by Joli Torres
She locked the shooter up against a tree using the handcuffs. She figured he needed them more than they did. After he was secured, they stole his bike and took off driving. She could drive a motorcycle… sorta… but he actually knew how to drive well, so he took the lead and she hopped on behind him.
Adrianna wasn’t afraid of too many things, but right near the top of the list was motorcycles. Her father had died on one, and every time she swung her leg over to straddle the seat, she was back to being a child the fateful night he’d gone out on that last drive.
Her father had been in a bad mood the day he’d driven off from some argument. Adrianna couldn’t even remember the topic. He had been driving too fast on one of the local, hilly roads. He was a capable rider, so he was good… until the corner came up faster than expected. He’d tried to correct, but it was too late.
He’d lived a day or two afterward, but the doctors couldn’t save him. He’d passed away on August 12, eight days after her birthday.
“Hey,” said The Celtic, wearing the helmet that they had taken from the killer. “You okay?”
“What?” she asked, still back 13 years ago.
“Are you okay?” he had to shout to be heard over the wind. “You’re not saying much.”
“I’m… fine,” she managed halfheartedly. “Thanks for driving.”
He nodded silently. He had no idea what was bothering her, but he didn’t want to push. About ten minutes later, he spoke up again.
“Mind loosening your arms a little? You’re kinda crushing my guts.”
“Sorry.”
Unconsciously, she’d been clenching harder and harder around his chest the more she thought about her father. She released somewhat, but kept holding on enough to stay on the bike. Normally, riding a bike without a helmet in the rain was awful. Rain doesn’t seem that bad until you’re riding along at a high velocity and it hits you in the face. They’re like little bullets. That’s why The Celtic was wearing the helmet—he needed to be able to see. She just hid her face behind him and hoped most of it would go past her.
She zoned out. It had been a sucky week for her. First she couldn’t stop thinking about her father, then she had the broken rib, then they were stranded… and it all just kept getting worse.
It was nice to hold onto The Celtic’s strong frame and know she had a friend she could count on. Actually, it was a little too nice. It had been a long time since she'd had her arms around a man. Normally she wouldn't fall for his type, especially when he’s a wanted fugitive, but there was something about him.
She wasn’t sure what it was, but she had a feeling that they were in it together. Maybe it was just the gravity of the situation looming over her, but she felt that the two of them would back each other up in the fight.
And so they simply rode on.
The rain made driving dangerous, so they went slowly. Eventually, the storm cleared. The clouds parted and let the sunlight through, warming the soaked FBI agent and wanted man. It felt good. Adrianna wanted to lay out on the concrete and just soak up all the sun rays, but she knew if they stopped for a second, the bad guys stood a good chance of catching up to them.
Finally, though, The Celtic eased off the accelerator and moved to the side of the road. They came to a slow stop.
“Um,” Adrianna said. “Why are we stopping?”
“I need to use the bathroom,” he declared.
“Oh. Well, you can’t go out there.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t watch.”
He gave her a funny look. “I should hope not.”
“No, I mean I can’t watch you. So you don’t run off.” She sighed. “Never mind. Just… stay close. I got a hunch someone’s around here.”
And she did. For the last half hour, she’d been getting the creeping feeling of a black aura around them. She couldn’t pinpoint where yet. For her to get a good reading usually required a dry place where she was standing still. Zipping along on a bike in the rain was literally the worst possible thing she could do for her powers.
“Don’t worry, mom,” he said, and walked off into the trees. Within a moment, he was hidden by the bushes. Even though she knew he was there, she couldn’t see him whatsoever.
She checked the phone she had stolen from the killer. “Hey Siri,” she said. “How far are we from Calidad?”
“You are 81 miles from Calidad,” Siri told her pleasingly. It was nice to know that she could rely on good ole’ Siri, even out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of people trying to kill her.
She pushed the button to once more summon Siri. “Thanks.”
“I aim to please,” Siri chirped back.
Suddenly, the feeling of darkness around her kicked back in, stronger than ever. She twisted on the bike and came face to face with four men, all toting assault rifles and looking at her with bad intentions.
A bolt of adrenaline shot through her veins, and she jerked up her chrome handgun. Instinctively, she popped off a couple shots before they even realized that she was armed. She heard at least one shot connect with flesh, but before she could shoot any more, they’d swarmed her.
Her world became violent. All she saw was flashes of black and white as they beat her senseless. Someone got smart and wrestled away her gun, but she drew the other one from her thigh holster and shot someone in the chest. Screaming and yelling ensued. Someone clocked her in the rib and the pain almost knocked her out, but she brought up a leg, hoping to hit someone. She got one of them in the crotch, and he started swearing.
She caught just the briefest glimpse of The Celtic before he emerged from the bushes towards her. He wanted to help, but he was unarmed and had already been shot several times. He might be able to take one or two of them, but after that? The gig was up. She shot him a warning, and hesitantly, he backed deeper into the cover.
As they pounded her, she realized that she had been stupidly heroic. She was totally and utterly screwed. Those men were going to kill her. She could take one of them no problem. Two? Less likely. Three? Probably not. Four? No way, Jose. She’d given up her only option of life by telling The Celtic to bail on her and therefore saving his life.
