Relapse (The Vs. Reality Series Book 2)

by Blake Northcott

  “Well, okay,” says Paige with a dismissive shrug. “I see your point. But maybe there’s no such a thing as perfect timing. Sometimes you just get an opportunity and you have to go for it. If you spend your whole life waiting around for the ‘absolute perfect time’ to do something, you’d never do anything. So go for it. Seize the day. You know, Carpe Diem and all that shit.”

  Dia cocks an eyebrow and smirks suspiciously. “Since when are you so chipper?”

  “I don’t know…being this upbeat is actually freaking me out a little bit. I’m on my third espresso of the day, so it might just be the caffeine talking.”

  “Well ease up there, sis. I’m used to deadpan, sullen, sarcastic Paige. I’m not sure how much of ‘optimistic, romantic Paige’ I can withstand. Especially before noon.”

  “Alright, I’ll ease up. So what are you going to say to Cole when he wakes up?”

  Dia lets out a sigh and leans forward on her elbows. “I don’t want to hurt him, but I’m just not ready to jump into a full-blown relationship right now. How do you think he’ll react if I tell him we should slow things down a little bit?”

  “Look, I think it’s fine if you want to take it easy and get to know each other. You were just in a very stressful, life-or-death situation and that’s always super sexy and stuff. Believe me, it affected all of us. When we got back here to Paris I was thinking about jumping Brodie.”

  “Eww, really?” says Dia, crinkling her nose.

  “No, not really. That was my sarcasm kicking back in. But what I’m saying is that this whole thing has been a whirlwind over the last couple days, and if you’re not ready, you’re not ready. That’s cool. Just don’t let him go. Because if you do, I am totally next in line.”

  “Alright, that’s the last straw!” Dia shouts with a giggle, tossing a pile of napkins at Paige’s face. “You even look at my man and I’m going to open a portal to Northern Siberia and drop your bony ass there.”

  “Your man, huh?” says Paige with a boisterous laugh, raising her hands to shield her face from incoming objects. “You’re being awfully defensive about someone you’re not ready to commit to.”

  “Alright, you annoying little jerk. You made your point. I won’t let him go…but this conversation isn’t going to be easy.”

  Chapter Four – Promethean

  Langley, Virginia | August 28, 2011 | 6:02 am, Eastern Daylight Time

  The recently renovated war room at the Central Intelligence Agency Headquarters is somewhat of an oxymoron in itself.

  Since the inception of the New World Council the concept of war has become virtually obsolete, so dedicating a multi-million dollar, state of-the-art room to it seemed unnecessary. But sometimes, on rare occasions, exceptions need to be made in order to maintain a single, global government.

  Although nearly every country on earth has agreed to be part of the movement, some nations still oppose the concept, occasionally defying the laws that have been put in place by General Douglas Davenport and the other founders of the Council.

  No stranger to opposition, he relishes the opportunity to confront these issues head-on.

  The General stands alone, studying the enormous holographic world map that glows blue against the back wall of the room. Taking a short sip of coffee, he places the mug on the board room table before turning to meet the advisor walking through the door.

  “Excuse me, General?” The young man in a tight-fitting grey suit clears his throat and attempts to appear composed, straightening his posture as he enters the room. Recent University of Kentucky graduate Morris Spencer has only been working as a junior advisor at the CIA for a few months, and has yet to meet The General one-on-one; an experience that few are enthusiastic about, even under the best of circumstances. This morning he’s been summoned to discuss suspicious activities that have been reported overseas, but he’s aware that this meeting is nothing more than a formality. The General has final say on all military initiatives, and with the exception of the President, he doesn’t require approval from anyone to take action.

  “I received word this morning that a group of scientists in central Africa are attempting to enrich uranium,” says The General, his weathered face showing no sign of emotion.

  “Yes sir,” says Spencer, “I’m aware. I wrote the briefing.”

