I shook my head, tearing my gaze away as the news went to commercials after his statement ended. I still felt like crap from the injuries and long walk/ride home the night before. My stomach was tied up in knots, and I was on edge.
I knew what would make me feel better. I needed to get out. Needed the focus that came with pulling off another job. I just needed to do some checking around first.
I sighed. But first, I had to find an apartment. And move. And find some way to get over the fact that I was an infamous burglar who didn’t want to move away from her mommy.
The apartment thing worked out courtesy of Mama, who knew someone who knew a guy who owned an apartment building. I signed a lease, forked over a security deposit and first month’s rent, and less than a week later, I found myself standing in the living room area of a shitty little studio apartment in Roseville. The landlord had been very pleased to tell me that I had my own parking space, that everyone did, and I hadn’t bothered telling him that I didn’t have a car.
I didn’t want to be there.
Mama had helped me pack and move, and seemed almost giddy when she hugged and kissed me and told me to have fun getting settled.
“I had no idea you wanted me to move so badly,” I said, crossing my arms.
Mama grinned. “It’s on the parent bucket list. Make sure you live to be eighteen. Hope you go to college. Push you out of the nest and watch you fly. And you are so going to fly, Jo,” she said, smiling. “You can’t do that living with your Mama.”
“Says you,” I grumbled, and she laughed and hugged me hard.
“You’ll get used to it,” she said, and then she kissed my cheek and showed herself out. I was left, staring listlessly at all of the boxes and bags surrounding me, along with my dresser from home, the ugly sofa and tables that came with the apartment, and a small TV that was on its last legs. I still felt the after-effects of the day the quakes had hit, and the last place I wanted to be was in this strange place that was supposedly mine.
I unpacked, and even with all of my stuff there, it still felt nowhere near being “home.” I hung around for a day or two, went to class, and, lacking anything else to do and needing to get out of my apartment, I started planning my next heist.
It wasn’t going exactly as planned. I was starting to stress a bit over the fact that the people who lived in the next house I was planning to rob just kind of seemed to be hanging around. Though, to be honest, there were plenty of people hunkering down, waiting to see what would happen in the aftermath of the Confluence. It usually took anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks for powers to show up, based on what we knew from the first Confluence. Here and there, powers were showing up in North America, including a few right in the Detroit area. Still, I wasn’t making any money, and it was making me antsy. I decided to forget about the young family in the house with the giant white columns and make a move on some of my other targets.
After doing some checking on the feeds from the tiny cameras I’d installed at three other possible targets, I had it narrowed down.
Thank God, because it felt like I was on the verge of losing my mind. A quick job would take the edge off.
I’d been casing this house for a while now. The only reason I hadn’t actually bothered breaking in was because I knew only one person lived there, and it was a guy. Which usually meant not as much jewelry, which was kind of my bread and butter. I really hadn’t planned on hitting him now, either, but I needed to do something, and, really, with the police and everyone busy with the aftermath of the earthquakes and watching out for when super trouble was going to appear, it seemed like a shame not to take advantage of the chaos. They definitely weren’t worried as much about me right now.
The only issue really would be transportation, I thought as I walked a few blocks away from my target. The buses were running, but the routes were all screwed up due to road closures and the fact that more than a few buses had been damaged in the quakes. People were still driving around, and, clearly, the cops could still get around when they needed to. So my main concern was the getaway, because getting in would be a piece of cake. No pets, no security guards, just a simple monitored security system, which I could jam easily enough.
Probably, he didn’t even have anything in there worth stealing. But you never know. He had good taste. I could tell that from the glimpses of the decor in the living room I’d been able to see, the expensive but not-flashy car he drove. He’d only been there twice in the weeks I’d been casing the place, so maybe he travelled a lot. From what I’d been able to see, he hadn’t been around in the last few days at all.
So, it came down to how to get myself out once I’d cleaned him out.
I jammed the security system and ducked inside after picking the lock on the back door, which opened onto a patio that overlooked a giant swimming pool. I glanced around, making sure no one saw me as I ducked inside. The great thing about this particular guy’s house was that he had long lines of pine trees along three sides of his yard. Really private. No security guards. Maybe he was a loner or something. Really didn’t matter to me either way, but it made my job easier.
The kitchen wasn’t anything special. Not the sleek, modern kitchens I usually saw during these jobs. Oak cabinets, tile floor. Nice, expensive, but maybe what most people would consider outdated. I liked it.
I listened, and heard nothing, and started opening cabinets.
Sometimes, you find good stuff in places where they don’t think you’ll look for it. One of those shows on TV must have had something about hiding your valuables in the freezer or the flour bin, because I found more expensive jewelry in those two places than I ever would have expected to.
Cabinet after cabinet was empty, which made me wonder if maybe he didn’t live there full time. Which would suck even more for me, actually, because he may not have had anything worth stealing, despite how expensive the house and car were.
