Day's End (11 page)

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I gave you a little more. I gave you enough that nobody will ever be able to take you again.”

I just stared at him.

“I had super senses. They come in handy.” He smiled. “Of course, I got them from somebody else. So I gave you those. And I gave you the ability to be invisible, because I know that more than anything, it’s what you’ve always wanted to be.”

Had I always wanted that?

I tried to sift through my memories. They were still a muddle, but at least now there were things I could pick out, memories I knew were mine, somehow. Mama teaching me how to ride a bike, my first burglary, meeting Luther.

And then, out of nowhere, a memory that made everything hurt. A funeral.

“Mama?” I whispered.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. It must be like losing her all over again,” Connor whispered. I blinked back tears, trying to remember, but it was all a mess.

“How?”

“StrikeForce,” he said in a gentle, soothing voice.

“StrikeForce.”

I thought harder. I could remember being in a cell in what I somehow knew was StrikeForce Command. Locked up, dampened, shackled to a chair. I could remember trying to break my shackles.

“How’d I get out?” I asked, unable to remember any more.

“We got you out. It took us longer than I’d hoped, but we got you out. You were undercover with them for a while. You gained their trust. That was the mission,” he added. “See if you can remember.”

I rested my head back and closed my eyes. Memories came to the surface. Fighting alongside a few of the StrikeForce members. Flying in one of their mini-jets. Saving a young girl who started fires.

“I remember,” I said quietly.

“They caught on to us and imprisoned you. I busted you out. But it seems like they fucked with your mind while they had you. Some of your memories were tampered with. We tried to undo whatever conditioning they put you through, but I don’t think we were able to get everything. They did other shit to you, too. Stuff to mess up your powers, because they were always afraid of what you could really do. I can’t undo that, but we came up with an injection that will at least temporarily have you close to where you should be.”

“We?”

“Well, really, I can’t take the credit for that. My associate, Lorne. You don’t remember him?”

“No.” An empty space in my mind, a blank.

“He’s a genius. He was able to rework an injection I’d been working toward with my former partner. But he’s even more amazing. He’s practically a magician in the ways of the mind.”

“Powers?” I asked him, and Connor shook his head.

“Just raw skill and genius. He gave you your memories back. At least, most of them,” he added with a shrug. “We did our best.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly. My mind was still racing. StrikeForce. Undercover. Imprisoned. Used. I remembered meeting this man, the two of us dressed in black, at night. I remembered being attracted to him. Kisses.

I remembered kissing Connor, and my stomach twisted. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, and I wondered at that. He seemed nice. Warm. Caring. The look in his eyes told me he cared for me, knew me.

“Who are you to me?” I asked him finally.

He gave a short nod. “I’m the leader of the team you’re on. Mayhem. We work to empower those like ourselves, those left behind by society in general. We work to expose the ineptitude and crookedness of organizations like StrikeForce, who can’t just leave powered people alone.”

I just watched him.

“We shared a kiss here and there, Jolene, nothing more,” he finally said. “We both wanted more, but we both also knew that it just wasn’t the right time. And then you went undercover with StrikeForce and… ” he trailed off, shrugged. “Time just wasn’t on our side, sweetheart.”

I thought that over for a moment. It felt about right, I guessed. I remembered enjoying his kisses. There was still an underlying sense of weirdness, but maybe we’d started fighting. Maybe I’d wanted our relationship, and it hadn’t worked out. That would explain the sour feeling in my stomach when I thought about us. Maybe I’d loved him once and come to hate him. It felt right.

“Can I get up soon?”

He nodded. “Lorne will be in soon to check on you one more time and give you your injection. You’ll need those a couple times a day. He’s working on making it a once a day thing, but he’s not there yet. After he looks at you, you can get up and get settled into your own room. Have a bath, whatever.”

“Okay.”

He stood there, hands in his pockets, looking down at me, and then he smiled, that dimple appearing again. “It’s good to have you back, sweetheart. We’re gonna make everything right. As it all should have been.” Then he gave a short nod and walked away.

A few minutes later, the pale guy, Dr. Lorne, came in again and showed me the syringe in his hand.

