Twist (Book 1): The Abnorm Chronicles-Twist (2 page)

Chapter 3

Cooper tried to spread the files across his desk, but there just wasn’t enough room. The sparse offices of Equitable Services were cramped, implying that the task force had not yet attained the importance and visibility it deserved. Even as part of the larger Department of Analysis and Response, Equitable Services was less than a year old and had not yet earned the office space it needed to operate.

For now, the
task force assigned to track and monitor potentially dangerous Brilliants had been shoved into the equivalent of a storage closet just off Capitol Hill in DC. If the ES team could crack enough cases and get a few high-profile wins, however, maybe the agents would get a little more elbow room.

Cooper tried to make more
desk space by sliding the framed photograph of his wife and three-year-old son to the edge of the desk.
Sorry, Natalie and Todd
. When that didn’t make enough room, Cooper pushed the lamp in the other direction. Finally, he cleared sufficient real estate to spread out the case files of the killings in Denver.

While others in the DAR hadn’t
—yet—paid much attention to the random murders in Colorado, Cooper had spotted an emerging pattern, and that was his specialty.

In his mind, thanks to his
own genetic gift, everything from muscle motions to the decisions made by a fleeing suspect interlocked in a gigantic puzzle. The ability to recognize patterns from grand generalities to the subtlest twitch of a suspect’s cheek was what made him so perfect for this job.

P
recariously balanced on the edge of the desk, the lamp shed insufficient light on the spread of case paraphernalia, so he adjusted the angle to illuminate the photos. By seeing more detail, he could make more connections. Four days ago, in Denver, the third murder of its kind had occurred in as many weeks. Every Thursday night, a new body was found, throat slashed open with a broken bottle, the murder weapon left at the scene, no fingerprints. The Denver PD had found no connection among the victims.

Because of the randomness
of the killings—and only three data points so far in a city where hundreds of violent crimes occurred each month, including a murder or two per week—the local police had trouble digging in and finding a pattern to link the murders. And they lacked the resources to give this an appropriate level of urgency.

The crime-scene techs had found no trace evidence, no shoe prints, no surve
illance video footage, no prints. Nothing connected the victims other than the fact that each was a military veteran, though of different times and different services.

But Cooper
had discovered a link that local police were unable to spot, due to confidential records. All three victims were Brilliants.

But that registry was not available to the public. The killer must have known, somehow.

DAR Crime Watch, a sophisticated software system designed by Brilliants working for the Department, had flagged these killings. Cooper paged through dozens of flags a day, searching for patterns that would let him notice any Brilliant who might be causing trouble. A watchdog. A safety net. That was what Equitable Services was designed to do.

Denver’s throat
slasher had caught his eye, though. Each large city had numerous murders, and this string of killings had not raised a particular hue and cry, at least not yet. The victimology was scattershot—male, female, young, old—though it was reasonably obvious that it was the same killer.

When he pointed out the possible pattern, suggesting
that the killings warranted further attention, Director Peters was skeptical. “So you think somebody is hunting down and killing Brilliants, specifically?”

“Yes, sir.
Rowdies could use broken bottles in a bar fight, but these victims were stalked and attacked. Killed in their homes. It’s statistically impossible—at least highly unlikely—that three random victims of a throat slasher would just happen to be Brilliants. We’re only one percent of the population.”

Peters had folded his hands across the desk
in his office, which was much larger than Cooper’s. “Nick, I understand your concern, but the mission of Equitable Services is to make sure Brilliants don’t cause trouble for the rest of society, not to protect them from some human-supremacist vigilante.”

Cooper, though, had continued to study the case, mulling over the details.
Victim three, Dennis Bordki, retired Marine, was the one that had caught his eye. DAR databases logged him as a tier-three kinesthetic reader. Cooper knew that no one but another Brilliant would be able to take down a kinesthetic reader in combat—especially not one with military training.

And if the murderer was
himself a Brilliant, then this case would indeed fit the criteria for an Equitable Services investigation. Cooper wanted to chase this flag, go to Denver so he could have a look around and use his particular skill to spot underlying threads.

So far,
however, Director Peters had denied Cooper the funding for the travel and the off-site operation. The man was his mentor, someone who wanted to encourage Cooper, maybe even indulge him. But there were budgetary constraints. Operating on a shoestring and fighting for every nickel, Equitable Services had to choose their cases carefully.

“
For the time being, we need to build the department’s track record,” Peters explained. “We need sure wins, not gut feelings. Something that’ll put a spotlight on us—and then we’ll be able to accomplish so much more.”

Through his pattern sense,
Cooper already knew this was a sure thing, and relevant to the ES mission, and he could see he was close to convincing the Director. He just needed a little more leverage.

The
task force had been created to find Brilliants, then expanded to track them down and stop those who would use their genetic abnormality to harm Normals. Cooper believed in his job as a loyal member of Equitable Services with every inch of his being and every ounce of his will.

