Strikeforce (Book 4): Day's End

by Colleen Vanderlinden

  And we did.

  Chapter Five

  I was still giddy, glowing from everything Ryan and I had done the night before, as well as that morning before he’d left for patrol. I was dressed, ready to do my own patrol with Max in a few hours. In the meantime, I was going over my maps and lists and listening to the latest Detroit Unpowered stream. It was nice making it through an entire stream without hearing him ripping me apart. Of course, he didn’t really have a choice in the matter, but a win is a win.

  There was a soft knock on my door, and I hit pause on the video. I got up and opened the door to see Chance standing out in the corridor. She gave me a small wave.

  “Do you have a second?” she asked me.

  I nodded. “What’s up?”

  She looked uncomfortable. She glanced away, then looked back up at me. “I need to talk to someone… this seems like something you’d understand, maybe. Personal stuff,” she added, chewing her lower lip.

  I tried not to groan. Like I wanted to listen to anyone else’s goddamn personal problems. Sometimes living at Command was like living in the middle of a soap opera. Somebody was always sleeping with somebody or at least wanting to. So much gossip, so much backstabbing.

  But it wasn’t like I had anything else going on until my patrol shift started. And I was trying to be nicer. Or something.

  I nodded. “Want to come in?”

  “Actually, can we take a little walk? You’re allowed to go in the courtyard and stuff, right?”

  “Okay.”

  I closed my door and followed Chance to the elevator. We rode down in silence. She mostly kept her eyes down, and I had to shove down a bit of irritation. If she was that uncomfortable talking to me, why the hell did she ask me?

  Something I’d understand. Maybe she stole something. Or was involved in a shitty relationship. Or had Portia pissed at her. All of that, I could definitely relate to. I glanced over at her to see her watching me, and she quickly looked away.

  “You keep looking at me like I’m gonna kick your ass or something,” I said.

  She shook her head. “I’m just not good at this kind of crap,” she said quietly.

  “Talking to people?”

  She gave a small nod and glanced away again. The elevator stopped at the first floor and we got off. I waved to the two guards at the front entrance as Chance and I walked outside. She started heading to the left and I followed as she headed toward the far end of the courtyard, which was near the prison tower. There was a tall fence there with razor wire at the top. She leaned against the chainlink and crossed her arms. I stopped in front of her and held my hands up.

  “Okay. Pretty sure nobody can hear us over here. What’s up?”

  She took a breath. “Remember that time we all went out to that restaurant, and you all were sharing your secret identities?”

  I nodded. “And you chose not to, and that’s fine.”

  She let out a short, bitter-sounding laugh and shook her head. “Yeah. It was. But I really want you to know. You deserve to know.”

  Something in her tone had my spine straightening, my fists clenching.

  “Why?”

  She rolled her eyes. “My name is Jamie Sciotto,” she said. And now, she met my eyes.

  “Sciotto, huh?” I asked quietly.

  “Yeah.”

  “As in Jonathan Sciotto, maybe?” Jonathan Sciotto. Also known as Dr. Death. Also known as the miserable piece of shit who killed my mother on Killjoy’s orders. It hadn’t taken long, after he was gone and we had access to his empty apartment, for us to put an actual name with the alias. We hadn’t seen any sign of family, though.

  “He was my father.”

  “Look,” I blew out a breath. “I guess you’re telling me this because I’m experienced in the whole keeping secrets that people are going to hate me for thing, but seriously: you can tell Portia. She knows you well enough that—”

  And then I heard a low laugh behind me, one that I would have recognized anywhere.

  “Good night, sweetheart,” Killjoy said near my ear. Before I could react, there was a pinching sensation at the side of my neck, and I immediately slumped to the ground.

  “Nah, Portia doesn’t need to know. I just wanted you to know who it was who finally sold you out. Bitch,” Chance hissed.

