The Origin

by Youkey, Wilette

  She took a deep breath as she stared into the dull green elevator doors. “I don’t need an overpriced babysitter. I’m fine on my own.”

  Smith’s nostrils flared. The girl had a way of working his last nerve. “Oh, is that right? So I suppose that’s why there was a copper waiting outside your door this afternoon?”

  “Who?”

  The elevator doors swished open but she remained unmoving. Smith gave a shrug, though he recognized the detective who had tried to pay Olivia a visit. Still, it wouldn’t help matters if she knew that he was well acquainted with both sides of law enforcement in New York and all over the world. “Do you know what he wanted? Maybe he came to tell you that they’ve apprehended John Mathers?” he said instead.

  She gave him an incredulous look then finally exited the elevator. “I don’t know what the cop wanted. And honestly, I don’t care. It’s probably just another guy my father hired to keep watch over me.”

  “I think I would know if that were the case.” When she unlocked the door, he nudged her aside and stepped inside, a gun already in his palm. After a quick inspection of her apartment, he returned to the living room and said, “John Mathers is really invisible now? You sure?”

  “I saw, or rather, did not see, him with my own eyes.”

  He exhaled. “I read it on the police report, but I didn’t believe it.” Then again, there were many things about that night that he was still finding hard to believe. Like the fact that the two men he had apprehended claimed that Olivia was a witch who could make anyone do whatever she pleased. More unbelievable was the fact that Smith was now finding it hard not to believe them.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You read the police report? How?”

  Smith ignored the question and motioned to the hallway table with his chin, where a cell phone lay abandoned. “You’d better check your messages. I’m betting you have a few.”

  Olivia deleted the first few messages from Smith, then blanched when she heard Detective Lingle’s deep voice. She knew that he was there to help her, but if she never saw him again, she would be just dandy. “Miss King, I’m outside your building. I’d like to come up and have a word with you about the kidnapping,” he said in the way that automatically shot her veins full of guilt.

  She flipped the phone shut immediately.

  “What is it?” Smith said. “Did they find Mathers?”

  “No. Will you please stop asking that?” she snapped. “It was nothing. Now, you will–”

  “Stop. No way are you doing that you will business again,” he said, losing his cool as he held a hand aloft. “I’ve had plenty of sleep, thanks.”

  “Then you will go and drink at the bar,” she said before he could edge a word in. “Then you will go back to your hotel and sleep.”

  Smith closed his eyes and sighed impatiently. “Fine. I’ll go to the bar. But, Olivia, you will tell me one day how you’re able to do that.”

  She raised her eyebrows, her eyes artificially wide. “Able to do what?”

  He gave her a level stare. “You know exactly what I mean.”

  “Not likely.” As she shook her head, she realized just how little Smith’s watchful green eyes missed. She would have to be doubly careful as the man was just too observant for his own good. “And you will forget that you are suspicious.”

  He blinked a few times then a triumphant smile emerged on his face. “Nope. Still suspicious.”

  “Huh.” She considered him, wondering if giving too many directives would make one desensitized. For a terrifying second, she wondered if her power of command was already beginning to wane. She hoped not; she still had so much to do.

  As soon as Smith left, she dialed Detective Lingle’s number, anxious to get it over with.

  He picked up immediately. “Miss King,” he said without greeting. “Thank you for returning my call.”

  “Yes. What can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if it would be possible to meet you at the station tonight? I have a few questions about the kidnapping.”

  She glanced at the clock: almost six. “I’m sorry, I have plans,” she lied.

  He made a noise that was a cross between a grunt and a growl. “This is important.”

  “Is this about John Mathers?”

  “No.” He paused for a long time before saying, “It’s in relation to the blood we found in the hallway where you were being held captive.”

  She frowned, trying to remember if she’d injured either Dane or Felton enough to draw blood. But for some reason, she couldn’t access the memory, as if her brain had built a steel wall to keep her out. “Was it from those two kidnappers?”

  The Detective’s voice was unfathomable when he said, “No. And not from John Mathers either. There was a fourth person there. Who he is or what he was doing there is what we need to figure out. We really need your help, Olivia.”

  Her heart began to pound, as if she should know who he was talking about. “I only heard three voices when I was up there. And there were definitely only three of them in the van.”

  “Regardless, I would still like for you to come in. Will you be able to come to the station tomorrow?”

  “I can’t. I have dance classes all day tomorrow then a performance at night. How about Sunday?”

  Lingle grunted in displeasure. “You can’t come in any sooner? This is important. For you, especially.”

  “I’m sorry Detective, but tomorrow is the last day of Swan Lake.” She tried to avoid looking at her boots. “And I can’t miss it.”

  He sighed audibly, more for her sake, she suspected. “Alright. First thing Sunday morning.”

  “I’ll be there,” she said and hung up. She crumpled onto the couch and gingerly zipped off her boots, sighing a little as the pressure on her ankle was released. She was no stranger to sprained ankles, knew what kind of excruciating pain she was in for in the morning, and though it worried her, she vowed to still dance. She wiped at the corners of her eyes and stood up to get an ice pack from the freezer. The closing of Swan Lake was supposed to be her graceful farewell to the ballet world, her final shining glory, and she was determined to dance perfectly. Even if it broke her.

