Operation Blackout

by J. L. Middleton

  His gaze wandered—not from inattention but rather due to shame—and he noticed the crimson stain in the carpet on which the woman stood. He recalled the bare square cut into his living room floor, the confusing reprimand that he’d received for experimenting with fire in the apartment, and the cheap throw rug that had been used to disguise the blemish until they’d left Bay Ridge. While he had no memory of his supposed offense, he knew that the rug concealed a rust-colored stain in the wood beneath it.

  As he watched, the woman’s wounds closed, knitting shut in the swift fashion that only he was capable of inducing, and she smiled brightly, reminding him more of a mother than Madeleine ever had. However, feeling trepidation over the proceedings, he clutched Cassie’s hand tighter, and this silenced the unease he felt when the stranger became clothed in the same snow-white sundress that his sister was wearing.

  “Who are you?” he asked, curious yet afraid to know the answer. She had haunted him for weeks, and despite her gruesome appearance, she had never been accusatory—only concerned for his safety. In his nightmares, he was responsible for her death: If she had not paused to rescue him, she might have escaped.

  She smiled beatifically. “That detail doesn’t matter,” she assured him in a soft, maternal tone that filled him with reassuring comfort like snuggling under a warm blanket next to a fire. “You never knew. The better question is about what you remember… or rather, what you do not.”

  In spite of her kind words, uncertainty still held its clutch on his heart, and he hesitated. “I don’t understand.”

  He felt a hand caress his cheek, and he turned to see the supportive smile of his sister. “Yes, you do,” Cassie insisted patiently, taking his chin into her hands. “Don’t be afraid. I am here with you. You can remember safely.” Reassured by her hallowed touch, he relaxed as he closed his eyes trustingly and released the reins on his mind that he’d forged from fear years ago.

  The dream had indeed been a memory, but it had been incomplete: Pierce, fueled by anger that his prey had escaped and the sudden alarm that their dark secret might be exposed, had tackled the woman with the intent to finish her off swiftly, and Madeleine had quickly reclaimed her child to safely remove him from the scene and protect his innocence for a few more hours. However, Orion had refused to simply abandon his new friend, with whom he’d felt more kinship in a few moments than he’d experienced throughout his entire young life with his parents. He’d struggled frantically to escape his mother’s grasp so that he could go to the stranger’s aid. He’d felt an extraordinary power awaken deep within himself, and he’d directed it toward the vagrant. Pierce’s executing blows had been arrested once he’d witnessed the broken shards of his victim’s skull extending toward one another in an attempt to reunite and become whole and her skin mending faithfully to heal the gaping wound. Unnerved or simply pragmatic, his father had resumed his task and had struck her several times with his machete, ensuring that her slender neck had been severed and that her life had ended. When he’d glanced up, covered in blood splatter and wearing a look of annoyed inconvenience, his frightful visage had been enough to forever imprint fear into the heart of his vulnerable child.

  “You shouldn’t blame yourself,” the decedent told him, gently wiping away his tears. Cassie no longer held his face, having surrendered that role to the woman. “You were only six, and there was nothing you could do; yet, you let your guilt color you for the rest of your life.” Her smile expanded warmly as she shook her head, reassuring him. “I never held a grudge against you, and it is time for you to forgive yourself.”

  Orion’s subconscious challenged the idea of the dead maintaining a grudge, temporarily removing him from the tranquility of the situation, but the moment was fleeting, and his doubt was quickly erased by the soft, restorative kiss that the woman imparted on his forehead like his mother never had. She faded from view, as did the rest of Bay Ridge, leaving him alone with his sister in the peculiar mist.

  “Are you ready to go home?” she asked, her kind voice taking on a saintly patience and equanimity. Orion was surrounded by gray dimness, and no mysterious looming shapes threatened to manifest in the mists. He was ready—there was nothing left to bind him to this place—and he took her offered hand willingly. Yet, a faint nagging lingered in the back of his mind as if there was something that did remain—if only he could remember.