  “I’m going to initiate protocols to eliminate the threat,” The General explains, pointing to the map where a series of red dots are glowing, outlined by an ominous crosshair. “Let me know as soon as the drones at our base in Johannesburg are armed, fueled, and ready for deployment. I want a code black within the hour.”

  Not willing to leave without at least presenting his case, Spencer makes a bold decision and stands his ground. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  “Please,” The General replies with a small nod.

  “There’s no evidence that the enrichment is going to lead to a weapon. For all we know they’re just trying to build a nuclear reactor. Shouldn’t we investigate further before taking such drastic action?”

  “There’s no direct evidence, but that’s a risk I’m not prepared to take. The entire world has just finished disarming their nuclear arsenals, and we can’t afford another disaster like North Korea. Before we liberated their people and took out their leadership they were on the verge of launching a full-scale attack on the US; a premature strike was the only thing that preserved our way of life.”

  “Yes sir,” Spencer continues as a few drops of perspiration roll down the back of his neck. “Of course, I remember that. But most of Africa is part of the New World Council. We can always use diplomacy instead of jumping to this conclusion, can’t we? I know they didn’t ask permission before they started the enrichment process, but maybe there’s a logical explanation?”

  The General retrieves his mug from the long boardroom table and circles around towards the advisor, approaching until he’s standing uncomfortably close. “And while we send politicians to talk endlessly with other politicians, these people could be preparing an attack, or selling their nuke to a hostile nation. Isn’t that possible?”

  “I understand that sir, but I met with our analysts earlier this morning and we ran the numbers; a drone attack in that area would take out hundreds of people, maybe up to a thousand. And that’s assuming a best-case scenario.”

  “You’re new here,” says The General, his steel-colored eyes growing more intense, “and you don’t understand how things work yet. So I’m going to do you a favor and help you out.”

  Spencer’s heart is racing, and he’s now acutely aware that his suggestions are being interpreted as insubordination. “I would appreciate that, sir.”

  “First, you’ve questioned my judgment twice since you walked through my door. Again, you’re new, which is why I haven’t put a bullet in your kneecap.”

  “I appreciate that as well, sir.” His eyes dart involuntarily to The General’s sidearm. “Very much so.”

  “And secondly, as someone who has never seen a battlefield this might be difficult for you to comprehend, but I don’t enjoy destroying lives. After thirty-five years in the service I’ve taken a life every way you can imagine: with a knife, a gun, by signing a piece of paper...believe me, it never gets easier. And whenever I’ve done it, it’s been an absolute necessity. That’s why I can sleep at night, and why I can look at myself in the mirror every morning. So, tomorrow I’m going to wake up, drink my morning coffee and read the newspaper without any regret, knowing one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt: that a thousand innocent people died to save hundreds of thousands. Maybe more.”

  “Sir, yes sir.” Spencer forces the words from his throat, unaware that he’s stepping backwards as he speaks.

  “Dismissed,” says The General, making his way back towards the holographic map. He can hear the rapid footsteps making their way towards the exit as he offers one final comment. “Spencer...”

  “Sir?” he replies nervously just as he’s reaching towards the door.

>   “I know you think this course of action is radical. But in order to punish less often, you have to punish more severely. It’s the only way to lead.”

  “Understood, sir.” he replies, his palm dripping with so much perspiration that he’s barely able to turn the doorknob to leave the room.

  As the door slams shut behind him The General’s thin lips turn up at the corners into a barely perceptible smile. “I thought you might.”

  Chapter Five – Dysthymia

  Paris | August 28, 2011 | 1:03 pm, Central European Time

  Cole paces back and forth in the narrow hallway of the apartment, impatiently awaiting Dia’s return.

  During their last conversation she made herself perfectly clear: she needed to stop manifesting. Slashing her wrists in order to create a surge of adrenaline that’s powerful enough to trigger her abilities was more than an addiction for her; over the years it had become a crippling sickness. The only way that Dia could feel alive was to cut herself deep enough to approach the sensation of death.