  “Good girl. You’ll be hearing from me. Just keep it up a while longer.” My vision went fuzzy, and there was a weird ringing in my ears. I wanted to scream, to kick, to bite… anything, but I couldn’t even blink, let alone do anything else.

  The next thing I knew, I felt us being transported away, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

  My mouth felt like it was full of cotton. My throat was raw, and when I tried to swallow, I tasted blood. I opened my eyes to see a white ceiling, a painfully bright light. I could hear a machine beeping to my left, and I tried to turn my head.

  I couldn’t move. I tried again and realized, belatedly, that there was some kind of strap or band around my forehead keeping my head still. When I tested my arms, my legs, my hips, I found that, like my head, they were all secured flat as well.

  “Ah, you’re up.” A moment later, a redheaded man came into my line of sight. Tall, broad, a scruff of dark red hair along his strong jawline. “How are you, my sweet girl?”

  “I… who are you?”

  The man smiled, a deep dimple showing on the left side of his mouth. “Connor, Jolene. It’s okay. It’ll take some time before you get over what those bastards did to you.”

  I stared at him, trying to think. Everything was a haze. I knew his name, now that he’d said it. I knew that I knew him. I knew his smile, his icy blue eyes. Other than that, it felt like everything I knew was just out of reach.

  “Who? What happened?” I asked. My voice was scratchy. The man, Connor, just smiled. “You’re about to go in for your next round of surgery. That’s why you’re all strapped down like this. Once you’re out and awake, you’ll remember, sweetheart. And you’ll feel a hell of a lot better, too.”

  Sweetheart. Something about the phrase, maybe about this man saying it, felt familiar.

  “What happened to me?” I repeated.

  “They fucked you up. I’m gonna get you right. I promise.” He reached down and squeezed my hand, a gleam of something in his eyes. “We’ll talk again once you’re awake. Right?”

  I blinked, the most I could do at the moment to answer him. I heard footsteps, and another man came into my line of vision. This one was tall, pale, with short white hair and light gray eyes. Not super old, but somehow, he looked ancient.

  “Shall we put her under again, sir?”

  I watched as Connor nodded. “We’re ready.” Then he looked back down at me. “Until next time, my sweet girl,” he said, and then there was a pinch to my arm, a mask placed over my nose and mouth, and then I knew nothing at all.

  When I woke up again, I wanted to die. Consciousness was torture. Every sound, from the heat blowing through the vents in my room to the ticking of a clock nearby, was thunderous. Painful. The sheets against my skin felt like sandpaper. The slightly antiseptic smell I’d noted before nearly gagged me it was so strong, and, along with it, the overpowering scent of cologne, deodorant, cleaning supplies. Microwaved burrito, coffee, a trash can that needed to be emptied. My ears rang with far too many noises, so many of them, so loud that I could barely discern one from another. I wanted to cover my ears, but my hands were still strapped down.

  I opened my eyes, then immediately closed them again. Everything was too bright, too sharp. I felt myself start breathing harder in panic, and every harsh breath was a torrent of ragged sound.

  “Help,” I said, and it sounded like a scream. Footsteps thundered into the room, and I forced my eyes open again. The redheaded man, Connor, was back, smiling down at me.

  “How are you, sweetheart?”

  “What’s wrong with me?” I whispered, grateful that he’d had the sense to try to speak quietly as well.

/>   “We enhanced you. I will give you every advantage. It’ll take some time, but you’ll adjust.”

  “Enhanced?”

  “You already had super strength and flight. You remember that, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. I gave you a little more. I gave you enough that nobody will ever be able to take you again.”

  I just stared at him.

  “I had super senses. They come in handy.” He smiled. “Of course, I got them from somebody else. So I gave you those. And I gave you the ability to be invisible, because I know that more than anything, it’s what you’ve always wanted to be.”

  Had I always wanted that?

  I tried to sift through my memories. They were still a muddle, but at least now there were things I could pick out, memories I knew were mine, somehow. Mama teaching me how to ride a bike, my first burglary, meeting Luther.

