or at least a warning to snap out if it in order to avoid an argument. They’ve known me most of my life and like so many people around headquarters, they feel the need to parent me or look out for me. No one except Mr. Garner understands that I’m not as fragile as my past should have made me. In fact, I’m probably stronger because of it. I may have been orphaned, but I am not helpless and I can certainly take care of myself. Mr. Garner entering the waiting room drags me from my thoughts. He strides across it without a word to me or the secretaries. I follow him into his office without invitation after he unlocks it. We both settle into the chairs on our respective sides of his desk and wait in tension-filled silence. “I’m sorry,” he begins. My jaw drops slightly, hopefully imperceptibly. I can’t recall him ever apologizing to me or anyone else. “I should have been more cautious… checked the serum… had a more decisive back-up plan.” Then after a deep sigh, “I’ve taken your abilities for granted and put you serious danger.” My mouth opens then closes, unable to form words. This is a first, well two firsts in fact – me not having anything to say and him admitting he did something wrong. I’m immediately suspicious. I begin to speak again but realize I’m still speechless. “Hello Frank. It seems this is the only way to get a hold of you,” a muffled, but loud voice booms through the windows from the atrium below. Or did it come from outside his office? Mr. Garner’s face pales and he leaps up. I instantly follow his lead, on alert but unaware of what is going on. “Who…” Mr. Garner begins to the secretaries as he bursts through the door, but his question already has an answer. “Cut the feed. Someone needs to stop this broadcast,” he orders, never taking his eyes off of one of the thousands of televisions throughout Headquarters. Currently they all show a familiar face, to me at least. Most everyone else have probably only heard his name, but they’re all seeing him now. I instinctively put my hand on my neck where a bullet pierced it almost three years ago. That was the last time I’d seen this man – some stupid mission that I was far too young for and the first time I ever… I push the thought from my mind. I can’t handle the images that come with it: the red stream that smelt of pennies, the way he lay there after I stole any future he might have had… As if it can stop the memories, I take my hand off the long since healed wound that had revealed my identity to this monster, but he let me go. For some reason, he let me go. I watch his face on the screen, unable to move, unable to hear any of the chaos around me as he continues. “Ignoring my attempts to contact you is extremely rude. Now you’ll have to acknowledge my offer and explain it to the masses over there.” Mr. Brown seems to be in no hurry. He’s confident in his hackers’ abilities to keep control of the system until he’s finished. “I won’t spoil the details, but if you don’t give me what I want like we talked about, I’ll come and take it. How’s that sound? I’ll be contacting you tomorrow evening to hear your decision.” With that, the screen goes black. I whip around towards Mr. Garner who has his head down, eyes closed, and fingers massaging his temples as if he’s in pain. “What does he want?” I demand, but he’s already entering his office. “Hey! Answer me.” “Drop it, Samantha.” “Please. You’ll have to tell me sooner or later.” My attempt to prevent him from shutting the door is futile. He has more strength in his little finger than I do in my entire body when he wants to. I hit it once out of frustration. A revolting feeling is developing in the pit of my stomach. I haven’t cried in years, but something I can’t quite pinpoint is prickling my eyes, threatening to make that happen. There has been plenty of conflict in the past, but Headquarters is powerful. Any opposition is easily taken care of. Issues are dealt with quickly and efficiently, usually without informing anyone except those high in the administration. I can’t dismiss the feeling that this is different though. A feeling that, unlike the normal problems, this concerns more than the high-level people. I suppress the deeper anxiety inside me though: that this directly concerns me. It’s complete nonsense of course. But the way Mr. Garner was acting… apologizing… “You don’t know anything about this do you?” I finally say to the secretaries after staring blankly at the closed door in front of me for far too long. “No, dear, I’m sorry.” I know immediately that her apologetic face is sincere. She smiles at me weakly while the other is busying herself with work, trying to appear unfazed. We are all shaken though. There is no way to hide it. I’m sure this is happening all over Headquarters – everyone returning to whatever they were doing before