by Eden Ashley
Slowly, he shook his head.
Davey felt like a fool. The countless days, nights, and hours spent thinking of Ethan and dedicating the past five years toward finding him, had all been for nothing. The pursuit of one person had motivated her college studies, determined her career choice, and severely impacted her relationships. Now he sat next to her, completely unaffected. Had he felt the loss at all? “I know we had a fight, but how could you, Ethan?” she asked, trying to reach him. “How could you do that…after everything?”
The amused grin that crossed his lips surprised Davey. Her face flushed with heat as she instantly lost her temper. “What the fuck are you smiling about?”
Despite her ire, the strange smile didn’t falter. “It’s the first time you’ve used my name.”
Davey was speechless. It was obvious that Ethan wasn’t himself. Global Cures must have done something to him—screwed with his ability to feel emotion or otherwise engage as a human being. There’s no way her Ethan could ever be so cold.
Sitting back against her seat, Davey stared out the window and concentrated on anything else. The silence between them stretched on until he broke it.
“You’re angry and have every right to be. However, I suggest we put those emotions from the past behind us. Right now, we need to find your brother and ensure his safety.”
“Sure. Whatever,” she agreed flatly, furiously blinking back tears that wanted to betray the depth of her hurt. “Turn left at the next intersection.”
“You mean this four-way stop?” he asked, gesturing ahead to the flashing red light suspended above a lonely juncture rarely used outside of school pick-up and drop-off times.
“Yeah.”
The school of Welling and St. Aire was situated near the outskirts of town, on fifty rolling green acres of private property. Only buses, parents, faculty, and licensed seniors frequented the roadways surrounding the school, so at two in the afternoon, the area was practically abandoned. Still, Davey sat up straighter as they neared the stretch of highway that led to the entrance, preparing to give further instruction on where to go for parking, so she witnessed the exact moment when a solitary figure stepped onto the asphalt.
Ethan swore, simultaneously slamming down the brakes and sending the car into a tire-squealing slide down the roadway. Her seatbelt did its job well, painfully locking across her chest and lap to stop the forward momentum that would have otherwise sent her sailing through the windshield. As the car finally lurched to a halt, Davey looked at Ethan with no small amount of trepidation. The way his features contorted with rage rendered him truly unrecognizable. Veins throbbed throughout his neck and temple, flushing his face bright red as a thin layer of perspiration dampened his skin.
Seeing that bothered Davey tremendously because she had never known Ethan to sweat so easily. Making a snap decision, she reached for the door handle, but his hand lashed out in an incredible display of speed, gripping her arm with crushing force. Davey yelped with the sudden pain as he wrenched her backward.
“You fucking stay put,” he ordered.
When he let go to take the steering wheel with both hands, she unconsciously cradled her arm and wondered what the hell was happening. Then Ethan hit the accelerator, and the 365 horsepower, turbo-charged engine responded, taking them from zero to sixty miles-per-hour in four seconds.
Straight ahead, the figure remained in the roadway, apparently unconcerned that 1.7 tons of steel, carbon fiber, and aluminum were headed directly toward him. When he eventually moved, it was to raise his arm. An instant later, the windshield splintered, one…two…three times. Ethan’s body jerked with each impact, but the fury on his face never diminished until a fourth shot pierced his forehead, dead center. Blood and brain matter exploded from the back of his head, showering both Davey and the car’s interior. She screamed. Ethan’s body went slack and fell against the steering wheel, sending the car careening across the roadway. Davey grabbed the wheel, trying in vain to correct the trajectory as the tires left the asphalt. Her body received a brutal jarring when the coupe jumped the ditch. Then she felt a moment of weightlessness, followed by another violent lurch as the car landed and slid down the embankment, ultimately coming to a smoking rest inside a basin filled with muddied drain-off and mossy undergrowth.
Hands shaking, it took Davey three attempts to release her safety belt and another two to manually disengage the door because the automatic locks were dead. Staggering out of the car, she sloshed through the mud but collapsed just as she reached the side of the embankment. Gritting her teeth, she climbed to her feet again, needing to get away from the lifeless body and the pungent, sickening smell of blood. Out of nowhere, Palmer’s face flashed through her mind and Davey sobbed. It was so much like before.
She tried to climb, but the sky spun and the ground blurred beneath her feet. Bile rose to her throat. Breathing became a struggle, making her chest hurt horribly. Desperate for air, Davey gasped, but only managed to take in a singular wheezing breath. Then a calming and achingly familiar voice spoke next to her ear. “You’re going to be okay.”
Still shaking, Davey wept in relief. “Ethan.”
“Sit down,” he urged softly. Taking her arm, he guided her until she was away from the flooded ditch and standing safely on dry ground. “Sit down. Put your head between your knees. Now breathe. Slowly.”
Davey did as he instructed, and soon felt better. Though nowhere close to normal, the threat of hyperventilating or rejecting her recent lunch had dissipated.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“Look at me and answer.”
Davey obeyed. Lifting her head, she met those steel grey eyes, watching her with equal parts curiosity and concern. “I’m okay,” she finally said.
“Wait here.”