Find new Brilliants,
catalog them, keep an eye out to spot the ones who meant to do damage. Who better to track down a Brilliant than another Brilliant? None of the advanced humans were registered anywhere other than the DAR, and Cooper was sure the killer didn’t come from inside the DAR.

Definitely not
, he said to himself now, sliding the photos around. He would keep his eyes and ears open. Thursday was coming up in a few days.

If Cooper
was right, another Brilliant would turn up dead. If the body count reached four, all Brilliants, he would have a better shot at convincing Director Peters to let him go to Denver.

A detail
in the case photos caught his eye, and he brought out his personal datapad. Someday, if Cooper and his fellow agents did their jobs well and brought sufficient prominence to the team, then Equitable Services would be able to provide high-end datapads for all agents. Right now, he was one of only six agents left in the field. Without a sufficient budget even for adequate staff, no way could the DAR equip the agents with the technology they needed to do the job. Cooper provided his own datapad.

He tapped the apps, calling up what he needed,
while musing about the short-lived history of Equitable Services. It was an inauspicious beginning, with only twelve agents to start. Two had died, four had quit. But Cooper stuck around because he believed in their mission.

The photo
-library app finished loading, and he swiped through images of the previous two crime scenes, using the photo-processing software to enlarge and enhance the details. Despite the grisly nature of the work, he zoomed in on each of the cut throats, putting the pieces together in analytical mode, studying the angle and depth of the wound, torn skin, and blood spatter that could provide the tiniest hint that might shed light on the killer’s height and weight.

He needed e
very piece of information, every insight to prepare himself. He was sure that after Thursday there would be a fourth victim. Which would mean that—next piece of the puzzle—he would be headed to Denver before the week was out.

TUESDAY

Chapter 4

Chloe lightly stepped off the bottom stair of the bus, as she did every day. The sidewalk was full of people this close to Capitol Hill, thanks to the pedestrian malls. The free buses made it easy and convenient for her to get from home to work to campus and back every day, gave her time to sketch as she rode along, observing details of the outside world, capturing them with her art.

It was great not to need a car.
Life itself was great.

As he watched from his window, observing all the tiny details of her expression, her eye movements even far away
, down on the street, Adam could read the thoughts running through her head. He assembled a myriad minuscule expressions through fragmented reflections on panes of glass, curved reflective surfaces, even a still puddle of water—so many potential mirrors sparsely decorated the block that separated her from his direct gaze.

Chloe
hefted the book bag on her shoulder. With a spring in her step, despite the long day she’d obviously spent waitressing at the Bakers Inn, she headed toward her apartment building.

Adam
enjoyed seeing her in a good mood. He squinted, tilted his head, and spotted the food stains down the front of her white shirt. Chloe was normally so careful at work. Something must have gone horribly wrong—a customer standing up unexpectedly, knocking a plate out of her hand, spilling the daily special. That was conjecture, though, not a detail provided by direct evidence from his senses. All the same, the mishap hadn’t put a dent in her mood,. Her smile stretched almost ear to ear.
Infectious
. That was the word Adam was looking for. Just seeing Chloe’s smile brightened his day from high up on the seventh floor of his apartment building.

When he
shifted in the wheelchair, the panoply of reflections changed, giving him a different view.

In his mind, he was walking there
beside her, sharing the glow that emanated from her with every step. Turning on to Thirteenth Avenue, she stopped, staring at the blue sky, just enjoying the bright and sunny Tuesday. Adam felt the warmth through the window, touching his fingertips the same way it touched her skin.

As she continued to walk toward
her building, Chloe pulled the phone out of her pocket. It was another detail about her that he loved. She still did this every day.
Hi Mom
, she texted,
I’m home safe from work. Just walking in now. Gonna take a quick shower, then study.

She cared so much for the people around her.

Fumbling with the keys in her pocket, Chloe opened the front door to her apartment building and walked in through the lobby, hitting the elevator call button. She never bothered to check her mail in the lobby boxes when she first got home. Instead, she would do that when she went for a second walk later in the evening. She liked to sit on a bench at sunset, sketchpad in her lap, drawing the world.

With a ding, the elevator
’s brown doors slid open and she stepped inside.

Adam hated this part.
This was where he lost her, and she would be out of any possible line of sight for a dozen full seconds; more, if the elevator stopped at other floors. Without realizing it, he held his breath until, on the fifth floor, the elevator doors reopened and Chloe emerged. With a sigh, he relaxed in his chair, glad to see her again through the hall windows.

She fumbled with her keys, looking for the right one.
Juggling too many things, she slipped her phone back into her pocket and shrugged to resettle the backpack into a more comfortable position. After sliding the key into the lock, she let herself into her apartment and closed the door.