  - - -

  The sound of the ringing phone roused Terrance from his restless slumber. Like most Plum Island staff, he’d remained at the facility until it had become evident that little else could be done that evening, and he’d headed home, where he’d fallen into a reluctant and troubled sleep. He pounced on the device, cleared his throat, and answered confidently, “Terrance.”

  “Starr is dead,” Connor stated. “I’m going to need—”

  Terrance bolted upright, swinging his massive legs over the side of the bed so quickly that he bashed his ankle into the nightstand; this did not improve his tense mood. He clasped the injury and, through gritted teeth, demanded, “What the hell? How did that happen? I said to watch him for strange behavior!”

  “It’s a long story that I don’t feel like getting into at the moment.” Connor’s voice, which was stretched thin like the last intact thread of a frayed rope, threatened to break with every word. Then it rebounded, becoming flat and lifeless as he completed the request he had begun to make at the beginning of the conversation. “I’m going to need a cleanup team ASAP. Make sure Antithesis is on the crew. Maybe even bring Angel along for the ride.” Surprisingly and without missing a beat, he added, “And a doctor—preferably the one who did the autopsies for the Chamberlain case.”

  “Whatever you say, Connor,” Terrance replied reassuringly, his mind questioning what had rattled his subordinate. This was the man who had tried to make a status report from inside the back of an ambulance, and though he wasn’t always well-mannered or polite, Terrance respected the man who he knew wasn’t easily shaken and could maintain his composure under pressure. “This is about the girl, though, isn’t it?” he asked, trying to confirm his suspicion.

  “She’s alive, so don’t worry yourself too much. I’ll bring her back once the scene’s secure, and I’ll make my report then,” he promised. He sounded as if he was being straightforward—no trace of his normal condescension—and he nearly made it to the end before his voice cracked, spilling a dark, acrid laugh. “Maybe I should be a little more specific about the team, yeah?” he continued, bleeding incongruent bitter anguish into his tone. “This bastard’s able to siphon the life out of you, and he consumed Starr. I think he’s dead, but I sure as hell would like Antithesis to make sure.”

  Nothing in Connor’s reports had ever made Terrance reconsider his partnership with Orion Starr, but the raw emotions he was displaying gave him pause; had Orion survived, he would have finally reviewed the arrangement. As it was, Connor was high-strung and volatile, and it was possible that his reaction was due to whatever events had transpired and not to an overly personal connection. “It’ll take a few hours to get there,” he replied, greatly regretting the distance between the two cities; urgency could not alter bothersome geography, and though traffic cleared by the late hour, the time it would take to assemble the team ultimately meant that no gain would be made.

  “Do you think you can make it that long?” he asked. If the agent could not, there was little Terrance could do, except hope that local law enforcement could keep its composure when it responded to Connor’s request for backup.

  “’Course I can,” Connor assured him brightly. “Just a few minor scrapes and bruises, and the girl’s practically comatose, so she won’t be any trouble.” Terrance could hear the forced smile in his pause. “I’ll hold down the fort,” he continued cheekily. “Maybe I’ll even squeeze in a good nap.”

  Although the sarcasm and marginal insubordination had returned, Connor�
��s sudden reversal and the absence of the other emotions worried Terrance. “Connor, you don’t sound so good.”

  His agent chuckled cynically. “That’s just the adrenaline talking. I’m fine,” he replied smoothly, no unsteady trace betraying that he was not as collected as he portrayed. “Though I’d love a drink when you get here. Do you think you could have them pack a Jameson for me?”

  “Yeah, we can have them do that,” Terrance agreed grudgingly. Connor seemed to be struggling with early signs of psychological shock, a condition to which he was already prone due to his service record. There was not much Terrance could do for him now, and though he’d sat through numerous seminars, he was not prepared to deal meaningfully with it; he’d have to leave that to the professionals, and he’d ensure that one was placed on the requested team. “Hang on, Connor,” he said.