Was she fond enough of him to do that?
To doom herself to let him have a chance?
Well then.
It didn’t even hurt anymore. They weren’t professional fighters like The Celtic. That much she could tell from fighting them—they left themselves exposed and took too many risks. But every time she hit them, three of them popped her. Finally, she was hitting slower and her vision was blurred. Her whole body just felt numb.
And then her world went black, right there on the pavement in the middle of nowhere. She was vaguely aware of someone picking her up.
Chapter 6
In the movies, the hero always wakes up in some abandoned factory tied to a wooden chair. Adrianna always thought it was idiotic. Nobody would really do that!
Well, as it turned out, that’s exactly what The Owl did.
When she woke up, she immediately wanted to go back to being unconscious. Her broken rib was the least she had to worry about. A solid half of her body was covered in bruises, and the other half was still developing them. She found herself, cliché as it was, sitting on an old chair with zip-ties tying her legs to the ancient wood. Except for the fact that her hands and feet were tied up, she was otherwise untethered. It wasn’t like she could do much. She could stand, but her legs were still strapped to the chair. If she tried to make a getaway, she’d fall flat on her face.
She moaned. She felt like puking. “Son-of-a-bitch,” she muttered, tasting blood on her tongue. “Ow.”
She looked up at her captors. She recognized the two of them as the ones that had beat her up, and she saw two others patrolling the second floor of the empty building.
And the biker was in front of her. Even though he wasn’t wearing his helmet, she recognized him immediately from his build and the odd way he stood.
“Let me guess,” she said. “The Owl?”
His lips turned up in an ugly grimace of a smile. “Wrong, but good try.” He walked towards her. His boots slapped against the ground loudly. He stroked her jawline with his rough hand. “The Owl doesn’t like to bother with the dirty work, so he sends me.”
“So, why am I still alive?” she asked. “I mean, I figure with the whole threatening vibe you’re trying to give off here that I would already be, you know, dead.”
She was acting tough, but it was her worst nightmare. It was any FBI agent’s worst nightmare—to be captured and helpless, with no chance of help coming anytime soon. If she’d been able to contact someone to let them know that she was captured, someone might get there in time. As it was, Agent Stone wouldn’t care at all. He would just not check on her and be slightly upset when it showed up that she had been killed in action.
“Because we want to know where the Celtic is,” he said. “And we’ll find out, Agent Whetmore, the easy way or the hard way.”
“Let’s take… none of the above.”
He bared his fangs with a sadistic, wicked grin. “I was hoping you would say that, my dear.”
The next hour was hell.
They weren’t willing to kill her yet, but she learned to push the limits of what she thought she could endure. She refused to break. They’d kill her either way. It wasn’t like if she sang, they’d let her go—not to mention that she had no idea where on earth The Celtic had gone. For all she knew, he’d died from his gunshot wounds way out in the middle of nowhere.
They tossed her back into an abandoned part of the room hours later. The room was in the far part of the compound, past a couple flights of stairs and a hallway. It was a pretty standard room. Maybe the previous company had used it to stack products in or something, but it served as her jail cell. She curled up in the back of the room and stared at the door. She couldn’t see out. She’d already tried.
She started snooping around the room for ways to escape. It wasn’t likely that they’d leave something out for her to use to escape, but she felt better exploring than just sitting there feeling bad for herself. She started toying with the walls. All of them were concrete, unfortunately. Wood? She could’ve busted out. Sheetrock? She could’ve blown on them and the wall would just fall apart.
The snooping was boring and pretty frustrating, so she let her mind wander. Suddenly, she was back at her father’s funeral, which was undoubtedly one of the worst days of her life.
She was standing with a small crowd of people on a grassy hill overlooking their town as his coffin was placed in the ground. She was trying to remain steely, but he’d been everything to her. Sure, she had her stepmom, but they argued over everything. Her and her father, they’d just… fit somehow.
Her black dress was blowing in the sharp north wind. It was cold. She wanted to put on her jacket, but instead she just stood, staring off at the lights of the city far below, blurred from tears in her eyes, goosebumps standing up on her exposed arms.
The priest was doing the service, then his old war buddies came up and talked about the good old times they’d had in the war. It was good stuff. They were all excellent speakers. All of Adrianna’s siblings and stepmom were crying at the end of it—loud, sniveling sobs. Adrianna tried to keep calm. She really did, even out of respect to him.
Finally, though, she just lost it. She felt like screaming and attacking the old buddy that was up there talking about the time that he and her father had gone out on a scouting mission and found a bunch of enemy troops. It ground on her for her to think about the fact that he’d known her father longer than she had…
She stood over by the knob of the hill, looking over the city far below. The wind blew her hair about wildly, but she didn’t flinch. She stood silently, quivering, hearing the speaker at the service. He was too far away for her to hear what he was saying, but she could just make out little snippets.