  And then, out of nowhere, a memory that made everything hurt. A funeral.

  “Mama?” I whispered.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It must be like losing her all over again,” Connor whispered. I blinked back tears, trying to remember, but it was all a mess.

  “How?”

  “StrikeForce,” he said in a gentle, soothing voice.

  “StrikeForce.”

  I thought harder. I could remember being in a cell in what I somehow knew was StrikeForce Command. Locked up, dampened, shackled to a chair. I could remember trying to break my shackles.

  “How’d I get out?” I asked, unable to remember any more.

  “We got you out. It took us longer than I’d hoped, but we got you out. You were undercover with them for a while. You gained their trust. That was the mission,” he added. “See if you can remember.”

  I rested my head back and closed my eyes. Memories came to the surface. Fighting alongside a few of the StrikeForce members. Flying in one of their mini-jets. Saving a young girl who started fires.

  “I remember,” I said quietly.

  “They caught on to us and imprisoned you. I busted you out. But it seems like they fucked with your mind while they had you. Some of your memories were tampered with. We tried to undo whatever conditioning they put you through, but I don’t think we were able to get everything. They did other shit to you, too. Stuff to mess up your powers, because they were always afraid of what you could really do. I can’t undo that, but we came up with an injection that will at least temporarily have you close to where you should be.”

  “We?”

  “Well, really, I can’t take the credit for that. My associate, Lorne. You don’t remember him?”

  “No.” An empty space in my mind, a blank.

  “He’s a genius. He was able to rework an injection I’d been working toward with my former partner. But he’s even more amazing. He’s practically a magician in the ways of the mind.”

  “Powers?” I asked him, and Connor shook his head.

  “Just raw skill and genius. He gave you your memories back. At least, most of them,” he added with a shrug. “We did our best.”

  “Thank you,” I said quietly. My mind was still racing. StrikeForce. Undercover. Imprisoned. Used. I remembered meeting this man, the two of us dressed in black, at night. I remembered being attracted to him. Kisses.

  I remembered kissing Connor, and my stomach twisted. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, and I wondered at that. He seemed nice. Warm. Caring. The look in his eyes told me he cared for me, knew me.

  “Who are you to me?” I asked him finally.

  He gave a short nod. “I’m the leader of the team you’re on. Mayhem. We work to empower those like ourselves, those left behind by society in general. We work to expose the ineptitude and crookedness of organizations like StrikeForce, who can’t just leave powered people alone.”

  I just watched him.

  “We shared a kiss here and there, Jolene, nothing more,” he finally said. “We both wanted more, but we both also knew that it just wasn’t the right time. And then you went undercover with StrikeForce and… ” he trailed off, shrugged. “Time just wasn’t on our side, sweetheart.”

  I thought that over for a moment. It felt about right, I guessed. I remembered enjoying his kisses. There was still an underlying sense of weirdness, but maybe we’d started fighting. Maybe I’d wanted our relationship, and it hadn’t worked out. That would explain the sour feeling in my stomach when I thought about us. Maybe I’d loved him once and come to hate him. It felt right.

  “Can I get up soon?”

  He nodded. “Lorne will be in soon to check on you one more time and give you your injection. You’ll need those a couple times a day. He’s working on making it a once a day thing, but he’s not there yet. After he looks at you, you can get up and get settled into your own room. Have a bath, whatever.”

  “Okay.”

  He stood there, hands in his pockets, looking down at me, and then he smiled, that dimple appearing again. “It’s good to have you back, sweetheart. We’re gonna make everything right. As it all should have been.” Then he gave a short nod and walked away.

  A few minutes later, the pale guy, Dr. Lorne, came in again and showed me the syringe in his hand.

  “You should feel a little better after this. Twice each day.”

  “Forever? Or just until I feel right or whatever again?” I asked him.

  He sighed. “This will be a part of your life from now on. I hope you’re not afraid of needles.”

