André closed his eyes and rested his chin on the top of Katrina’s head, his arms still protectively around her. “I’m not going home unless Katrina is with me,” he whispered into her hair as he opened his eyes and met his father’s gaze.
Matthew put his hands on his hips and studied the patterns in the plush rug.
“I swear Matthew, I’ll have you court-martialed,” Commander Lawrence threatened.
“I’ll tell the president that you tried to kill my husband without justification,” Katrina countered, glaring at her father.
“He needs to be locked up, Katrina. He’s dangerous,” Commander Lawrence growled at his daughter.
“Bullshit!” Katrina yelled.
André’s eyes narrowed and a small red ring formed around his iris. “If you try to lock me up, I swear to God, I’ll wipe out any memory you have of me,” André said, trumping everything else. “And that may end up sending you to the loony bin for the rest of your life.”
Silence filled the room and Matthew stared at André. This was a new power he wasn’t aware of. Dangerous if left unchecked, and for the first time since he brought André home, he wondered about the wisdom of his decision.
“It’s up to you, Commander,” André replied, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Your memories and possibly your sanity or letting us go?”
Commander Lawrence cursed under his breath and turned his attention to Matthew. “This is your fault. You brought him here instead of terminating him on his ship like you were ordered to.”
“He was just a child.”
“And now that child has brainwashed my daughter.”
“Jesus Christ, Dad. He did not brainwash me. This was my choice. I asked him to marry me, to get me the hell out of our house. It’s a nightmare living with you,” Katrina yelled, the anger filling the room.
Commander Lawrence looked at André, his face still an angry shade of red, but not the heart attack red it had been a few minutes before. His gaze bounced between André and Katrina and he uncurled his hands. “Katrina, he is dangerous.”
“I’m only dangerous if I’m pushed into a corner, sir,” André said.
Silence filled the room, all parties at an impasse and the commander turned to Matthew.
Matthew guessed he was going over everything including the altercation at the house, all of which happened so fast, his brain was just now catching up. When his hardened gaze returned to Matthew’s, he knew he was in deep shit.
“You’ve been hiding his abilities for the past six years, haven’t you, Colonel?”
He nodded to his commanding officer.
“Why?”
“I knew you would want to use the boy to make him into a military weapon. He was lost and needed a home, not some institution that would brainwash him and turn him into a killing machine.”
“And yet he still turned out to be a menace to society.”
Matthew sighed. “André’s a good kid, sir. Despite all this.” He waved his hand at the two teenagers.
“I left him in your care, Colonel, and this is how he turned out?”
Matthew stiffened and shot a glare in André’s direction, silently telling him to shut up before his son could even open his mouth. “Yes, sir,” he said, knowing any other response would be a futile effort.
“You realize I could have you court-martialed and tried for treason,” the commander said.
“Yes, sir,” Matthew said.
“You’d give up your life to protect him?”
Matthew met the commander’s gaze, searching his own soul for the answer. His heartstrings were tightly wrapped around André, as much as they would have been if André was his own flesh and blood. He inhaled and nodded. “Yes, sir, I would. Just as you would for your daughter.”
Treason.
The word triggered nasty memories, memories of tortured screams, of frantic pleas, of painful promises and the air sucked from his lungs. He knew more about that word than a child had a right to, along with the accompanying consequences. Treason meant death and the commander just threatened his father with it. He couldn’t pull enough air into his seized lungs, only a high-pitched wheeze that pulled attention from everyone in the room.
“What’s wrong?” Katrina turned out of his grasp and he dropped to his knees, meeting Matthew’s gaze.
André put his hands on his knees and concentrated on getting his breathing back to normal, his eyes never leaving his father’s. “Treason,” André gasped again and his eyes filled with tears. “My parents,” he hissed through the gasping breaths.
“The commander isn’t serious, André. He was just reminding me of the possible consequences of my actions.” He glanced over at Commander Lawrence. “Right, sir?”
Commander Lawrence glared at Matthew without answering. His gaze shot to André. “Your parents were convicted of treason?”
“Yes, sir,” André said, looking at the floor, regaining control over his breathing.
“Why?”
“Because of me, sir,” he answered, still staring at the carpet. His lungs loosened, air drawing back and leaving him dizzy, expecting this world to shatter, leaving him alone and cold in a sludge filled space ball.
“Why?” Commander Lawrence pushed.
“Because my powers were so refined and my eyes, sir… my eyes are blue,” he said.
The steam evaporated from the commander and his eyebrows rose. “Did you say your parents were tried for treason because your eyes are blue?”
André nodded. Shame laced its way through him and his face heated with it.
Commander Lawrence looked at Matthew, still not understanding. “His eyes?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Matthew acknowledged. “His parents tried to hide him from the government because he was different. That’s why they were killed and André was exiled.”
Commander Lawrence returned his gaze to André, studying him like a lab technician would study a unique and dangerous virus.