  After Cole had come close to death himself she decided it was time to quit. But now he’s about to ask her to use her abilities again and it’s tearing him apart inside. It’s not fair to ask her to rip open a portal right now, less than a day after she had resigned to a self-imposed rehab, but Cole has no choice. He needs a gateway back to New York City, and he needs to get there now.

  Unfortunately, he has no alternatives.

  Cole is the only person so far to have manifested his abilities and remained permanently in his triggered state. After his confrontation with Govinda he increased in size and has maintained his muscular frame, as well as the ability to perform seemingly impossible feats of strength. Last night on the roof there was a moment when he locked lips with Dia and she manifested spontaneously, causing them to elevate off the ground for a moment. But the transformation quickly subsided, and she reverted back to her natural state. There is no guarantee that she can continue to trigger without cutting herself, or injecting herself with a dose of Brodie’s potent and highly addictive Plan B serum.

  The front door swings open as the sisters enter, instantly catching Cole’s gaze. They can tell by his expression that he’s looking for a private conversation with Dia, so Paige quietly excuses herself and proceeds towards the living room.

  “We need to talk,” says Cole, nervously stuffing his hands into the back pockets of his worn blue jeans.

  “I know,” Dia replies, approaching him with a warm smile.

  “You know?”

  “Listen, I know what you’re feeling right now.”

  Cole arches an eyebrow. “I don’t think that…”

  “Shhh,” whispers Dia, gently placing her index finger over his lips. “You don’t have to say another word, baby. I get it. Last night was amazing for you, and believe me, I had a great time too. But look around us; we’re stuck here in Paris, we’re being hunted down by the Council, and who knows when we’ll be able to get our lives back on track? This just isn’t the time to get into a serious relationship, and even though you’re developing feelings, I think we should just keep things casual until everything calms down.”

  “Wait,” says Cole, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You think that…wait, what?”

  “Oh,” Dia replies, drawing back. “You don’t want to talk about our relationship?”

  “Relationship?” says Cole, blurting the word out as if it’s a question. “No, I wanted to tell you that I need to get back to New York, so I was going to ask you to tear open a portal. But you thought because of last night, with the whole kissing thing on your roof, and when we went back to your room, and…wait a second, you were the one who put Portishead on. I thought that’s what you wanted, just that one night.”

  “Oh please, you were all over me. That’s exactly what you wanted. You were so anxious to get started that you didn’t even bother to take your socks off.”

  Cole draws back as well, feeling a little defensive. “So, you’re saying that you have regrets about last night?”

  “I don’t, not at all. It’s just that I thought…” Dia trails off before she can find the words to finish her sentence.

  “You thought I wanted to be your boyfriend.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Well, I don’t not want to be your boyfriend,” says Cole, suddenly dropping his eyes to the hardwood floor. “But like you said, timing and stuff. If the timing were different, then…”

  “Exactly. The timing,” says Dia, folding her arms tightly against her chest. “So I don’t know why we’re even having this conversation. I already told you that it can’t happen.”

  An awkward moment hangs in the air and Cole continues, intentionally avoiding eye contact. “The portal?”

  “Right. The portal,” says Dia curtly. She begins to clip off her words, enunciating each syllable. “Okay, well don’t let me hold you up. You obviously have things to do and I don’t want to keep you. Let’s tear it open and we’ll get you out of here.” Dia turns on her heels and storms towards the living room without waiting for a response.

  Marching down the hall Dia passes Jens and Brodie, who are still sitting prone on the couch with their eyes glued to the television, video game controllers in-hand. She proceeds through to the kitchen with Cole in tow, following a few steps behind.

  “Dude,” shouts Jens, trying to catch Cole’s attention as he passes by, “What’s up with you two? I thought the timing would be great for you guys.”

  Cole stops and throws his hands up in frustration. “Can you hear everything in this goddamned apartment?”

