Day's End (18 page)

Daystar doesn’t sound so bad. And Portia doesn’t sound like somebody who considered Daystar a villain, I thought to myself.

I jumped up and started heading up to my room, simply so I could move. That weird unsettled feeling was happening again, and I didn’t like it.

When I got to my room, Lorne was waiting outside the door.

“Where did you go? I wanted to talk to you, but you took off.”

“I had a mess I needed to clean up,” I told him. “Did you need something?”

“Is he still out?”

I nodded and opened my door, and Lorne followed me into my room. He glanced around, but there was really nothing to see. It looked the same way it did on my first day here: stark, white, and empty.

“You’ve got to stop pissing him off like that,” he said. “What did you even do?”

I tried to remember. Had I pissed Connor off? After a while, all I could do was shake my head and shrug. “I dunno.”

“Shit,” he breathed, dropping onto the couch. “It happened not even an hour ago, Jolene.”

I thought for a while longer, and all I could do was shrug. “Sorry.”

“Do you remember what I told you earlier?”

I racked my brains, trying hard to remember anything Lorne had said to me at all. “Did you say anything?”

He just watched me, his face even paler than usual. “I am so sorry, Jolene,” he finally said.

“It’s okay.”

“You don’t even know what you’re forgiving me for,” he said in exasperation.

“Well, I can’t remember why I would be mad at you, so, you know… whatever.”

After a moment, he got up and walked out of my room. I showered and changed into sweats. I couldn’t remember what, if anything, Lorne had told me. I couldn’t remember if I’d made Connor angry somehow. I couldn’t even remember what I’d eaten that day, or if I’d eaten at all.

But I remembered every word of Portia’s press conference.

I studied my closet doors as if some kind of monster lived behind them. I slowly made my way across the bedroom and pulled the doors open, revealing the only two items there: my Mayhem uniform, and my StrikeForce uniform, the one I’d been wearing the day Connor had snuck me away.

I reached out to touch it, then drew my hand back as if it would bite me. I let out a small, nervous laugh, then reached out again and ran my fingertips along the arm of the uniform, the gray stripes down the sleeves. Then I rested my hand on the gray five pointed star emblazoned on the chest.

Daystar was a hero.

Tens of thousands of lives.

Loved
.

Had Daystar been a murderer? Had she felt the same cold, empty feeling I did when she killed? Because according to Connor, I’d killed during my time as Daystar. Had it been easy, the way it is now? No matter what uniform I wore, I apparently had always been a thief. Some things, maybe, just never change.

Had Daystar been this weak, though? I thought, before even realizing I’d had the thought. Like everything, it drifted away before I could examine it too closely.

After a long while, I closed the closet doors.

Daystar couldn’t have been that amazing.

I was here, wasn’t I? If she’d been such a hero, she should have been able to save herself.

Me
, that voice I tried to ignore pointed out.
She should have been able to save me
, and I hated it a little more.

Chapter Eleven

Jolene

I didn’t see Connor, or anyone else for that matter, for four days. Other than Lorne, the place felt deserted.

I was sleeping like shit. Nightmares. Over and over again, and I didn’t know if they were real, things I’d actually lived, or shit my psyche was making up to mess with me. The ones that hurt the most were like isolated moments, little flashes of what seemed like a good life. Sitting with Mama, enjoying Saturday breakfast. Laughing and watching movies with a woman I recognized as Jenson from StrikeForce. Saving lives.

Quiet moments with a man with the prettiest, warmest brown eyes I’d ever seen. In his arms, his lips on mine.

Those were the worst. Even more so than the ones with Mama in them. I still had memories of my mother, and I knew I’d loved her and been a good daughter. I knew she’d loved me. I missed her, but at least I knew she’d been real.

This man… I mean, I knew this was Caine. Were these things I’d actually done with him, or was this my mind playing tricks on me? Was any of it real?

Because if it was, if any of that was a real memory… I didn’t know what that meant. Had I loved him?

Had he loved me?

God, it
felt
real.

Even Lorne’s blessed injections couldn’t erase the persistent sense of weirdness I carried with me. I was antsy. I probably just needed something to do, I told myself.

I spent four days staring at the white walls of my room, four nights wrestling with dreams that made my heart ache, made me wake with tears drying on my face.

I was losing my mind.

Well, what I had left of it, anyway.

The fourth night after I’d watched the press conference with Portia, I was haunted by nightmares again. I tossed and turned and cried out, then fell back into another sleep battle.

I woke screaming, and jerked to a seated position. It only took me a moment to realize that Connor was there, looming over my bed.

“You okay?” he asked gruffly.

“Fine,” I panted. “Nightmares,” I said, swinging my feet off the bed.

“About what?”

I shook my head. “I can’t remember.”

For once, it was a bald-faced lie. I remembered all of my nightmares, even when I was flush with the new numbness that came with the injections Lorne gave me.

“You’re lying to me,” he said.

“I’m not.”

“Your heart is pounding.”

“I just woke up from a nightmare and you startled me. I didn’t expect to see you standing there.”

“You’ve been crying out in your sleep for the last twenty-five minutes.”

“Did I wake you?”

He didn’t answer. He sat on the edge of my bed, and I moved away without even realizing I was doing it.

He laughed. “You pissed me off the other day, you know that?”

“I did?”

“You did.”

“I don’t remember.”

I knew he was studying me in the dark. “You don’t,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He sounded thoughtful. A moment later, he reached over and rested his hand on my thigh, which was bare because of the way the sheets had been twisted and tossed aside during my nightmares. I felt nauseous immediately. He squeezed my thigh firmly, and I started to push his hand away.

“Don’t piss me off again, sweetheart. You won’t like what happens if you push me.”