Again she vanished
from Adam’s sight, this time for two seconds, but he regained his connection through a thin slit in the curtains. He picked up a reflection on the metallic refrigerator. Processing those reflections, his brain filled out the rest of the picture from a combination of memory and current lines of sight, assembling the picture of Chloe’s life, tiny detail by tiny detail.

She tossed her backpack on the sofa
under her Air Force cadet uniform hanging on the wall. With easy movements, Chloe disrobed as she headed toward the bathroom. She kicked her shoes off as she walked, then she slipped off her black dress slacks, hopped along in a charming way. Now only in her panties and the stained white shirt, she tossed the slacks over the back of a chair.

Adam leaned closer to the window, intensifying his focus.
Watching her undress, he considered it a beautiful performance, almost as beautiful as she was. Chloe could be so intent on her goal that she couldn’t stop moving. She wasn’t restless or fidgety, but always heading toward a destination, even while changing clothes.

The food-stained
blouse came off next, tossed wantonly toward the bedroom. It landed in a heap on the floor, next to a pile of sketchpads. Bra and panties came off next, leaving her gloriously naked. She left her underwear on the floor in front of the bathroom door. Chloe wasn’t a sloppy person—Adam had watched her do this often enough to know she would pick everything up later—but she had other priorities right now. A long, steamy shower.

Adam grinned.
Yes, the drapes were mostly drawn, but not so carefully that he couldn’t use his ability to see around corners and other troublesome obstructions. Chloe wore her nudity with an openness and honesty that most people reserved for the bedroom. Life itself was her lover.

She stepped into
the bathroom, slid aside the plastic curtain, and turned on the shower. Steam rose from behind the curtain, and the bathroom mirror fogged. After adjusting the temperature, she stepped into the tub and pulled the fabric into place behind her.

The steam was
no impediment to Adam, since he had seen her naked so many times. He had memorized and filed away the perfect curves of her body, the tones of her skin. Without consciously processing it, his mind evoked her form, assembled it in perfect detail from hints of view.

As if he could see through the shower, h
e watched as she slowly washed off the sweat and tiredness of the day. Warm water cascaded over her hair, pouring down her face and body. She scrubbed at her skin, slowly and languidly, enjoying the feel of the shower.

Every day
, Adam imagined her reacting like that to his touch. Every day, the idea broke his heart, because he knew he would never be able to go down there and meet her in person. He could never even say hello to her. But now in this time and this moment, while she was there and he was here, he could forget that impediment; instead, in his mind, he could share this moment with her, be with her in the shower.

His gift
of hyperacuity, while strong, was imperfect. Eventually, the thickening steam obfuscated his view, made the mirror no more than an unhelpful pane of murk, and he had to rely entirely on memory and imagination. Grays and shadows, her ethereal form behind the shower curtains, filled his vision.

Chloe
closed her eyes, tilting her face up under the showerhead.

A
nother shadow moved through the steam in the bathroom. As Adam watched carefully, feeling his pulse race, he pushed his hand against the window, trying to reach out to her, to warn her.

The
other shadow moved closer to the shower.

Under the running water,
Chloe ran her hands across her face, scrubbing. Leaning out of the stream, she twitched the curtain aside, groped for a towel to wipe her eyes.

Then
Chloe jumped back with a scream, stumbled and fell in the slippery tub. As she lost her balance and overreacted, she reached out to grab at the curtain, and plastic tore. One ring at a time, the curtain separated from thin metal rings as she fell back into the tub under the running water.

R
owr!
The feline yelp followed her fleeing ginger tomcat—drenched with shower spray in an unintentional splash—out of the bathroom.

Chloe’s exclamation was accompanied by a laugh.
“Dexter!” As she recovered herself, she called after the cat. “What are you doing in here? I’ll feed you after my shower.”

Climbing back to her feet
under the running water, she turned off the shower and emerged from the tub with a forlorn look at the dismantled shower curtain. She pulled a plush green towel around her and dried herself off.

Adam enjoyed every second. The fog on the mirror began to thin,
granting him a better view.

Once dry, she stood in front of the
bathroom sink and rooted about for a hairband, then pulled her shoulder-length golden hair back into a ponytail. She wiped a corner of the mirror with the towel and bent close for a quick scalp check to check for damage after her fall. Apparently, the shower curtain and her pride had suffered the only injuries.

W
ith the towel still wrapped around her, she fed the insistent cat in the kitchen, then made her way to the bedroom, where she closed the door behind her.

Adam felt as if his life-support system had been unplugged.

He sighed. It was her only windowless room and the only carpeted area in her apartment, so even the sound of her distant movements were muffled. Once she closed that door, he was locked out of her life, barred from sharing moments with her.

Savoring one last moment,
he imagined Chloe walking to her bed and snuggling under her blankets. Adam closed his eyes, waited five minutes, ten, and, finally, after twenty minutes, he was sure she was taking her afternoon nap.

He let his gaze wander
along the building front across the street from his apartment. Other windows. In the meantime, he could let himself live life through someone else’s eyes.