by Karen Hayes
The General takes two short steps along the desk. He looks at his agents and at me, then about-faces on his heels. His thick white head of hair glows like a mountain peak in the dull light.
"My point is, there was no one in the labs," Ramiro says. Wincing, he lays the gun on the desk and rubs the small of his back. "Only the junior lab assistants. Adam probably considers them expendable. No albinos, nothing. None of the stuff the girl described."
"They were expecting you," the General concludes. 'That was a trap. Now why would Adam need something like that?"
Buffalo sweeps a powerful arm across the room, pointing at all of us at once, "He wanted to get rid of our best people."
"No. He needed Sarah," I say. "He knew what he was doing even though it would be impossible to fully control a situation like this. I'm pretty sure he was controlling her all along. Then, once the time was right, he took her."
"Why her?" Diana asks. "She's nothing special. He's got a whole harem of girls like her. "
Her words hurt. Once again jealousy rises in me, mixed with fear for Sarah's life. It's a different kind of jealousy, though. Before, my rival was a handsome blond billionaire and, to a point, our own savior. I thought he took our best interests to heart. Now I know he's a traitor, a liar and a murderer. He used us to advance his own ends. Which means he's capable of doing anything to her.
I take a slow deep breath. I don't want my voice to shake. I need to think straight. I should tell them exactly what I want to say. The pressure of the recent roof chase is still raw in me, sending belated surges of adrenaline through my body. I need to go somewhere and fight with someone, hopefully shoot them... I'm impatient to rush to Sarah's rescue. The only thing that stops me is the realization that I can't take on the entire Hermetis clique on my own. I would be either imprisoned or just die pointlessly, leaving Sarah helpless in Adam's hands.
The aching wound on the flat of my hand echoes my heartbeat, the cut on my forehead still smarting.
I look at the General and the agents, "So what do we do? We know that Adam must have anticipated our arrival and used it to get hold of Sarah. We also know that he has an ability-enhancing serum. And he has this albino guy who is a human projector showing images on walls. What else?"
"It's actually a good thing he's got the girl," Diana says unexpectedly.
I stare at her, uncomprehending.
She removes her feet from the desk and sits up straight, squinting predatorily. "If Adam wants her so badly, he must be up to something. She must be part of his plan. So now that he has her, he's obliged to react. He'll start making waves. In this respect, she'll work like a bait." She turns to Buffalo, "What do you think?"
He shrugs. "Possible."
"Whatcha starin' at, Daddy's boy?" Ramiro barks at me.
I don't lower my eyes. I keep looking Diana straight in the eye. "Diana," I say, as anger starts to seethe through me again, "Do you know what happened to your carrier? When did the Agency kill him? Or her? Do you remember what it feels like to be one with your partner? I'll tell you. It feels like you share a soul."
Her expression changes, as if I've just slapped her across the face. She leans forward, ready to lunge at me.
Ramiro's face turns crimson. He reaches for his gun.
In two long strides, Buffalo grabs the gun from his hand.
"Diana, stay where you are!" he barks. "Sit down!"
After a couple of seconds of silent struggle, Buffalo pins Ramiro's wrist to the desk. He removes the gun from his hand, then swings toward me. He seems to be about to shoot me himself.
"Silence!" the General snaps. "Nobody moves!"
The others obey without a sound. Even Diana, still furious, slumps back into her seat and turns her face away. Ramiro spits on the ground and resumes his back-rubbing exercise.
The General reaches out his hand, waiting for Buffalo to lay the gun in it, then turns to me, "If you say that one more time, I'll kill you myself. I don't give a shit if you're James' son. I mean it. Understand?"
I shrug. Strangely enough, this brief bout of anger has calmed me down, releasing the tension and once again allowing me to think straight.
All eyes in the room are on the General who has resumed his pacing around the desk. Finally, he says,
"I agree with Diana. Adam must have had his own reasons for kidnapping the girl. He's bound to react, as she put it. He'll spring into action very soon. Once he does that, we'll know what he wants."