  - - -

  Connor shoved the phone into his pocket, barely registering that it clattered to the cement instead, and limped back to Cassie’s side; now that his adrenaline high had begun to recede, he felt the soreness seep back into his body and he knew the pain would increase overnight. Though the girl had still not budged from her spot, she’d at least fallen silent, and he wrapped an arm around her inexpertly. Cassie flinched at his touch—which he certainly understood, as he had no experience in consolation—and then exploding into tears and rage, she rejected his gesture. “This is your fault!” she shouted vehemently.

  “Yeah, I know, love,” he accepted softly and pulled her into an embrace. Despite her outburst, she didn’t resist, receiving succor from their shared grief, and she buried her face in her hands as she slumped against him. He shifted slightly, shielding her brother’s body from view, and though he should have kept watch over Jack’s corpse to validate its continued inertness, he was relieved to banish both forms from his sight.

  As Cassie sobbed, he considered what would happen to her now that her brother was gone. While it was conceivable that she’d continue to live with the Vickers—they were the last legal guardians whom Orion had authorized—it was more likely that she’d be shipped back to Plum Island. Orion had once scoffed at the idea of Cassie living with relatives instead of foster parents: Pierce’s single mother had died decades ago, and her English parents, who were practical strangers to the siblings, were too old to care for another child, while Madeleine had cut her family entirely out of her life. Cassie would turn eighteen within two years and was set to inherit a fortune, but Connor wondered if she would ever make it that far.

  Cassie was responsible for five dead bodies, and though she might have killed the warehouse workers in self-defense, he doubted this argument would protect her for a third time. Her probation would be revoked, her case file reviewed, and his passionate endorsement of her for government work would certainly be dismissed. She would be recommended for euthanasia because even if the BSI accepted his proposal to use her to fight fires or assist in arson investigations, she had taken too many human lives.

  Why had he offered to escort her back to Plum Island? He could have lied and said that she had died like her brother, but his brain had already taken refuge in the comfort of autopilot and he’d provided an accurate report. He’d offered her up for the good of the population; she was like a loyal guard dog who’d bitten the wrong victim.

  He was telling himself a lie, and he knew it; it was one that he couldn’t even swallow this time. It was his duty to save as many lives as he could, and Cassie should have been one of them; she was not a destructive force but a child in unfortunate circumstances. He was failing to protect her, which meant he was invalidating the sacrifice that Stern had made for him. Connor was losing his right to continue living.

  Stern’s memory stirred another disturbing thought. He’d never received visions of Stern’s demise, and he desperately wished that he had, for then, he might’ve been able to prevent it. Stern had meant as much to him as Orion had—perhaps more—so experiencing a premonition was not a matter of friendship or intimacy. Alternatively, maybe Connor should be considering why he’d received these visions at all.

  The hallucinations might have centered on Orion—first, the confrontation at Primrose and now his lost battle with the parasite—but he was not all they revealed. To Connor’s knowledge, he had never met their captor before tonight, yet he’d accurately visualized his similitude to the Starr siblings. Moreover, Jack’s words upon greeting them had seemed oddly au fait, as if he’d known more about Connor’s secrets than he did himself. While this alone was disquieting, it became much worse when placed in context: The vertigo that he’d felt in Jack’s presence echoed two earlier occasions when he met new people—Moise Kabamba, a proven Other, and Pierce Starr, whose enviable hardiness made a good case for preternatural ability—and, most damning, he’d been incapacitated by a severe headache during Antithesis’ last visit. Only Others reacted to Antithesis’ suppression field, and while he’d never experienced an adverse response to it before, his well-timed headache became admissible evidence for the realization he was trying to resist. Perhaps it wasn’t luck guiding his phenomenal Other apprehension rate.

  He did not have long to consider his troubling line of thought before it was mercifully interrupted by the loud, dry gasp of a man who’d completed his first marathon. The sound also drew Cassie’s attention, and she looked up from her mourning in startled surprise and fear. Her tears, which had stained her cheeks with ruined mascara and foundation, had now run dry, and her puffy eyes seemed to shoulder the bulk of her emotions, widening in anticipation of a new threat. In contrast, Connor took the new development in stride, scowling ambivalently despite his extensive relief; Orion’s miraculous recovery complicated things, as it confirmed the original problem he’d identified at Primrose.