“You should feel a little better after this. Twice each day.”

“Forever? Or just until I feel right or whatever again?” I asked him.

He sighed. “This will be a part of your life from now on. I hope you’re not afraid of needles.”

I shook my head. He nodded, turned my arm over, and disinfected a spot on my upper arm. I looked away as he poked the needle in, and a moment later, I felt the pressure release.

“Okay, all set,” he said.

“Thanks.”

Lorne nodded and went about undoing the clamps and clasps holding my body still. Then he held my hand as I stood up. I felt shaky, and I was grateful for the bit of support he leant me.

“How long have I been in that bed?”

“About a week. But like he undoubtedly told you, your body’s taken a hit. And with the new powers… ”

I nodded. Every word still sounded like a scream, every footstep like thunder, every creak of the building like the crack of a rifle.

“So I’ll just get used to this?” I asked through gritted teeth as I took one slow, unsteady step at a time toward the door.

“Yeah. It will take a little time. Undoubtedly, it’s already a tiny bit better than it was when you first came to.”

I gave a small nod and kept putting one foot in front of the other.

We went down a short corridor. There were a few doorways here and there. Everything was white. White walls, white ceiling, white floor, white doors. It hurt my eyes, the way the bright lights above glared off of all of the white surfaces.

“Where are we, anyway?”

Lorne didn’t answer for a moment, and I glanced up at him.

“Eyes forward. You’re wobbly. Looking up at me is only going to make your balance worse,” he said quietly.

“Okay. But where—”

“We’re at Mayhem’s headquarters.”

“Are we in Detroit?”

“No. Too much heat in Detroit, especially now.”

“Are we in Michigan?”

“No.”

“So where, then?”

“Look, that’s something for him to tell you if he wants you to know, okay?”

I stopped, forcing him to stop as well. “Why the big secret? Why can’t I know where we are?”

“I don’t know if it’s a secret. I just don’t know how much he wants to tell you right away, considering everything you just went through, okay? The best advice I can give you is to go to him if you have questions. He’s the one with all the damn answers,” he muttered under his breath, and I wondered at the bitterness in his tone. “Come on,” he said, holding his arm out, and I took it again. We passed three more doors, and came to one at the very end of the hallway. “This is your apartment. He’ll call when he wants to see you. I do know that he wants you to stay on this floor, at least for now.”

“What’s on the other floors?”

He sighed. “Jesus, do you ever stop asking questions?”

“Probably not.”

“Ask him next time you see him. Not me. I’m just here to give you your meds and monitor your condition.”

“And walk me to my room and make sure I know the rules,” I added. “What’s up with that, anyway? Rules. We’re supposed to be super villains, right? Why do we have rules?”

Lorne stopped and stared at me. “Who says we’re super villains?”

I tilted my head. “Well, we are, right? StrikeForce is the superhero team, and we’re the villains.”

“Yeah, but I never said that. And neither did he, when he was talking to you.”

“Well I haven’t lost everything I used to know, right?” I said with a laugh, even though my stomach twisted. There was definitely something weird going on here. “I mean, I was a thief. StrikeForce had me locked up. They’re the heroes, we’re the villains,” I repeated with a shrug.

“He doesn’t see it that way.”

I smiled. “Of course not. Every villain is the hero of his own story.”

He continued to stare at me, then shook his head. “Um. Okay. Your room’s there. I need to get back to work. Do you need anything else?”

“I guess not.”

“Okay. He’ll let you know when he needs you.”

“So I’m just supposed to stay in my room?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, then he spun and stormed away. I watched him go, then turned the knob and opened the door to my room.

It didn’t feel like mine.

It was stark white, just as white as the corridor we’d just walked down. The furniture was a drab gray in an uncomfortable-looking modern style. There were no windows at all, not a speck of artwork or personality anywhere. Nothing personal.

Surely I’d had at least a picture of Mama around? Maybe I’d had to leave it at StrikeForce. At some point, I’d have to make sure I got it back, if that was the case. Along with my other stuff. My afghan, my books. I glanced around. Not a single damn romance novel in sight. Had I left all of those at StrikeForce as well?