"How will we know that?" I ask.
The General nods to Buffalo, "I want you to step up surveillance. Double the number of posts."
"I'm gonna treble them," Buffalo replies. "I might also place some snipers in the nearby buildings."
"Good idea. Also, I want you to ensure aerial surveillance round the clock. Use our drones. I want you to document Adam's every step. Everybody else on standby. No leaving the premises. No drinking. Ramiro, that applies to you too. Get yourselves cleaned up and try to grab some rest if you think you can. Be ready for code red. The moment that motherfucker as much as sneezes, we'll know."
Sarah
I'm sitting on the bed in a room streaked with an eerie street light. I can't move. I can't even blink.
He's here somewhere. He's close even though I can't see him. I'm floating through his mind: the thick, viscous, horrible nightmare of his past.
I can't free myself from the vision. I'm stuck in it.
I'm Adam. I'm in a different New York. This is the black-and-white city of the turn-of-the-century snapshots I saw in the file.
I'm still a young kid. I live with my parents in a brand-new, freshly built tower. When the wind is strong, the building sways in the air. You can especially feel it when you're riding the elevator.
That's where Adam first met Victoria.
She's about twelve, dressed in a pale blue overcoat. Tight curls escape her fancy beret. Just a pretty doll with bright blue eyes.
She keeps staring at me in shameless curiosity. Her nanny studies my Dad with a similar expression. All women do. They might think he's an especially tasty specimen.
The girl licks a large red lollypop. "Which floor are you on?" she asks me.
"The twentieth," I mumble.
"Me too!" she squeaks in a doll-like voice and steps closer. "What's your name?"
"Adam," I drop, staring at the elevator's grate.
"I'm Victoria. But you can call me Tory," she adds in a funny little voice, offering me her plump hand in a white glove...
Adam's memories blur, then resurface.
...Father pulls off his thick black driving gloves. I thought he'd stay in Hampton for another week. I didn't expect to see him at all.
The gloves drop to the floor. I jump off the bed. Father glances at the bed behind my back and cringes.
I knew he'd hit me but still the pain has caught me unawares. I collapse in blinding agony. Tory screams, cowering in the back of the bed, pressing the comforter to her chin as if it can protect her.
He can't touch her. At least I hope not. But he's so aggressive and unreasonable that you never know with him.
"What did I say? No women in this house!" he growls, then hits me again, hammering me into the floor. I claw the parquet, trying to crawl away from him, but he already looms over me again.
Tory shouldn't see this!
He kicks me hard.
A giant surge of power rises within me. I sit up and lean against the bed. I can't take this any longer.
"I want you to die!" I scream at his face leaning over me. "Now! Go and kill yourself!"
His fist freezes inches from my face. His eyes glaze over. He stands bolt upright and staggers toward the window. Pausing, he opens it and nose-dives into the rain toward the distant street lamps...
The memory fades, replaced by another.
...I'm in the desert somewhere in Texas. The sun is blazing, reflecting off my latest 1955 Lincoln.
My boys climb out of the car after me. They open the trunk and drag out a sca
red, disheveled man. He shakes all over as they throw him to the sand. He seems to be blabbering something, begging for mercy.
"Hi, Harry," I barely suppress my laughter. He looks so funny with his miserable face and his wet pants.
Still, I shouldn't laugh. My boys won't understand.
"Fancy eating some sand?" I suggest.
He cries some more.
"Eat sand! Now!" I command.
He starts shoving handfuls of sand into his mouth, choking and coughing. Tears run down his spongy nose. His hands are shaking.
One of my boys laughs. Good. They should know what happens to those who dare stand in my way, let alone snitch on me to the cops.
I adjust my thick black driving gloves. I like them a lot. I always wear them when driving.
I nod to the boys. Two of them pull out their guns. Time to close this show down...