  35 | THE FALL

  Olivia spun across the stage, a vortex of elegance, before Michael caught her around the waist. She stood on one toe, her other leg lifted back and curved around Michael’s back, as he spun her around, slowly at first, then picking up speed. She stopped, breathless and spellbound, and came face to face with Alex.

  “Don’t go,” he said, his handsome face pleading. She looked around for Michael, but the lights blinded her to the audience and the rest of the cast. The hands around her waist squeezed tighter, expressing the breath from her lungs. She turned back to Alex in panic, but came to face Daniel instead, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He spun her around and placed a soft kiss on the back of her neck as the arms around her tightened once again, and this time, she was certain there was no way out…

  Olivia awoke, gasping for air. She sat up, the melted ice packs falling to the floor, and the sight of her swollen ankle made the breath hitch in her throat. She choked back a sob when she began to peel off the compression bandage, knowing with all certainty that she would not be dancing that night. Hell, she wouldn’t even be able to put on her pointe shoes judging from the size of her ankle.

  But she was nothing if not determined.

  She slid off her bed and stood on her good foot. With bated breath, she closed her eyes and slowly lowered the swollen foot to the ground. A small shriek of pain escaped her lips when she placed some weight on her ankle, but she soldiered on. Biting her lips, she tried to rise to her toes, tasting blood as she fought against the excruciating pain shooting up and down her leg.

  You can do this, Olivia, she told herself, refusing to give in to the agonizing ache. Rise!

  Though the mind was steadfast, the body was not, and her ankle crumpled beneath the pressure. She fell back onto the bed with a loud shout of despair a
nd covered her eyes with an arm, rebelling against the tears.

  She couldn’t believe how her life had completely imploded in less than one week. Seven days ago, she was a principle dancer at NYC Ballet, with the solo in Swan Lake, she had just begun an exciting romance, and the relationship with her father was finally back on steady ground. And just like that, just when she was starting to believe that she had a real chance at happiness, the rug was pulled out from under her satin slippers.

  “But so what?” she forced herself to say aloud with more courage than she felt. It was not impossible to clamber from the bottom and rise again. With Daniel by her side, she could start anew and reclaim a semblance of her old self if she worked hard enough. And at the end of her life, as she lay gasping for breath as the cancer ate her away to nothing, she would go knowing she did not concede a single step, waste a single breath.

  Without hesitation, she dialed Daniel’s number on the phone and, before he could even utter a word, said, “I’m coming with you.”

  He exhaled loudly, as though he’d been holding his breath the entire day. “Good,” he said, then quickly added, “You sure?”

  “I’m positive.”

  “But what about yesterday…” He let the sentence fade off into the phone.

  “I don’t agree with you, but I understand why you had to do it. After I calmed down, I realized that, of all the things spinning out of control in my life, my reaction to your decision was the only thing left in my sway.” She paused before she revealed just how little her new life resembled the old, how terrified that made her feel. “I can only begin to imagine what it’s like to be you.”

  He was quiet for a long time, then, finally, “Thank you.”

  After hanging up, she rubbed her eyes and surveyed her soft grey and lavender room. Her eyes landed on the dresser, on the sterling silver music box her mother had given when she was just a little girl, complete with the tiny ballerina inside. Her birth details were engraved on its lid, a stark reminder of who she was, because however many times she metamorphosed, she would always be that same Olivia Mei King, who came into this world at 6 pounds, 4 ounces, 19 inches. She could never be anyone else.

  * * * * *

  Daniel slumped to the floor of his near-empty apartment and yawned, the cordless phone slipping soundly to the laminate floor. His body might not feel exhaustion, but the same couldn’t be said of his mental faculties. He had spent all night moving furniture to thrift stores, carrying heavy furniture several at a time under the cover of darkness, and now, as he looked around, a strange pocket of emotion swelled in his chest. Only once before, in his childhood home in Oklahoma, had he felt regret when leaving, for both places were full of memories too valuable to forget.

  There, in the living room, where Olivia first came to accept the freak that stood before her. In the miniscule bathroom, where they first made love. And in the bedroom, where they unearthed truths about each other. Everything about this place was a testament to the best and most petrifying moments of his life thus far, when he’d opened up his heart once more and the torrent of emotion had laid waste to his carefully barricaded life.

  But the melancholy was quickly overwritten; he and Olivia would be making new memories now. The realization made the corner of his mouth quirk up as the possibilities of their life together flashed before his eyes. Without the threat of infection, they would be free to be themselves, free to do whatever the hell they wanted. He could be that carefree guy again, the same guy she had fallen for in high school. If he tried hard enough, he could be the kind of guy she deserved.

  A quick rap on the door broke him from his musings, a pesky reminder that they were not free of New York just yet. He stood up and peered into the peephole, recognizing the detective from the night of the kidnapping even though he was not in uniform.

  “Can I help you?” Daniel said after he unlocked the door.

  “Daniel Johnson?” The dark-haired man held a hand out. “My name is Detective Lingle. We met a few nights ago?”