Thinking of romance novels made my stomach twist weirdly. My heart gave a few hard thumps. I pressed my hands to my cheeks and realized that my face felt warm, as if I was blushing. What the hell even was this, now? I shook my head and walked through a doorway. A bedroom, more white walls. A narrow dresser, a nightstand with a lamp on it that looked like it came directly from some 1980s corporate office: stark, gray, and boring as hell. The enormous king-size bed with its fluffy comforter and excess of pillows seemed out of place. I took a moment to slowly open all of the drawers and closet. There was a red and black uniform in the closet. I guessed that was mine? Beside that was a black and gray one. I couldn’t see myself actually wearing either one of them.

I clearly needed to readjust to my life. How long had I even been undercover? And what had they done to me, exactly? More answers I guessed I could only get from Connor, I thought with a grimace. In the dresser drawers were lacy, satiny bras and panties that I can’t imagine having picked out for myself. I picked up one silky bra, noting that it was padded. Did I really wear this shit? I glanced down at my less-than-impressive chest. I guess maybe I did.

I left the bra on the bed and walked through the doorway on the left side of the bedroom. There was a bathroom with a deep whirlpool tub, a pedestal sink, and a small separate room for the toilet. An array of bubble baths and lotions sat on a shelf, and I looked at them. Roses, peonies, lily of the valley. No lavender?

Wait. Did I even like lavender? Did I like any of this shit? Did I like push up bras and thongs and rose scented lotion? Did I like Connor? And why did the name Killjoy keep floating into my mind when I thought of him?

What foods did I like? Did I prefer baths or showers? What kind of music did I like?

I thought, and realized I didn’t know. All I knew about my preferences were what was in this room, and none of it felt right for some reason.

I slid my body down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, looking toward the whirlpool tub with its array of bubble baths. I closed my eyes and tried to remember something, anything, about what I liked. The only thing I could remember was romance novels, and I wondered why I knew that. I held onto it like a lifeline, like a security blanket as I tried to remember more. Whatever had been there, once upon a time, was gone, thanks to whatever StrikeForce had done to me.

Wait.

They were the heroes. Did heroes mess with people’s minds? Would they have just gone in and started erasing shit?

Maybe it hadn’t been that. Maybe my brain had been damaged somehow. In a fight, maybe? Or if they had actually been evil enough to try to mind control me, maybe the trauma of them messing with my brain had caused me to lose some things? If that was the case, I was definitely going to hurt somebody.

I felt like I was on the edge of panic. Like I was lost, a stranger in my own skin. In truth, my body felt like an enemy, sensing every single thing too strongly. My skin prickled, abraded by the gentle waft of air coming through the heating vent across the room. The scent of antiseptic cleaners burned my nostrils. Not as badly as it had when I’d first woken up, but still enough to make me want to rip my hair out. Which I might have done, except that I knew it would hurt even more than it should have.

Why the fuck had he done this to me? Getting me back was one thing. Getting rid of their programming or whatever, fine. But why this? Why the addition of these stupid powers that did nothing but make me miserable? This building, wherever the hell we were, was a cacophony of sound. Heartbeats, at least seven, sounded throughout the building. The endless parade of footsteps on other floors, the creaks of furniture, the laughter, the voices… all of them, so far, male.

I held onto that last bit of information. Voices. Maybe that would mean answers. I kept my eyes closed, and listened.

Three men were talking about a hockey game. I filtered that out, because it was useless.

Two men were talking about a woman named Eve, and how she was not going to be happy I was here. Gossip. Who was Eve, anyway? Another team member? I listened more, and from the way they talked, she was someone fairly important, someone Connor needed who he probably shouldn’t piss off. They debated about how pissed she’d be to find me here next time she came. They didn’t seem happy about it, either way. I filed that away. Then one of them said something, in an even quieter voice, about him needing me because of his powers. Nobody said much after that, and I wondered what he’d meant. What about Connor’s powers? Something to think about later. I kept listening. I could hear Connor’s deep voice, a hint of Scottish brogue, Lorne’s higher voice. They were speaking quietly, and I had to focus harder to hear them.