the unprecedented announcement. No one acknowledging this stranger’s threat or showing weakness by acting afraid. Certainly no one assigning blame or speaking poorly of Mr. Garner. I realize I’m afraid though. The feeling is even more foreign than nerves. I’ve become so confident in my abilities, so blinded by my perceived indestructibility. It plummets me back to a time before I was so strong, so hardened. Mr. Garner’s voice interrupts my reverie. “I don’t want any visitors. Post two guards outside the office then you two can go home. If Samantha is still here, tell her she must leave or I will have the guards carry her out.” Chapter 7 [Rev 3-26-2013] “Frank, you’re drunk!” the woman yells through tears. Her immaculate makeup is smudged and her hair is beginning to fall in ringlets around her face. “You just worry about your daughter,” he says, motioning to the hysterical child with messy golden curls like her mother. One might think she is upset by the arguing, but she actually just wants the attention back on her. She glares at the other child in the room, the one the adults are arguing about. Although half her age, the dark-haired toddler sits quietly, observing the scene through bright, oversized green eyes. “She’s a child, not a soldier. Kate and Joseph would never have wanted this.” The toddler is too young to register the names of her parents. “Your father will never approve it.” “My father is old. He’ll retire soon, sooner if I have anything to do with it. Now that his oldest son has disappeared, I’ll be put in charge. Then I’ll have no one to answer to. If I start now with training, she’ll be perfect before she’s even of age to join the Force.” The woman cringes at how casually he mentions his brother’s disappearance. She knows it bothered him immensely though. It was what increased his use of alcohol and began the downward spiral of their marriage, his second. It had been a rough year for them and many others at headquarters after the mysterious mission that resulted in a number of disappearances. “This is wrong. Don’t you see that?” The little blonde clings to her mother, who has become more angry than upset, and glares at her step-father. She used to have him wrapped around her finger until the other kid showed up. “She is special and she will be the Force’s most valuable asset when she grows up. She has to be strong though. If she receives the talents predicted, she will be in danger. Babying her will not be doing her any favors.” Understanding softens the woman’s features into a mask of sadness and acceptance. “It’s… it’s still wrong.” But the fight has left her voice. She knows the little emerald-eyed orphan never had a chance of a normal childhood whether her parents disappeared or not. Perhaps, like her daughter, she is secretly jealous of the fame that may find this child. “It would be far worse to place her on a pedestal and let her grow up without receiving the skills she might need one day.” This isn’t a drunken exaggeration like some of the things he usually says in these arguments. His soon-to-be-ex-wife sighs in defeat. Although the toddler doesn’t understand it then, the worried look on the face of the woman she would’ve called her aunt will continue to haunt her. She will never be able to recall the words her uncle said, but sometimes she’ll be able to remember the finality with which he said them. His conviction would change her life more so than the loss of her parents. Frank gets a divorce shortly after, leaving him and Samantha alone. He continues drinking, waiting for his turn to run Headquarters, and waiting for his niece to grow old enough to begin her training. He would wait almost ten years for the former, much less for the latter. * * * “Samantha!” His thunderous bellow plunges her into wakefulness. She already knows from the tone that he is probably sick from the night before. After throwing her covers into a more presentable state and dressing quickly, she hurries downstairs. “A glass of water… please.” She bites her lip to keep any defiant comments from escaping. Even a nine-year-old knows this is unacceptable. He should be taking care of her, not the other way around. She does as she’s told though and he mumbles his thanks when she returns. “I’ll make you breakfast soon. Just… just…” He waves her away before he finished and slowly sits up on the couch. His body aches from sleeping there last night instead of his bed. “I can do it myself.” She has no desire to remain in the same room with him, especially when he’s achy and grumpy. As it usually does when she’s alone, her mind entertains the idea of running away. She’s tried it before, but only got as far as the park down the street where she sat on a bench, too afraid to go farther, but unwilling to go home. He found her quickly and walked her