Gradually, her vision cleared, allowing her to witness the real Ethan traverse the embankment with unnatural grace and ease. A few long bounds delivered him back at her wrecked car within seconds. She saw him move the body of the stranger—the one who’d claimed to be Ethan—and search his pockets and clothing. Davey couldn’t tell whether he found anything, but then Ethan was climbing up the slippery ridge again.
“Can you walk?” he asked, worry hinting at his features.
“I think so.”
Taking her gently by the arm, he helped her up, but she stumbled. Davey immediately felt her feet leave the ground as he lifted her into his arms. After five years, seeing him was mesmerizing, and Davey unabashedly studied his profile, trying to memorize every detail. He was the same Ethan Remington—the first version she’d ever met. She saw the same eyes, dark grey like a sky that thought of rain. His jaw was set in a firm line, mirroring the intense focus of every other part of him. A slight military fade ending in a crop of brown hair so thick and shiny, it made Davey itch to run her fingers through it. Pressed against his body, she could feel the strength there, the solid lines of hard muscle resting beneath the soft fabric of the navy-blue polo he wore. She noticed how his arms didn’t strain to carry her. In fact, there was no tension in them at all.
“Ethan,” she said softly, unable to stand another second of silence. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“It is good that you were not harmed in the accident. Though considering the rate of speed, that you were properly restrained, as well as the enhanced traction and stability control of the BMW M2, the statistical probability of significant injury to your person was minimal. Alternatively, had Agent Drekker escaped with you, he would have almost certainly been able to acquire Hogan Little. After achieving his goal, he would have killed you.”
A jolt of unease ripped through her. “Ethan, you don’t remember me, do you?”
The long and effortless strides he took had quickly carried them farther up the roadway where an unmarked Dodge Charger was parked. The entire sedan was black, with rims and headlights painted the same color. In the past, Ethan had driven police cruisers as obvious as the uniforms he wore. Apparently
, things were quite different now. Nothing except the shiny, gold-plated badge clipped to his belt identified him as a government officer. Now he was dressed in a polo shirt, slim-fitted jeans, and espresso-colored boots. His signature aviators were the only recognizable part of the new look.
“Of course,” he answered, setting her feet carefully on the ground. “I would not forget so quickly.”
“So, you know who I am? You know what we were?”
He frowned lightly. “You are Daveigh Little, older sister and guardian of Hogan Little.”
Her heart sank.
Global Cures had done it again. Years ago, after Ethan had defied orders and rescued her from the drug lord, Marx, a team of mercenaries sent by Global Cures had captured Ethan and reset his memories. They called the process “conditioning,” and used this method to ensure that Ethan always remained loyal to the masters who created him. Somehow, during college, Ethan had found her. When he eventually regained his memories, Global Cures had allowed it, giving him a respite of happiness with Davey. Back then, she theorized that Ethan’s older sibling, the Commander, had put in a good word for his little brother, at long last breaking the cycle of mistrust that had existed between them since a fateful car accident claimed Ethan’s original human life.
Pushing her grief aside, she did her best to compartmentalize emotions that would otherwise overwhelm her, shelving them until a more opportune time. With Agent Decker—or Drekker, or whatever his name was—dead, Hogan was safe, but Davey still wanted to go to the school and see him, allowing her eyes to confirm he was okay. Less importantly, a tow also needed to be ordered for her car.
And I really should call Travis. He’s probably starving by now.
“Ethan, will you take me to see Hogan?”
“Yes, Ms. Little, I—”
Grimacing with annoyance, Davey held up her hand. It wasn’t Ethan’s fault that he couldn’t remember the intimate nature of their past. It was probably the only major weakness of his hybrid composition—the part of his mind that was machine could be severely manipulated by his creators. So far, Davey was holding it together, but if Ethan kept being so formal with her, she was going to scream. “Please call me Davey.”
“Of course, Davey,” he agreed and abruptly opened the passenger door. “It is imperative that we hurry. Now that Agent Drekker knows where to find your brother, he will no doubt attempt to possess another vessel within closer proximity and take Hogan by force.”
Davey’s pulse slammed into high gear. It was difficult, but she waited until Ethan was in the driver’s seat and the car was in drive before questioning him. “I thought Agent Drekker was the guy who pretended to be you and kidnapped me—the guy you just shot in the head.”
“Yes, but that was only a shell. Agent Drekker is still very much alive.”
“Ethan, I don’t understand.”
“I am not authorized to say more.”
Davey pounded her hand against the dashboard. “Damn it, Ethan.” Biting her tongue, she didn’t argue. As long as Ethan was in tin-man-commando mode, pushing the issue would be pointless. She would make him remember, but later.
He spoke again, surprising her because the soft plea in his voice sounded more like his old self. “Don’t be angry with me, Davey.”
Oh Ethan. Squeezing her eyes shut, she remained silent. To have said anything else would have destroyed what little of her fortitude remained.
3
Moving briskly down the deserted halls of Welling and St. Aire, Davey couldn’t remember a time in her adult life when she had ever been so anxious. It killed her to be walking when she would have rather run to Hogan’s classroom, snatched him from his desk, and taken him to safety—to some place far away from Welling and St. Aire and the reach of a madman. But Ethan had insisted on this snail’s pace, not wanting to draw undue attention to themselves until it was necessary.