“I’m not a threat, Commander,” he said, regaining his faculties and standing.
“I’ll make that determination,” he snapped, crossing his arms.
“My actions should be enough. If I was an actual threat, I would have taken both you and the entire police force out. And believe me, I hold that capability.”
“What would prevent you from doing that in the future?” Commander Lawrence asked.
“Because I know right from wrong and this is my home, sir. The only real home I’ve ever had.”
“And yet you pulled this irrational stunt.” Commander Lawrence waved at the room. “That doesn’t give me a lot of confidence in your abilities to discern right from wrong.”
André shifted from foot to foot and traded a sideways glance with Katrina. “She asked and I really couldn’t say no. Not with the way I feel about her, sir.”
Commander Lawrence let out a bark of a laugh and approached André so he was toe to toe, towering over him. “I will never accept you into my home and I sure as hell am not letting my daughter stay with you.” He reached for Katrina’s arm and she stepped away.
“I’m not going home with you, Dad,” Katrina said.
“You’ll let her come with me and you won’t do anything to my father either.” The words tumbled out of André’s mouth and with it, an influential push.
Commander Lawrence blinked and took a step back, his face paling before the angry hue returned. He glared at Matthew. “This is your problem now,” he directed at Matthew and strode out of the hotel room, leaving the three of them alone.
Matthew waited until the door closed and shot a glare at his son. “What the hell were you thinking?” he yelled and stepped away, letting the anger and frustration he felt ever since he walked into his son’s room this morning take hold. He paced, letting it flow. “You forged your mother’s signature on that document.” He glared at the two of them. “Both of you. I can’t believe you pulled this shit.”
“Go get dressed,” André said to Katrina, pushing
her gently toward the bathroom and out of Matthew’s angry ramblings.
Katrina grabbed her bag and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
André skirted around his father and found a pair of underwear in his bag, slipping it on under the bathrobe. He pulled a pair of jeans on next and sat on the edge of the bed. “I love her, Dad,” he said. “You don’t seem to understand what that means to me.”
Matthew laughed. “I don’t give a shit what that means to you right now.” He didn’t know what was going through André’s mind, but he wasn’t about to allow them to live as husband and wife under his roof. André’s gaze snapped in his direction. “I’m serious,” Matthew said. “If you’re under my roof, you will not sleep together until you are both eighteen. I don’t give a damn what that paper says.”
“Then we’ll find an apartment.”
“Good luck with that,” Matthew snapped. He never imagined the boy would do something this impulsive. “You can’t get a job without a work permit and I won’t sign one for you, not under these circumstances. And so help me God, I’ll throw your ass in jail if you forge another signature.”
“But, Dad—”
“—No. Stop now. This was one of the stupidest things you’ve done since coming into my home and frankly, I don’t give a damn what your excuse is. You disobeyed me outright and I told you I wouldn’t tolerate disobedience. I really have no clue what to do with you right now.” Thoughts of military school swarmed his mind.
“I’m not going to military school.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“You know damn well you can’t make me go.”
Matthew took stock of his temper and counted to ten, calming himself down before he spoke again. “You have to finish high school and if you refuse to obey the rules I outlined, military school is the only other option.” He knew he was boxing his son into a corner, but he didn’t care.
André glared at him.
“Don’t expect the next year to be easy, either. Just because I agreed to let her live in the same house does not mean I’ll slack off and let you two act like husband and wife. Understand?”
André didn’t have the energy to argue. The expenditure of power in the last half hour, along with the sudden fizzle of adrenaline, wiped him out and he took a seat on the edge of the bed, nodding and waiting for Katrina to come out of the bathroom so he could clean up.
A layer of relief settled his clenched stomach and while the prospects of the next year seemed dim, it was eons better than waking from another hallucination.
He met her gaze when she walked out of the bathroom and offered a strained smile.
At least I’ll get to see her every day.
9
October 2239
Katrina’s stomach cramped and she raised her hand.
“Yes, Katrina?” Mr. Mills asked.
“I don’t feel so well. Can I go to the nurse’s office?”
He nodded his round, bald head and returned his focus to the history lesson. Katrina stepped out of the classroom, her books in her arms and her eyes at half-mast. She clenched her teeth against the bile threatening to burst from her stomach and made it to the bathroom just in time for her breakfast to come up. Again.
Screw the nurse’s office, she thought and stood, spitting the last of the rancid taste from her mouth. I’m going home.
The walk home took longer than normal. Every few hundred feet she had to stop, close her eyes and will her stomach not to expel the last of the acid boiling up her esophagus. No one was home when she stumbled in the front door. She made it upstairs and into the bathroom before collapsing over the toilet, dry-heaving over and over and over, tears sprouting from her eyes at the intensity of each empty hurl.
Too weak to continue, she curled up on the floor and closed her eyes, sending out a silent cry for help.