“-Bravest man I’ve ever seen-”
“-And boy, you all know that he could make you laugh at the most minuscule things-”
“-I remember this one time-”
Back at the cell, that last sentence that she remembered stuck out in her mind. All she was doing was remembering. Remembering the old days. Remembering their argument. Remembering.
Well, you know what?
No.
She was tired of living in the past. She was tired of being hindered by it. Suddenly, something washed over her. She wasn’t sure what it was, but abruptly, sore and miserable inside that pseudo jail cell, a wave of peace washed over her. Maybe it was just a collection of all the bottled up emotions from the last day or two, but abruptly, she just let it go.
She was a grown woman, and an amazing one at that. Sure, she couldn’t change what had happened to her father, but he wasn’t ever really gone. She’d spent so much time trying to contain him in that gun he’d given her, that when she was unarmed, she felt scared and alone.
Well, that was just unnecessary.
And she realized it right then.
She realized that she had to get out of that jail cell. Important, character-building revelations or not, if she didn’t figure out a way to escape, it wouldn’t matter. She couldn’t find any immediate weaknesses in the room. It was built too sturdily, and she could tap and listen all she wanted without learning anything. She had no idea when the guards would be back, but there was one obvious tool she had: her powers.
She’d never considered using her powers to find the structural weakness of a wall. She just sensed other stuff: feelings, guilt, past visions. But then again, it was worth a shot.
She sat on the ground and crossed her legs. Sitting like a Jedi master, she reached out into the walls. At first, it was weird, like trying a new and mysterious food. She wasn’t sure if it would work, or how to do it. But finally, her mind crawled into the wall and snooped around.
She was immediately disappointed.
That wall was as sturdy it looked. There wasn’t even a blemish on the entire thing. But maybe not every part of it was that strong. She searched the whole wall, found no weaknesses whatsoever, and moved onto the other walls.
Again, no weaknesses.
She opened her eyes and groaned, throwing back her head in exasperation. That’s when she saw it, way up there: a vent.
It had been closed off with wood, but it was obviously there. She looked deeper at what was connecting it. She grinned when she saw that they were nails. Excellent. Screws would never give, but nails could slide right out if she could get up there.
She glanced towards the door and held her breath. She couldn’t hear anything. She was pretty sure that nobody was guarding her. Sure, if she started banging on the walls they would come running in, but if she was quiet, they were probably patrolling or something.
She looked back at the vent. It was too high for her to just grab onto; it was higher than a normal ceiling, maybe ten or so feet high. She might be able to get it with a good jump, but she had to get that cover off. She could see four nails, one in each corner. That wouldn’t be easy to pry off.
She stood and reached for it. Just like she thought, she was way too short, even at her height. She muttered under her breath and jumped. The very tip of her fingers touched the rough, plywood cover.
“Okay,” she said to herself. “I got this.”
She didn’t know why she spoke aloud. If any of the guards were outside listening, they would have heard her attempting to escape. But luckily, nobody came in. She realized that she needed a plan. The cover was about two by two feet. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to fit inside, but her immediate problem was actually pulling it down.
She jumped again, timed it better, and actually got her fingers to catch the side of the plywood. However, before she could pull it down, her finger strength gave way and she dropped.
“Mother-of-God!” she groaned, feeling the half dozen splinters in her fingers. She didn’t want to try that too many times.
Af
ter she’d picked all the splinters out of her fingers, she tried again. This time, she went for maximum height. She timed it well. As she flew up to the top, she grabbed the board with the smallest tips of her fingers and tried with all her strength to hold on.
She was extremely powerful. Back in high school, she’d been undefeated in arm wrestling—even against all the guys that decided to arm wrestle her. She’d whooped up on her peers. She also had briefly tried out gyms and found them to be too time-consuming, but in the time she had worked out, she had been very pleased with her own strength.
So it was with that strength that she held onto that board.
The first nail shifted out slightly, and the second followed suit.
Her fingers gave way and she dropped to the ground like a cat. She landed wrong, and something in her knee popped. She barely held in a yelp as her joint gave and she hit the ground.
She’d hurt it young, but it still hadn’t fully healed. She had no idea what she’d done. She never had surgery, which probably wasn’t a good idea, but it had seemed smart at the time. Every now and then, she’d hit it wrong and it would fall out from under her. Every time she did, it felt like she had torn something.
“Aaaaahhhhh….” She bit her bottom lip so hard she wondered if it was bleeding. Her leg felt like it was on fire. It was a bad one. It was going to swell up when she let it sit still.
Not too much scared her, but right near the top of her list was hurting her knee again. She’d spent most of a year trying to rehab before it even started to feel okay again. Every time she popped it, she felt a flush of fear. It always went away when she realized that she was okay, but it was still debilitating for a moment.
She wiggled her leg around. All good. The pain was fading fast, and her knee seemed to stay where it was supposed to.
Slowly, gingerly, she stood up. Her knee wobbled a little, but it held.
She readied herself for another jump. She had to be prepared. The plywood was close to coming off, but her knee was also ready to give at any time. The last thing she wanted to do was jump up, grab the wood, and pull it off to expose her valve of freedom, come down and wipe out, dropping the wood and making enough noise where the guards came to figure out what was going on.