Another memory rolls in,
..."I've had enough!" Tory screams. "Look at yourself! You're a monster!"
Her face isn't as young and fresh anymore. Admittedly, she still looks good. She's standing in the spacious hallway of our house in a hat and overcoat, holding a travel bag. The bag is way too small to actually travel with.
"The things you do! The people who come to see you every night!" her bright blue eyes look daggers at me. "I can't take it! I don't need this kind of life! You're not the man I married anymore!"
"Cool it," I say, forcing my voice to sound as softly as I can.
Not the first time. I know she'll change her mind in a moment. She'll cry a little, then she'll unpack her bag and that'll be the extent of it.
In any case, where can she go? What can she do without me? Who would need her? She can't even have children.
Yes, I know I'm doing her a favor by keeping her around. But I need to stay calm.
"We are one," I tell her. "We belong together."
Before, she used to find it romantic. But not this time.
"Sorry, Adam," she shakes her head. "This time it's for real. I'm leaving. Gavin will drive me to the station."
She heads for the front door.
This isn't right. This time, she's different.
I step behind her, uncomprehending. She can't leave me. Women don't leave me.
She's already by the door. She can't be serious! This isn't happening!
Did she just say she didn't need this kind of life? Very well.
Clenching and unclenching my right fist, I nod my understanding.
Blindly I stare at the brand-new telephone sitting on an occasional table by the door.
Well, she said it.
Bye, Tory...
The scene fades, replaced by a new one.
...several people in medical gowns lean over me. The surgeon's face behind the mask is ghastly pale. Albino pale. Just like his latex gloves clenching the scalpel.
I frown. I don't trust him. If the truth were known, I don't trust any of them. Still, I have no choice. I don't want to lose my powers. Nor do I want to be dependent on my guardians anymore.
I've had enough of being constantly tied to another person, even if they're a dual like myself. I've had enough of their constant nagging, their tearful blue eyes, their "I'll call the police!" threats. I do what I do. No one can make me dance to their tune.
It's a good job Tory isn't around anymore. Clueless little bitch. What did she know about me? What do they all know? They're all trying to tell me what I can or I can't do.
Well, I'm sorry. I can do it all now. Yes, I can! They've no idea what kind of entities have approached me.
These surgeons would never understand, either. For them, I'm yet another guinea pig. The funny thing is, once the surgery's over, they're going to forget everything about it. I know how to do this sort of thing.
I haven't yet decided whether I should let them live.
"Are you sure you'd rather stay awake through the surgery?"
I nod. "I want to watch what's gonna happen."
The surgeon lowers his scalpel and makes the first incision through my chest...
Sarah, do you see now? All the things we can do! All the possibilities!
Am I still within his mind? Or am I free from him now? Where am I?
I'm still sitting on the bed in my new bedroom in his penthouse.
Adam's outline looms out of the gloomy doorway, his sharp cheekbones glowing in the white light.
His face is distorted by a grin. His eyes are shiny, feverish.
I start to shake uncontrollably just by looking at him. He killed his carrier! He killed his own partner, his dual. The monstrosity of it! The impossibility! When a dual loses his or her partner, it devastates them. It's like losing half your soul. But he - he killed her himself! And not only her...
But now he's part of me. And I'm part of him.
What a predicament.
He walks softly over to me and runs his hand over my cheek.
I press my knees together. I'd love to sink my teeth into his fingers; I can barely keep myself from slapping his face or digging my nails into it.
Still, I can't even blink. I have no will of my own. My resistance dies away, devoured by the resonant void.
Adam walks over to the window and stretches his shapely body, then stands for a while, looking out over nightlit Manhattan.
"Get ready," he finally says. "We're going out. I'm gonna celebrate."
Finally I can move. I scramble to my numb feet and walk over to the wardrobe.
I'm about to open it when Adam snaps his fingers, "Wait. I completely forgot. Turn round. I want to show you something."