  Orion appeared entirely unharmed and rose to his feet eagerly, intent on only one thing: his sister. “Cassie!” he exclaimed, happily sweeping her into his arms. However, his reunion would not be as smooth as he might have hoped and instead became a maelstrom of emotions. At first, she grinned, readily returning his embrace with the same elation, but as her joy peaked, a shadow moved over her face as her mind began to sift through her feelings. She shoved him away violently, shouting, “Get away from me, you freak!” She could not presently reconcile her relief at his apparent resurrection with her deep-seated rejection of their supernatural natures, and the latter seemed to be currently in control, also distracting her from the upsetting thoughts that had previously caused her to passively withdraw. It seemed that, like Connor, she coped better with anger, and he could appreciate the unhealthy strategy.

  Her brother’s face fell, the shadow of uncertainty creeping across it as well. “Cassie…” How much memory had he retained? Connor had never been able to debrief Orion on his experience at Primrose, even after Connor had badgered him, and had instead focused on validating the younger man’s continued good health. Did Orion realize that he’d been attacked or that his sister, traumatized by the idea of losing her brother, had conducted her own assault to rescue him?

  Cassie had already taken a few steps backward, tears forming in her eyes as she clenched her fists, while her brother nervously wiped his mouth with his hand. Connor decided that he needed to intervene before the siblings became too involved in their argument. “Hold on, love,” he said, preempting her words, which were on the tip of her sharp tongue and ready to be launched. “Before you get in a row, there’s something a bit more pressing I need to speak with your brother about.” He managed a cocky grin, drawing her attention and hopefully her ire; she’d have been irate at his interruption anyway, so there was no harm in acting like a lightning rod for the rest of her resentment if it would grease the wheels for an easier evening. “Do you think you can handle holding off a bit? You can have at me later if it makes you feel better,” he added smugly, cementing certainty that her anger was redirected toward him. She glared daggers at the agent, confirming the success of t
he ruse.

  Connor took Orion softly by the arm and led him a short distance away—far enough that their quiet voices weren’t likely to carry. He caught the younger man’s chin in his hand, turning his face side to side in an attempt to examine him in the dark, and he quirked his lips; Orion appeared fine—not even flinching as he was being handled—and his throat bore no ill signs or even any bruising. Nevertheless, voicing his concern, he asked, “Are you okay, mate? Everything intact?”

  Orion’s gaze flitted momentarily toward his sister before he sighed heavily. “I’m fine,” he replied unconvincingly. His eyes dropped to the cement, though they did not remain still and traced a path along the string of bodies illuminated by the distant ambient city light. He scowled as understanding dawned, and when he again looked past Connor at his sister, he seemed to have aged visibly.

  Connor nodded slowly. “If you say so,” he agreed solemnly, and he wished that he had time to confirm Orion’s statement. He’d conducted several cognitive tests on his partner after Primrose, and Orion had shown no adverse effects from the experience, but this didn’t mean that it would hold true this time. He flashed a conceited smirk, switching gears to grant him some distance and conserve his nerve. “You’re indestructible, eh?” he teased nonchalantly, earning broken eye contact and a deeper, more troubled frown. So, Orion might remember after all…

  As tantalizing as the possibility was, Connor couldn’t press him for details if he was going to follow through with his plan. “Look, we don’t have much time,” he said, maintaining his illusion of control. As the words tumbled from his mouth, he could not believe that he was betraying the BSI mission, but he knew that it was the moral choice. As with his Primrose report, he had to have faith in his instinct. “I called headquarters. I didn’t know you were coming back.” Orion tilted his head, poised to interrupt, and Connor forestalled him with a blithe smile and a wave of his hand. “Don’t think about it too hard, mate. You’ll drive yourself mad,” he quipped, burying his actual concern in customary glibness.