“I need to sleep. I’m tired.”

“You’re tired. But you also need your mind taken off some shit. I can do that. Once upon a time, you wanted this. You practically jumped me, you were so ready for me.”

“I—”

“Don’t. Just shut up, Jolene.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine.

God, I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was going to puke, and I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. It was like I was drowning, like I was trying to claw to the surface. I pulled away and he swore. The next instant, he was on me, holding me down on the bed and lowering his face to mine again while I struggled against him.

“Stop,” I told him. I felt a cold anger settling into me, and I held onto it.

“I love you. Be still,” he snarled.

I froze. I couldn’t move, and he laughed, then ran his hands over my body. “You’re such a good weapon, Jolene. You’re a perfect fighter, a perfect thief. You hurt so many fuckers on my behalf. Such a good girl. Smart girl.”

I tried to move. Tried to push him away as his hands wandered.

“You could be so much more to me, sweetheart. You already are.”

It came to me. That was what had made him so mad. The last time he’d tried this, I’d gotten sick all over him. I couldn’t even rely on the nausea now. Just cold rage.

He shifted, forcing a thigh between my legs.

I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I lifted one knee and caught him, as hard as I could, right between the legs. He roared in pain, and I took advantage of his distractedness to shove him away and leap off of the bed. He came after me, and I sent a blast of power out at him and he went flying across my room, crashing into the nightstand and sending the lamp and alarm clock flying. He jumped up, and I hit out at him again, flying at him this time and enjoying the sensation of my fist connecting with his face.

“I love you. Stop. Fucking stop. Now,” he roared, and I couldn’t move. I stood as still as a statue. “Fuck!” he roared. He stormed out of the room, and I heard him make his way to Lorne’s room. I wanted to chase him down, stop him from going after the doctor. Lorne wasn’t my favorite person most of the time, but I guess I trusted him. Kind of. He didn’t deserve Connor’s fists or blades just because I’d pissed him off.

“Boss?” I heard Lorne say, and then there was a crash.

“Put that bitch under again. You fucked up somehow. She’s not what she’s supposed to be.”

I swallowed.

“Boss, I can’t—”

“Do not fucking argue with me Lorne. You can.”

“If I do that, she’s not going to be of any use to you,” Lorne said, his voice high, his distress obvious both from the tone of his voice and the way his pulse was hammering.

“You’re lying to me,” Connor shouted. “You think I don’t know you’re lying? I can hear your fucking heartbeat. Do I have to remind you what happens if you piss me off?”

“My heart’s pounding because I’m trying to tell you we can’t do it and you’re not listening to me. We do it again, we put her under again, and we end up with a goddamn vegetable instead of a weapon.” Lorne was talking fast, as if he was trying to get it all in before Connor could argue.

I felt the effects of Connor’s control phrase wearing off. I shifted from foot to foot and considered whether I was going to rush in and protect Lorne or not. At the moment, all I wanted to do was hear what they were saying. “We’ve already messed with her mind too much. Twice, we put her through erasure and reprogramming. That messes with the brain, and it’s not the kind of stress the brain can take, okay? You know she’s not right. Her short-term memory is shit as it is. She can’t remember what you said to her ten minutes ago. She drifts. Okay? We put her through that again, and we break her.”

“You’re lying. Your pulse—”

“Is hammering because if you go through with this, you’re still going to blame me despite what I’m trying to tell you, and I have everything to lose. You wanted a weapon, you have one. Some things, I can’t control. Whatever it is in her that won’t… allow her to do whatever it is you’re trying to make her do, I couldn’t get rid of it after two rounds of reprogramming, boss. I’m sorry. But if we do it again, just so you can have whatever relationship or whatever it is you want with her, we lose the weapon because she’ll be useless. And your work isn’t done. Your revenge against StrikeForce, against Portia, against Caine… you’re not done yet, and we both know she’s the gun you’ll put to their heads. Right?”

I was impressed. Lorne hadn’t struck me as such a salesman. But he was selling the shit out of this. There were several moments of silence.

“Okay. Okay, you’re right,” Connor said, and I heard Lorne release a relieved breath. “I wanted it all, but you’re right. Big picture.” He sounded pissed.

“I’m sorry, boss,” Lorne said. He didn’t sound all that sorry to me, and it made me like him a little more.

“It’s fine. It’s just become clear that I need to start moving on the big picture. I wanted— well, fuck what I wanted. I’ll win, either way.”

“Right,” Lorne said quietly.

“You did good, Lorne. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

A few seconds later, I heard Connor moving around in his suite upstairs. He must have teleported there.

I sat, thinking. What did Lorne have to lose? What did Connor have over him?

I felt like I already knew this shit somehow, and I wanted to scream. There was so much that was just out of reach. Was this what Lorne had been talking about, about how my brain was fucked up now because of the reprogramming and…

Erasure.

He’d freaking said “erasure.” Connor had sold it to me as they fixed me, undid whatever programming StrikeForce had used on me.

What if there hadn’t been any?

Why did I believe a single thing Connor said? I touched my right arm without thinking, gently running my fingers over the place where Lorne gave my injections.

They calmed me down. Made me stop feeling shit. Made everything make sense, at least in that I didn’t think about anything at all, and didn’t care about the things I did manage to think about.

I glanced at the clock. I was about halfway between doses now. I was having more time now where I felt things, thought things. I missed the numbness.

But clarity was a gift. The numbness was the enemy.

He was a liar. He was—

“Lorne, give her another fucking injection. She’s all hyped up down there,” I heard Connor bellow from up in his suite.

I wanted to curse. Swear. Beat the shit out of Lorne when he walked through my door with the syringe.