What now? I shift my bare feet on the floor to turn round.
My blood freezes.
Adam's holding two slim syringes in his hand.
He perches himself on the edge of the couch, lays one syringe onto the coffee table in front of him and unwraps the other one. He rolls up his sleeve, then uses his teeth to wrap a tourniquet tight around his upper arm.
With a practiced hand he inserts the needle into a vein and injects himself slowly. Then he removes the tourniquet.
For a moment he reels onto the cushions as if losing his balance. Then he exhales slowly and gives me a languishing look from under his lowered eyelids,
"Don't stand there like an idiot. Come over here," he pulls the needle out and bends his elbow.
My mind - or is it his mind? - clears. I can think straight now. My body fills with energy.
What was that, some kind of drug? What is it I'm feeling?
"No, Sarah, this isn't a drug," Adam smiles and brushes a blond strand of hair from his face. "This is much better. We're going to try something tonight. Give me your arm."
I obediently do as he says. He pulls the tourniquet tight on my arm.
Half an hour later, I climb into the leather interior of a large black sedan. Trace is driving, with Job sitting next to him. Adam is in the back next to me. I'm wearing a short glittery dress and a pair of heels. He's in a suit jacket with rolled-up sleeves, a body-hugging vest and pastel-colored pants.
The car cruises along the night streets flooded with light.
The power I feel inside me now is horrendous. He must have injected me with some kind of upper. I feel capable of taking on the whole world. It's as if a dozen guardians are channeling their energy into me.
Both the General and Chris' father were wrong all along. They thought that Adam was after the serum formula. Nope. The information on the memory stick was nothing new to him. He's had it all along. He was just keeping his tabs on the Agency, that's all.
Now it all clicked. His abilities. The things he did. His powers weren't natural: he'd had them enhanced artificially. He's been busy with it all this time, seeking out new ways of amassing more power.
I remember Tory's dead eyes. She was his dual, his carrier. The scalpel in the albino surgeon's hands, the steel operating table, the piercing light of the round surgical lamps overhead.
What was it? What did the albinos do to him? Was it some ki
nd of experiment? Who were they?
Adam is capable of anything. Anything at all. I know that now. He's not human anymore. He's something else, an unknown entity lurking within his human body, black and heartless, with its own goals and agendas unfathomable to us.
A monster from another reality.
Where's Chris now? Did he manage to escape? Will he help me?
As if hearing my thoughts, Adam squeezes my hand. Immediately my memory of Chris dissipates like dust in the wind. Both my heart and my head are strangely light and empty as if filled with helium.
Buildings are flashing past. I stare at the shop windows, the streetlamps, the partying couples... The car engine hums softly.
It's all so... so soothing.
The car slows down and pulls up at a curb. Someone opens my door. I get out and take Adam's proffered hand.
"That's where we're gonna party tonight," he says with a soft smile, nodding at the scarlet-red sign. "Do you know this place?"
Oshumare. The same impatient crowd waiting by the roped-off entrance, the same deep drone of a bass guitar penetrating the dark recesses of the club.
The bouncer grins, recognizing me. "Hi," he curiously checks Adam out. "So you decided to give up on that one? Plenty more fish in the sea?"
I beam back at him. "If Chris Brana wants me, he'll have to come and get me. Can we go in now?"
If he won't let me in, I'll just command him to.
But he does. With a nod, he unhooks the rope and lets us in ahead of the others. "Baby, your wish is my command."
We descend the steep staircase. This time I do wear heels but they don't seem to trip me thanks to all my dancing practice. I'm beaming - and still, deep inside I want to scream. Why? I don't know. I have no reason to panic. Everything's going just fine. Isn't it?
And still I feel like fleeing the place. I barely suppress the desire to kick off my shoes and run for dear life.
I enter the familiar hall with its walls draped with crimson fabric. It's absolutely packed with gyrating dancers. The walls and the ceiling are streaked with light.