  I shook my head. He nodded, turned my arm over, and disinfected a spot on my upper arm. I looked away as he poked the needle in, and a moment later, I felt the pressure release.

  “Okay, all set,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  Lorne nodded and went about undoing the clamps and clasps holding my body still. Then he held my hand as I stood up. I felt shaky, and I was grateful for the bit of support he leant me.

  “How long have I been in that bed?”

  “About a week. But like he undoubtedly told you, your body’s taken a hit. And with the new powers… ”

  I nodded. Every word still sounded like a scream, every footstep like thunder, every creak of the building like the crack of a rifle.

  “So I’ll just get used to this?” I asked through gritted teeth as I took one slow, unsteady step at a time toward the door.

  “Yeah. It will take a little time. Undoubtedly, it’s already a tiny bit better than it was when you first came to.”

  I gave a small nod and kept putting one foot in front of the other.

  We went down a short corridor. There were a few doorways here and there. Everything was white. White walls, white ceiling, white floor, white doors. It hurt my eyes, the way the bright lights above glared off of all of the white surfaces.

  “Where are we, anyway?”

  Lorne didn’t answer for a moment, and I glanced up at him.

  “Eyes forward. You’re wobbly. Looking up at me is only going to make your balance worse,” he said quietly.

  “Okay. But where—”

  “We’re at Mayhem’s headquarters.”

  “Are we in Detroit?”

  “No. Too much heat in Detroit, especially now.”

  “Are we in Michigan?”

  “No.”

  “So where, then?”

  “Look, that’s something for him to tell you if he wants you to know, okay?”

  I stopped, forcing him to stop as well. “Why the big secret? Why can’t I know where we are?”

  “I don’t know if it’s a secret. I just don’t know how much he wants to tell you right away, considering everything you just went through, okay? The best advice I can give you is to go to him if you have questions. He’s the one with all the damn answers,” he muttered under his breath, and I wondered at the bitterness in his tone. “Come on,” he said, holding his arm out, and I took it again. We passed three more doors, and came to one at the very end of the hallway. “This is your apartment. He’ll call when he wants to see you. I do know that he wants you t
o stay on this floor, at least for now.”

  “What’s on the other floors?”

  He sighed. “Jesus, do you ever stop asking questions?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Ask him next time you see him. Not me. I’m just here to give you your meds and monitor your condition.”

  “And walk me to my room and make sure I know the rules,” I added. “What’s up with that, anyway? Rules. We’re supposed to be super villains, right? Why do we have rules?”

  Lorne stopped and stared at me. “Who says we’re super villains?”

  I tilted my head. “Well, we are, right? StrikeForce is the superhero team, and we’re the villains.”

  “Yeah, but I never said that. And neither did he, when he was talking to you.”

  “Well I haven’t lost everything I used to know, right?” I said with a laugh, even though my stomach twisted. There was definitely something weird going on here. “I mean, I was a thief. StrikeForce had me locked up. They’re the heroes, we’re the villains,” I repeated with a shrug.

  “He doesn’t see it that way.”

  I smiled. “Of course not. Every villain is the hero of his own story.”

  He continued to stare at me, then shook his head. “Um. Okay. Your room’s there. I need to get back to work. Do you need anything else?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Okay. He’ll let you know when he needs you.”

  “So I’m just supposed to stay in my room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, then he spun and stormed away. I watched him go, then turned the knob and opened the door to my room.

  It didn’t feel like mine.

  It was stark white, just as white as the corridor we’d just walked down. The furniture was a drab gray in an uncomfortable-looking modern style. There were no windows at all, not a speck of artwork or personality anywhere. Nothing personal.

  Surely I’d had at least a picture of Mama around? Maybe I’d had to leave it at StrikeForce. At some point, I’d have to make sure I got it back, if that was the case. Along with my other stuff. My afghan, my books. I glanced around. Not a single damn romance novel in sight. Had I left all of those at StrikeForce as well?