Winter's Warrior: Mark of the Monarch (Winter's Saga 4) (18 page)

“You don’t look younger than me,” Farrow’s voice dropped to a wistful whisper.  She locked eyes with him and added, “And you certainly don’t act younger than me,” she nodded toward the baby drooling happily on his shoulder.

Roses blossomed in Farrow’s cheeks, but this time she refused to run from them.  The bangs of her dark hair, cut pixie short, draped beautifully across the pale skin of her forehead.  Her slender neck and strong shoulders looked as shapely as any dancer’s, but this nimble doll wasn’t the least bit worried about having an audience watch her move with grace on a stage.   Her eyes were beautifully shaped, rounded with a slight upturn at the outside corners.  Women use gobs of makeup to try to create the illusion that Farrow’s eyes did naturally. 

“You’re beautiful,” Alik blurted.

“So are you,” Farrow countered without missing a beat.  She grinned mischievously at Alik’s surprised expression.

“Guys aren’t ‘beautiful’!”

“You are.”

“So…” Alik started, blushing deeply at her compliment, “I think we would make a pretty amazing team.”  Nervously, he started gnawing his bottom lip. 

Farrow waited patiently until his eyes met hers again.

Alik waited impatiently for her to respond to his offer.

“Don’t you think?” he prodded anxiously.

Farrow loved how blue his eyes looked when he was embarrassed.  She almost wanted to kiss his
lids.

“I think,” Farrow whispered, starting to rise on tiptoe, her back still against the wall, Alik mere inches away, “we would make a pretty amazing
couple
.”

With that, she leaned up to place a light kiss on the side of Alik’s mouth.  Had he not been holding his little brother, he would have grabbed her by the shoulders and demanded even more of her attention, but as it was, he had a three-year-old drooling heavily on his chest.

Farrow grinned beautifully up at Alik, knowing full well how tied his hands were with the baby in his arms.

But what made her full-out laugh was the look of over-the-moon excitement on Alik’s face as she held her hand out to him.  He looked as proud as a peacock when he took her hand in his and started walking down the corridor to the hospital’s cafeteria.

“So does this mean I can call you my girlfriend?”

“Only if I can call you my boyfriend.”

Alik let out a joyful
whoop
loud enough to echo down the hall, and wake his little brother.

Slider watched the glistening red of his cigarette in the moonlight wondering what the hell he was doing.  The moon was a crescent shape glinting in the velvet black night sky.  He took another drag on his smoke, sitting on the hard cement his body didn’t even feel under his jeans.  The stars shimmered like crystal diamonds in the sky as he stared at his red smoke.  Another drag on the smoke caused part of him to spit the vile taste from his mouth.  He grimaced as he washed the taste of the smoke he loathed with another sip of the wine so readily available.  His head fell into his arms outstretched to his knees, held close to his face.

Who the hell am I?

His mind spun.

He took another drag and watched the white plume echo from his lips.

Head leaning against his thick right forearm, he tried to force a memory, only to be confronted with a sharp pain behind his eyes.

Shit.

It wasn’t letting him remember, but maybe that was for the best.

The walls around him were near crumbling, but at least he felt.

For the first time he could remember, he felt and damn if it didn’t hurt to remember.

Images flashed in his mind’s eye and he couldn’t stand the pain he had caused.  He remembered just enough to know he had done some horrible things, but not enough to understand why.

He snuffed his first smoke against the cement beneath him and grabbed his lighter to start another cigarette.

The first inhale left him buzzing.

Where had he gone during his blackout and why was he back at the Facility?

Nothing made sense.  Time was disconnected and warped in his mind.  He only had a few strobe-like images of what may have happened and they were scary as hell.  Maybe it wasn’t what it looked like.  Maybe taken out of context, his snippets of memories seemed more horrible than what really happened.

I couldn’t have killed Gavil Young, right? And shooting Dr. Winter in the back, that had to have been…no, I couldn’t have done that.  I
wouldn’t
have hurt that nice lady who offered me a home.  Right?

The last thing Slider remembered for sure was heading into battle against Williams.

What the hell happened?

Where were his friends, Farrow, Creed, Meg, Alik and Evan?

Why was he outside, wearing only a T-shirt and cammo pants smoking cigarettes?  Where was everyone?  What happened?

In the light of the moon he sat, half-leaning against a cold, brick building.  The lighter illuminated his hands.  They were shaking.  He couldn’t help but notice the dark red splatters on them…sticky and smelling strongly of copper.  So instead of trying to figure out what they were, he used one cigarette to light the next and inhaled the poison deeply.

His world was spinning.

Slider tried to piece together the time he lost.

He had chosen to fight against Williams.  Slider looked around warily.

Yes, he was definitely at the Facility.

This was his home, wasn’t it?

He smelled smoke and saw red flames coming from the general direction of the Research Hospital.

Did I have something to do with that?
 

He looked down at himself again, looking for scorch marks.  He held his T-shirt up to his face and inhaled.  No, the only smoke he smelled was cigarette, not the scent of burning wood.

He was sitting on the front stoop of the Administration building.  The squeaking of the chains on the obstacle course southwest from his position could be heard as clearly as if he were sitting beside them.  The night breeze came from the east, so not only was the sound coming toward Slider, but so was the smoke from the burning hospital.

It was obviously the middle of the night.  He estimated he’d lost three or four hours of time.

What the hell happened?
  He kept asking himself, willing the answer to come to him.

Slider took another deep drag willing the nicotine to clear his cloudy brain
—to no avail.