Unfortunately, there was nothing worth stealing in his kitchen, so I headed into the living room. Large TV, video game systems, stereo, none of which I was interested in. There was a stairway with an iron railing to my left, and I quietly, quickly walked up to the second floor. To my right were two bedrooms that looked unused, full of furniture but not much else. I went in to check the closets, and found that the closet in the first room was packed floor to ceiling with sheets, still wrapped in their plastic. Pillows. Comforters. The closets in the second room held pants, men’s shirts, more than I could ever imagine owning, at least ten of each item. The floor was lined with men’s sneakers and dress shoes. I shook my head and started to close the door. This job was going to be a bust unless the master bedroom had anything useful in it. I swiped at my nose, rubbed my eyes, cursing who ever had gotten me sick. I turned toward the door, and there was someone standing there, just outside the room, in the hallway.
Shit.
He was looking at me. I recognized him from the few times I’d cased the house before. Tall. Skinny, which made me wonder how much of a fight he’d put up when I tried to push past him. Dark brown hair, brown eyes. He was dressed in a plain white t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants.
“What are you doing?” he asked, much more calmly than I would have if I’d found someone poking around in my house. He was studying me, and I felt like he was seeing far too much. I hated being seen, even under the best of circumstances. But this? This was a nightmare, and he was too close, and he could undoubtedly give a better description of me than any of my other victims would have been able to. “Well?” he asked. His voice was low, smooth.
“You weren’t supposed to be home right now,” I said quietly.
To my surprise, he let out a short laugh.
“Sorry for messing up your plans,” he said. “Not much worth stealing, is there?”
I didn’t answer. I was trying not to make it obvious that I was looking at my exit options. In this room, I had two: jump out the window, hope I landed in the pool, and try to make a dripping-wet ge
taway. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to jump from the second floor. That, or shove past him and run like hell.
I really didn’t feel like jumping. I already felt like crap, and if I landed wrong, I could end up incapable of running.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“I’m sure you are. It sucks to get caught,” he said, and I walked toward the door, trying to plan how I’d get past him. Maybe a kick to the nuts? Maybe a quick jab to the face, just enough to distract him so I could run out. I didn’t want to hurt him, though. That was a line I wouldn’t cross, and I’d gone this long without doing so. I’d never even gotten close to having a confrontation with a homeowner during one of my jobs.
How the hell had I gotten myself into this mess?
“You’re the one who’s been doing all of these burglaries, huh?” he asked. He held his hands up when I started to move. I stopped. My heart was pounding and my mouth was so dry my tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth. I licked my lips nervously. Something in his eyes, something in that placid expression on his face, creeped me out. Why wasn’t he more pissed? Why wasn’t he reaching for a phone?
“Did you call the cops?” I asked, and he laughed.
“Not likely.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Was he telling the truth? And if not, what was he planning to do?
“The cops think it’s a guy doing these, you know?” he asked. “I was sure of it, too, until you talked. Funny how much a bulky sweatshirt and a scarf can hide, huh?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb, still blocking me inside the room, but looking a lot more relaxed. “They never even thought it could be a woman.”
“Well. I’m not built in an especially girly way, maybe,” I said.
He shrugged. “Or maybe they just assume it has to be a guy doing this type of thing.”
“Maybe.”
Where the hell was he going with this? What was he going to do? I didn’t plan to stick around to find out.
“I didn’t get anything,” I said.
“I know. I was watching you on the security feed.”
I took a breath. All I could do was blame how crappy I was feeling. How antsy I’d become, sitting around doing nothing in my new, crappy apartment. Either way, I’d been stupid to come out and try to do a job when I felt so off. What was wrong with me?
“Look… I’m really sorry. And I didn’t get anything, and—“
“So you think you can just break into my house and say ‘sorry’ and that’s it?” he asked, still with that calm, smooth voice, but with that unreadable look in his eyes.
“I was hoping,” I said. I started edging toward the window.
“Would you be okay with me breaking into your house?”
“I don’t have anything worth stealing,” I said.
It felt like my heart was about to pound right out of my chest. It was hard to breathe. It felt like I was going to pass out, which would be really bad with creepy rich guy standing right there. And creepy though he was, I still didn’t want to risk hurting him. He didn’t exactly look like the kind of guy who’d take a hit well, kind of pale and drawn-looking. I took another step toward the window overlooking the swimming pool.
“That window doesn’t open,” he said.
“I don’t care,” I answered.
And then I ran, fast, and leapt, taking the impact of hitting the window, knowing I’d pay for it later. My teeth clinked together, and my head ached immediately.
And then I was falling.
And I’d misjudged where the window was in relation to the swimming pool.
The patio stones seemed like they were leaping up to meet me. And there was a shout from the window above.
This was not the way I wanted to die, splattered on some millionaire’s bluestone patio.
And then, all of a sudden, I wasn’t falling.
I was flying toward the pool, which was where I’d hoped to land.