  “Pretty much,” says Brodie with a half-hearted shrug. “But don’t let Dia get to you. She’s like this with every guy she hooks up with; she’s hot, she’s cold, she never knows what the hell she wants. It drives me and Paige crazy.”

  “I can hear you!” Dia shouts from the kitchen around the corner.

  “Just give her some space, dude,” says Jens, taking a moment to turn his head and focus on his conversation with Cole. If there is one thing that Jens loves doing more than relaxing, it’s giving his friends unsolicited advice about the opposite sex, so this discussion is about to receive his undivided attention. “Listen, the last thing women want is for you to follow them when they walk away. They like to be left alone for a week or so, with no communication whatsoever. Don’t call, don’t email, and especially don’t send flowers or any of that shit you see in the movies. Just pretend she doesn’t exist. Of course that’s going to be a little difficult since we’re all fugitives and we can’t really leave the apartment, but give it a shot.”

  “Wait,” says Cole with a hint of confusion. “What do you mean fugitives? I thought it was just what’s left of the Collectors trailing us. When did we become wanted criminals?”

  “You missed the news last night,” says Paige, sauntering into the living room with an oversized hardcover book tucked under her arm. She flops backwards into a cushy leather chair and props up her feet. “The mayor of New York is pinning the blame for the building collapse on Dia and I. He branded The Collectors as terrorists and said that we were working for them. I guess after they botched the operation he decided to throw them under the bus.”

  “Damn,” says Cole. “So the entire New World Council could be on our asses.”

  Dia stomps back into the living room, holding one of Brodie’s modified syringes. It’s roughly the size and shape of a small pistol, with a glass vial above the handle filled with blue liquid. “Alright Cole, let’s get you back to the Big Apple.” She attempts to conceal her frustration but her facial expression is unmistakable.

  “New York?” says Paige as she peers over the top of her book. She pulls her combat boots off the foot rest and drops them onto the living room floor with a heavy thud. She has no intention of standing, but the gesture draws Cole’s attention. “You can’t go anywhere, big guy. We’re in hiding, remember? The only tactical advantage we have is that The Council doesn’t know where we are. But if th
at fails, we need Dia at a hundred percent. If she’s drained from sending you back to the States we’re defenseless until she recharges.”

  “It’s Gary,” Cole replies soberly. “I think he’s in danger.”

  “What makes you say that?” asks Paige, leaning forward with an increased sense of interest.

  Cole pauses, unsure of how to explain the situation without sounding completely insane. He’s had frighteningly accurate dreams over the last couple of days that turned out to be more that just coincidences. Some of the events unfolded like premonitions, down to the last detail. In a world where people can bend the laws of the universe and manifest superhuman powers, the thought of someone with a degree of precognition is not completely out of the question. But Cole doesn’t want to get into these kinds of details at the moment, because anything he says will certainly lead to additional questions. If he’s right about Gary’s life being in danger, time isn’t on his side.

  “Look, I know this sounds crazy, but I can’t reach him on his phone and I have a really bad feeling. He’s the only family I have in New York, and if the Council or the Collectors get a hold of him I’d never forgive myself. At the very least I need to warn him.”

  Dia can hear the pain in his voice, feel his sense of urgency. Even though he no longer needs to manifest, he still looks vulnerable; his massive, muscular frame slouching slightly at the shoulders, his crystal blue eyes distant with a reflection of helplessness. “Look, if he needs to go, we have to help him, Paige. Even though you and I were the only ones mentioned during Kerrigan’s speech it doesn’t mean that we’re not all being watched. If they know that Cole is involved, his friends and family could be in danger as well.”

  “Fine,” says Paige after a brief pause. “But when you get back we need to discuss strategy, and figure out what our next move is.”

  “Alright,” says Dia, “So let’s get ready to roll out. Brodie, pack up the syringes in case we need them. Jens, gather…”