Her mind was racing, trying to understand what was happening—how a man who she’d watched die could still be a threat. Splicing together a rudimentary form of alchemy with modern technology in order to tether a human soul to a machine was one thing. Figuring out how to cheat death entirely was another. From Davey’s understanding, Ethan’s current form was permanent. Incredibly fast, strong, and agile, the synthetic body he essentially possessed was designed by Global Cures to completely mimic the outer appearance—and all biological functions—of an adult human male. Whereas the external skin of the automaton could be altered so as to lend Ethan varying outward appearances, his body was virtually indestructible. But if the transmutation circle—the binding seal tattooed on Ethan’s left shoulder—was ever heavily damaged or erased, then Ethan’s consciousness would cease to exist.
Such was obviously not the case with Agent Drekker. Drekker had been completely human—not a machine controlled by a human consciousness. Davey had watched some very organic grey matter and blood splatter against the interior of her car. Nonetheless, Ethan claimed Drekker was alive and would soon “possess another vessel.” It defied the laws of science. The impossible had somehow become possible.
And what does this have to do with Hogan? What could a fifteen-year-old have that an agent with such an incredible and frightening ability would want?
Reaching the main faculty offices, Davey stopped to address the secretary. “I need to speak with Headmaster Bannister,” she said. “It’s urgent.”
The secretary appeared to be barely older than Davey. Her perfectly polished, hot rod red nails clicked loudly across the desktop keyboard as she responded without looking up. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but—”
“Take a seat,” the secretary said curtly. “The headmaster is in a meeting for the next half hour, but I will see if she’s available afterwards. No guarantees though,” she added rudely.
Davey shook her head. “This can’t wait. I have to see my brother.”
The secretary stopped typing. Wearing an expression of absolute boredom, she propped both elbows on the desk and rested her chin in the palm of one hand. “It’s the middle of second block, honey. It’s against policy to interrupt classes.”
Forcing a long exhale through her teeth, Davey pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s why I need to speak to the headmaster.”
Unmoved, the secretary simply blinked. “She’s in a meeting.”
Seeing red, Davey leaned over the woman’s desk, but then Ethan—who had been quiet until then—stepped forward and tossed an open leather case containing some very official looking credentials onto the desk. “Special Agent Ethan Remington. What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Uh, Cathy,” she stammered.
“Uh Cathy,” he repeated, and Davey couldn’t tell if he was being an asshole or if he really thought that was her name. “You will either release Hogan Little into his sister’s custody or face charges for obstruction of justice.”
Pursing her lips into a thin line, Cathy blushed. “Give me just a moment, and I will get Hogan’s classroom information for you.”
A five minute powerwalk later, Davey and Ethan were standing next to a taupe-colored door with a single rectangular window cut out of its center. She could see Hogan on the other side, sitting in the center row near the back, maybe taking notes, but more likely doodling in his notebook. The class was New World Literature, after all.
Under the threat of arrest, Cathy’s entire disposition had changed for the better. Turning to Davey, the secretary smiled sweetly. “If you would please wait here, I’ll get your brother for you.”
Davey nodded. “Thank you.”
Knocking twice, Cathy entered the classroom and closed the door behind her but could be seen through the glass as she spoke with Hogan’s teacher. After a brief exchange, he began to gather his things and then left the classroom with Cathy following closely behind.
“Is there anything else I can assist you with Special Agent Remington?” she asked after they had reached the hallway.
He answered in a clipped tone, bar
ely sparing her a glance. “No. That will be all.” Ethan had fully withdrawn into security mode and kept constantly checking their surroundings.
Accepting her dismissal, Cathy made an awkward little bow and departed. Meanwhile, Hogan looked from Davey to Ethan and back. The bewilderment on his face intensified when Davey pulled him into a tight hug. Emotions all over the place, she hadn’t felt this protective in a long time.
“What’s going on?” Hogan asked with some hesitation. “I have practice today, so you’re not supposed pick me up until seven. And who’s this?”
“Hogan, this is Ethan,” Davey replied, deciding it was much easier to focus on his second question.
“Ethan,” he repeated, looking extremely confused now. “Why does he look so different?”
It was a great question, considering that the Ethan who Hogan knew from five years ago had blue eyes, jet-black hair, and a jaw line most models would have envied. Her brother had been a terrified little boy when he’d first met Ethan in his current form. Both encounters had been brief, so it was no surprise that Hogan didn’t recall this original version. Hell, he didn’t even know there were multiple versions of Ethan to begin with because Davey had intentionally kept him in the dark about Ethan’s true design. It had been hard enough explaining the concept of death to a five-year-old and why Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t be coming back. Throwing in the story of a guy who had died and then returned from the afterlife to possess the body of a machine that could function exactly like a human being would have exponentially complicated that conversation.
“Uh,” Davey stammered. Hogan was older, but now was really not the time for a session of life-changing honesty. “He’s undercover,” she eventually answered, hoping to appeal to the kid who once dreamed of being a superhero without tipping off the precocious teenager who boasted shrewdness beyond his years.