I screamed, despite myself. I almost fell into the pool, but at the last moment, I straightened my body and ended up soaring over it.
Confluence.
Was it even possible?
I was flying toward the trees that surrounded the guy’s property, and I thought of how it looked when things flew on TV. I pulled up, and I started rising.
I let out a whoop of relief and soared higher, higher, over the trees, over the neighborhood. Another shout came from behind me but I had no intention of turning back.
Not when I could fly instead.
I didn’t know how I was doing it. It’s like trying to explain how to breathe or how to make your heart beat. I just was. I could feel my body pushing forward through the sky. If I leaned left, I’d go left. If I leaned right, I’d go right.
All super interesting, but I mainly didn’t want to be seen. I had a feeling that would be a really, really stupid scene. And I’d had enough unplanned encounters for one day.
I got my bearings. Okay. I was over Detroit. There was Jefferson. I knew there was a bus stop nearby, because this wasn’t the first house I’d hit in Indian Village. They just didn’t get noticed quite as much, because Indian Village was in the Detroit city limits and for some reason, the media only seemed to think I robbed the suburbs. Apparently, even thieves are supposed to be afraid to cross Eight Mile.
To the left, there was a field, behind the Waldorf school I’d walked past a couple of times while casing the neighborhood.
I’d have to risk it. It was the emptiest place nearby, and I had to figure out how the hell to land now that I was, insane as it was, up in the air.
I got over the back part of the field, glanced around. It was well after school hours, and the sky was mercifully dark. I tried pulling back, and that resulted in slowing down. I tried standing straight up in the air, but it felt weird, wobbly. And I was just kind of… stuck there. Nothing happened. I definitely wasn’t getting any closer to the ground. I felt even more wobbly the longer I stood there, and ended up flailing in a blind panic before righting myself again.
I lifted my legs as if getting ready to jump, seeing if I could kind of force myself down with the help of gravity, but all that did was make me rise further into the air.
My stomach twisted, and the thought flitted through my mind, that what if I was stuck up here now? What if this was it?
It almost made me want to laugh, if I hadn’t been completely terrified. I tried the jumping thing again, and ended a couple feet higher in the air.
What the hell? I pictured every single video game or super hero movie I’ve ever seen. Freaking Superman just lands, all composed, on his feet. It was just my luck that though there were undoubtedly other supers who could fly, I’d never seen any videos of them, or, more specifically, how the fuck they got themselves out of the sky.
I took a breath. Someone was going to see me soon if I didn’t stop floating in midair.
I lunged, flying again, but this time, I maneuvered myself, angling my body down, the way an airplane looks when it lands. Hopefully, I could get my feet beneath me once I got down to the ground.
Hopefully, I’d be able to actually stay on the ground. What if I was stuck floating around all the time now?
I shoved the thought aside. I’d panic about that when the time came, if I had to.
As I neared the ground, as it almost felt like it was leaping up to bash me right in the face, I tried to pull back, hoping to land on my feet.
Instead, I faceplanted into the soccer field behind the school, plowing into the earth, hard. Dirt and grass filled my mouth, which I’d stupidly opened to scream again. The impact on my face just made the headache from smashing through Rich Guy’s window pound a little harder. I finally came to a stop and groaned and rolled over onto my back, spitting out clumps of dirt as I did.
At least I was on the ground, and not floating off into the sky, I thought as I lay there and looked up, up to where I’d just been.
And despite myself, despite how much I hurt, I couldn�
��t help smiling.
I’d just fucking flown. I had powers. Maybe a more sane response would have been to be afraid, freaked out. There had been a lot of that with the First Confluence, when powered people first appeared. Suicides, even. I could understand, I guess. It was terrifying, in its way.
Flying.
Then I looked beside where I was, at the long, deep furrow I’d left in the field. An impact like that probably should have killed me, but all I had to show for it was a headache and a mouth full of dirt.
Yeah. It should have scared me. New powers, new strength. It was freaky as hell.
But it also guaranteed that there was not a single thing that represented a physical threat to me now, and my life was never going to be the same.
Chapter Four
I spent the next few days alternately wondering whether I should tell my mother about what had happened to me and figuring out how to fly. I was still shit at landing, but I took off and flew well enough. Of course, that much had been true almost from the start, but it was better than admitting that I’d probably always fall, rather than land.
The other part of my new powers, the strength thing, was proving to be more of a pain in the ass than anything else. Getting back to my apartment that first night, I ended up pulling the knob out of my door, when I’d meant to give it a normal twist and pull. I attributed that to the crappy condition the building was in, but it became pretty clear, that, no, it was me. I was stumbling around, bumping into things, awkward, like I’d forgotten how all my parts are supposed to work together or something. Within a couple hours, two broken handles of things I’d been trying to open, and a severely bruised knee from bumping into things, I was about ready to lock myself in my room and not come out for a long time.
A New Day (StrikeForce #1) Page 4