André stood in the lunch line at school, looking around for Katrina. After a moment he did a quick mental scan. She wasn’t in the area. Turning his attention back to the array of desserts, he reached for a slice of pie and jumped a mile at the volume of her cry, nearly knocking the entire display over. His heart pumped in his chest, the scare worse than any of those pop-up Draculas you find at cheesy haunted houses. He inhaled and offered the kid behind him an awkward smile and turned, leaving his full tray on the conveyor. “Where are you?” he whispered as he headed out of the cafeteria.
A girl in front of him looked back at him. “Are you talking to me?”
“No, sorry, just thinking out loud.” He skirted around her and into the hallway.
Home.
Her thought was wrapped in agony and André picked up the pace, hitting an all-out run by the time he reached the pavement in front of the school. Ten minutes later, he bound into the house. “Katrina?”
“Bathroom,” she whispered.
André ran up the stairs and pushed the door open. Her head rested on the lip of the toilet, her face ashen, giving her misery-filled eyes a living-dead quality.
“I’m sick.”
“I can see that.” He walked over and picked her up in his arms, carrying her to her bedroom. He set her on the bed and ducked out for a moment. When he came back, he had a wet washcloth and an empty garbage can. He put the can on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, wiping her face gently with the washcloth. “Can I get you anything?”
“Is there any ginger ale?”
“I’ll go check.” André put the cool cloth on her forehead, kissing her cheek gently. He left the room, returning a little while later with a glass for her. He sat on the edge of the bed and helped her take a sip.
“I feel like shit,” Katrina whispered and sunk back on the bed. Dark circles surrounded her eyes.
“You pretty much look like shit too.”
“You’re not supposed to say stuff like that,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
“Sorry.” He smiled down at her. “I love you anyway.”
Katrina began to cry.
“What is wrong with you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m tired all the time and now I’m nauseous all the time.”
“How long have you felt this way?”
“Just a couple weeks, but it’s getting worse,” she said, wiping her eyes.
“Maybe we should get you checked out,” André said.
“It’s just the flu.” Katrina reached for the glass again.
André put his hand on her forehead. “You don’t have a fever.” He had seen his mother with a stomach virus enough times in the past six years to know what to do.
“Have you ever been sick?” Katrina asked.
André shook his head. “No.”
“Must be nice to be you,” she said sarcastically, closing her eyes and rolling on her side.
“I need to get back to school, Kat.”
She rolled and looked at him. “Can’t you stay?”
“I’ve got a test in twenty minutes but I’ll be back after, okay?”
Her eyes welled up with tears but she nodded.
“You have the ginger ale and the garbage can. I’ll be back just as soon as I can.” He kissed her cheek. “If you need me, just call.”
Katrina watched as he left her room, biting her lip and swallowing the tears burning her throat. The brief encounter in his arms felt like coming home, even if it was just to carry her from the bathroom floor to the bed. Five weeks of living under the same roof but not being able to be in each other’s arms took its toll on their marriage and her constant exhaustion and volatile moods didn’t help.
Neither did the fact André was adamant about following his father’s rules while they lived there. Gone was the impulsive guy she married, the one who defied his parents, threatened her father, and cleared an entire room of hostile police officers as easily as waving a dismissive hand.
No, that guy had been replaced by an obedient, ultra responsible, uber popular football player. Practice, homework, a little television, an
d a good night’s sleep in separate rooms. She hated it, missing the feel of his arms, the brush of his kiss, and that playful laser that encompassed his irises when he was horny.
She took a sip of ginger ale and curled up on the bed, drifting into an exhausted slumber.
André walked back into the house an hour later and pushed her door open. God, I miss her. They lived in the same house, but since they returned, the air between them grew tense with sexual frustration and dissent. Every encounter ended with her huffing and stomping upstairs. She just didn’t understand how close he came to being sent to military boarding school in Denver and he didn’t want to tempt his father by disobeying him again.
He stared at her sleeping form and sighed. Torn, he looked at the stairwell and back at Katrina, deciding a few hours with her in his arms was worth getting yelled at. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
Crawling onto the bed behind her, he slid his arm under her neck, wrapping it around her and pulling her to his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair, sighing at the feel of her against him. “I love you, Kat,” he whispered.
She mumbled the words back to him and snuggled closer.
“God, I miss holding you,” he whispered, inhaling the fruity essence of her hair.
“I miss being in your arms,” she said and reached up for the glass, taking a sip of the ginger ale and then returning to the comfort of his grasp. “I still feel like crap, though.”
André kissed her shoulder. “I’m sorry, babe.” He went back to combing her hair.
“That feels good.”
He continued, feeling the texture of her fine locks against his fingertips, the soothing strokes helping her slip back to sleep.
He wasn’t sure how long he lay holding her but when Linda opened the bedroom door, André shook his head and put his finger to his lips. Sliding his arm from under her, he slowly rolled away, climbing out of the bed with as little disruption as possible. Outside the room, he closed the door.
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