He spat into the dry grass beside him, reached out and took a deep swig of the red wine from the glass sitting innocently beside him.

Nothing made sense, so he allowed the void to swallow him even as he swallowed the red wine.  It splashed heartily in his otherwise empty stomach—the alcohol rushing to taint his blood, to dull his sense.  That’s exactly what he wanted.

The trees were thick with leaves.  When was the last time he paid attention to the trees?  What season was it?  Was
it supposed to be so warm?  Seasons blurred.  Nothing mattered, did it?

As long as he kept this buzz going, there were no worries, no commitments left unmet, no soul blackened by anything.  What soul?

His laughter startled him not only with the loud volume but with the raspy cynicism, too.

The metal on metal squeaking caused by the midnight breeze swinging the objects shouldn’t bother him, should they?  They were more
like a lullaby.  Isn’t it time for rest?  Hadn’t he earned sleep?  He sighed deeply, letting the smoke jet from his nostrils unnoticed.

Alone.

He was always alone.

He squinted at the thought.

Hadn’t he found others?  Had there been others helping him? Yes, maybe.

His mind was starting to lose the little memory he had maintained of his lost hours—like waking from a dream and having the memories of it start to dissipate with each wakeful breath.

Maybe he had found others who wanted to know him and believe in him.  Hadn’t he chosen to work with them toward—?

The pain in his head hit hard enough for him to grimace and bury his head into his knees that he’d instinctively pulled tight against himself.

There was nothing left, again.

Nothing.

All he had was the pack of smokes and bottle of red wine beside him.

He lifted the bottle of wine and tried to read the label…the words were written in another language.  Russian?

The smokes lay beautifully pure white beside him.  He reached to grab another and used the nub of the still barely burning one to ignite the next.  A deep drag caused the new cigarette to give him the rush of nicotine he craved.  Reaching out with a thick hand, he found the bottle of wine and lifted it straight to his lips, tossing it back for a thick, deep soul-quenching gulp or three.  It slipped down his throat as easily as water, leaving his lips numb and lickable.

Who am I?

Why am I here?

Where have I been?

Slider sat quietly—deadly still except for the throbbing behind his eyes.

“I was expecting twelve,” Senator Arkdone scowled at the paperwork detailing the shipment of metahumans.   Dr. Bjorn stood resisting the urge to bite his nails, as was his self-mutilating habit.  He would bite them and the surrounding skin so severely; he had bloody fingertips from it.  It was painful, but that was the point. 

At work, the latex gloves he wore kept his blood to himself.  He especially liked to add a sprinkle of salt into each glove before slipping his gnawed up fingers into them.  No soothing cornstarch powder for him.  He enjoyed the pain far too much.  Where would be the fun in soothing his pain away? 

It was easy enough to keep his little habit from the other scientists.  He knew he should fear Dr. Williams and his bloody, flesh dripping face, but he didn’t.  He was more fascinated.  He wished desperately to know the doctor’s secret.  How could he possibly live so torn up and not have died of exposure to infection?  Bjorn had studied Williams’ face with a medical eye and watched in awe at each new fissure as it ripped open through movement yet he never seemed ill.  His teeth had fallen out and blood still pooled in the empty sockets.  Bjorn had studied him carefully as he opened his mouth to sip his Earl Gray tea.  He was in awe of his superior, though he had no idea how he survived. 

Senator
Arkdone was a completely different beast.  He was, by all standards, a very attractive man.  His facial features were aristocratic, chiseled and majestic.  His demeanor exuded command of all those in his presence.  Like Dr. Williams, the Senator had a certain quality Bjorn admired greatly.  He couldn’t quite put his finger on Arkdone’s draw, but both men had an elusive quality that made Bjorn’s skin prickle with vicious excitement…as if he were amongst death and destruction.  Bjorn loved every minute of it.  

They had flown all night.  His job was to keep the metas subdued for the flight.  Upon arrival, four of the children were drooling on themselves and the remaining seven were dazed and unresponsive.  Bjorn had enjoyed his job too much.

They were wheeled one-by-one down the corridor by handlers.  Each would be placed in their cell where their training would begin right away.  They were given no food or water and would remain locked away in their empty rooms for seventy-two hours.

“The twelfth meta wasn’t going to survive the flight let alone the first few days under…your handlers
’ supervision,” Bjorn’s voice quivered. 

The
Senator stared, unblinking, at the interesting doctor Williams sent with his newest candidates.   He could smell the evil oozing from Bjorn’s pores.  It was a delicious scent, and he found himself inhaling deeply to fill his lungs with it.

Arkdone offered one simple nod of acceptance.

“You have never been to my hospital, have you?”

“No sir,” Bjorn’s bright black eyes sparkled behind his thick spectacles.

Arkdone smiled widely and waved his arms aloft with a flourish.  “I would very much like to show you around.”

“I’m not sure I have enough time before the private jet is scheduled to leave.”

“Oh, let it leave.  You have all the time in the world.” The Senator’s statement was dripping with far more than hospitality.

“Dr. Williams—”

“Dr. Williams doesn’t hold any rank over me.  On the contrary, he is working for me now.” Arkdone smiled handsomely. 

Bjorn stared at the man before him with an even deeper respect.  “Lead the way,
Senator,” he answered with a brow raised and a smile curling his thin lips.

“That’s a good man.” Arkdone patted the boney doctor firmly on the back, causing Bjorn to stumble just a bit from the force.  He walked with a limp anyway thanks to the clubfoot he was born with and
was never given the proper care to correct his gait.