  Daniel ignored the hand and stood aside to let the cop in. “Yes, I remember.”

  The man pulled off his sunglasses and took a long, lingering look around the near-empty apartment. “You going somewhere, Mr. Johnson?”

  Daniel shrugged. “Got a job offer in another state.”

  “Huh,” the detective grunted in response. “I didn’t realize bank security guards were in high demand.”

  “They’re not.” He crossed his arms across this chest and waited. Lingle’s demeanor, as though he knew something damning, set Daniel on edge.

  The cop turned back to him, sliding his sunglasses into his shirt pocket. “So, I just wanted to ask you a few more questions about what you saw on the night of the kidnapping.”

  “I already told you all that I know.”

  “Refresh my memory.”

  Daniel sighed audibly. “I saw Blondie running out of the parking garage, he pointed towards the black van, and I ran after it. End of story.”

  Lingle looked down at a little gadget in the palm of his hands and tapped at it with a tiny stylus that was almost comical for his large fingers. “But Blondie, also known as Alexander Dahlgren, claimed that you were gone for quite a while. About an hour, he said. Where were you during that time?”

  “I told you, running after a stupid van.”

  “Supposing that you couldn’t possibly keep up with a speeding van, would it be fair to say that you just ran around blindly?”

  His nostrils flared. “Actually, that’s exactly what happened. I went down the wrong street.”

  Lingle scribbled on the gadget then looked up. “What about afterward? After you gave us your statement. Where did you go?”

  Daniel gritted his teeth, vacillating between a lie and the truth. “I went looking for her, obviously.” He exhaled impatiently. “Are you telling me that I’m implicated in the kidnapping somehow?”

  Lingle held Daniel’s gaze, until Daniel turned his head and averted his eyes, afraid they would betray him somehow. “No,” Lingle said finally. “I’m just going over the details again, trying to find something that I’ve missed.”

  Daniel planted his feet firmly. “Well you’re not going to find it here.”

  “Do you know a man by the name of John Mathers?” Lingle said, taking Daniel completely by surprise.

  “John Mathers?”

  Lingle’s eyes narrowed the slightest. “Yes. He was apparently the mastermind of the kidnapping, according to his two accomplices.”

  “He did that to Olivia?” Daniel said, his jaw muscles working. Had he been privy to that little piece of information, he would not have laid back and allowed the man to work his anger out on his face.

  “You know him?”

  “Yes,” Daniel said before he could think of a good reason to lie to a cop. “But I didn’t know he was responsible for the kidnapping.”

  “Would you have any ideas on his whereabouts?”

  He looked the detective in the eye. “No. If I did, you can bet he’d be dead.”

  Lingle weighed his words then gave a nod. “You would have to find him first. According to witnesses, John Mathers is now visually challenged.”

  “He’s blind?”

  Lingle snorted. “No, I mean, he’s optically… Ah hell, he’s apparently become invisible.”

  Daniel froze, recalling John’s last words: You’ve injected me with some melanin bleaching shit!

  “Invisible,” he said under his breath. “Damn.”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  “Wait, does that seem plausible to you? You don’t seem too shocked.”

  “Neither do you.” Lingle shrugged wearily and put his digital notepad away. “We’ve had too many strange cases come in these past several months, so this is just one amongst many. There’s a lot of weird shit going on out there.”

  Daniel froze. “Like what?” he managed to say without his voice trembling.

  Lingle shook his head and pulled out a busin
ess card. “You really don’t want to know. You wouldn’t believe me anyway. Hey, do me a favor, give me a call if you hear anything about Mathers, alright?”

  After the detective left, Daniel leaned against the door and ran a sweaty palm down his face. Nothing, not even leaving, was without its complications.

  * * * * *

  John Mathers was naked in a corner of the hallway, hidden in shadow just in case, as he watched the cop exit the apartment. When he had slinked unseen into the police station that morning, with the sole intention of eavesdropping about the King kidnapping case, he had discovered that he was named the prime suspect and that his cohorts had squealed before they had even had their fingers inked. Next time, he decided, he would work with people who had interrogation training. Or at the very least, anyone with even a shred of allegiance and honor.

  For now, his main goal was revenge. However, he would have to start lower on the totem pole, as getting close to King was near impossible. Since hearing the news that his daughter’s kidnapper was now invisible and on the loose, King had taken to surrounding himself with more bodyguards than usual. Seven, to be exact, and all of whom had once worked as contracted security in the Middle East. Moreover, King’s penthouse suite was said to be nearly impenetrable, a claim that John had not yet had the chance to test.

  He would have to launch his revenge campaign on a man he had already tried to kill once. He didn’t know how Daniel had survived – maybe he was wearing a bullet-proof vest that night – but before John tried to kill him again, he first needed the name of the drug that had rendered him invisible. And maybe then he could find the antidote. John had spent too many hours in the gym, spent too much money on his tattoo, to be invisible now. And, all vanity aside, he was just too damn good-looking.

  John waited several minutes for the cop to get to his car before creeping down the hall towards Daniel’s door. Finding it curiously unlocked, he pushed it open and listened for a moment before walking inside.