home, holding her upper arm tight enough to leave black and blue marks for weeks. He had hit her that day too when she tried to scream back at him. That one blow had shut her up for the remainder of his lecture and every lecture since. Her fingers instinctively graze the place on her cheek that had swelled up and healed over a year ago now. No injury since then has lasted as long or been as serious. As if proving this to herself, she touches the stove where she’s preparing oatmeal. The pain shoots through her finger into her hand. She watches in amazement as the skin blisters then fades back to its normal pink color as the pain dwindles with it. She is unsure whether is it just her imagination or the healing has happened quicker than usual. It’s her own little secret. Mr. Garner tells her often that she is special. That’s why she must train so hard – running, lifting weights, practicing with weapons. She’s never felt the need to share this with him though. “What did you just do?” His voice sounds like a growl behind her. She turns to face him, but says nothing. “How long have you been able to do that, Samantha?” The anger in his question scares her. This isn’t the reaction she expected. He’s been mad many times before, but the expression on his face and that tone are unfamiliar. Her heart pounds against her chest at a rate she’s never felt before. Strange sensations travel from her core, along her limbs, to her fingertips and toes. Her body’s response only increases her fear and confusion. “How long?” he demands as he takes a step forward. Suddenly his expression changes from anger to confusion. Samantha feels nauseous and her legs give away. Her body slumps against the drawer at the bottom of the stove, disrupting the pots and pans inside and causing Mr. Garner’s eyes to follow the sound. “Samantha are you okay?” His voice is soft now, carrying a tone of concern she’s never heard before. “You need to relax, alright? Take some deep breaths. Remember when I said that you’re special?” That is the moment she takes her eyes off Mr. Garner and glances down at herself. What she sees – or doesn’t see – sends her into a panic. He can hear her scrambling to touch the body that isn’t visible to either of them. “Deep breaths. I told you to take deep breaths.” When she still doesn’t appear, he reaches out toward her hesitantly as if approaching a wild animal. “Samantha,” he says a bit more sharply in attempt to get her attention. This only alarms her and she jumps to her feet. He feels a cool breeze as she rushes past him and her bedroom door slams a moment later. When she realizes that she ran through multiple rooms and up a flight of stairs in a matter of seconds, the tears spill uncontrollably. To her relief, this calms her enough to bring her heart rate back down and stop the strange tingling sensations throughout her body. She wipes her eyes with her sleeve and sits up on her bed. Mr. Garner is knocking on her door, but it sounds far away. The room is too bright; the colors are different. Nausea overtakes her and she vomits in the trashcan. “Samantha I’m going to break this door down if you don’t answer me.” His threat doesn’t fully register until the door hits the ground. Relief floods his face when he sees her. The leftover tears in her eyes give them the sparkle that has faded since she was a toddler. Her fear and confusion have made them wide and alert. She reminds him again of a threatened animal and approaches her as such. He knows her body is being overloaded with sensations. It is rough enough for children to discover their talents slowly and with proper preparation. It is nearly unheard of for them to appear in such rapid succession and before age eleven. Most people won’t experience this until their teen years at least. “I know this is probably scary, but I need you to stay calm. Can I sit?” She nods, but has to repress the feeling she felt in the kitchen. Something is different though. She doesn’t feel the urge to run, but rather… “I just want to feel your forehead okay?” He doesn’t move until she nods. He knows that if another talent appears while she feels endangered, he could be the target. So far, her’s have fallen into the “flee” category, but the “fight” talents tend to be more difficult to control, albeit less common. Samantha is different though, which he is certainly aware of. His hand feels cool against her blazing forehead and he scrunches his eyebrows in concern. He’s never personally dealt with a transition besides his own before and has only heard a few stories about one so volatile. “Lay down and try to sleep. I’m going to get you some water.” She realizes she is in fact quite tired and slips off into a dreamless sleep before he returns with the glass. READ MORE at Booksie.com/Sexy_Scarlett
Copyright © 2013 Erynn A Louviaite |