Faceless

by Jus Accardo

  “Really? And I thought this would be right up your alley.” She reached for the wireless mouse and began clicking, trying to make it look like she was ignoring me. But I could see her glance up from the corner of her eye every once in awhile to sneak a peek.

  “About the grabbing thing…”

  “Hmm?” She turned toward me, and her jaw tightened. Behind us, the girl sitting with Carina let out a shrill cry. No one except me seemed bothered by it.

  I focused on Devin. “It was a dick move. I’m sorry.”

  She paused for a microsecond—I would have missed it if I hadn’t still been staring—then narrowed her eyes. “Apologizing. That doesn’t strike me as something that’s up your alley.”

  “You don’t know me,” I said. I’d always been a mellow guy. I made friends easily and never had any real enemies, so it bugged me that this girl despised me so much. Granted, the little voice in my head kept trying to remind me it was Cain she didn’t like, but since I was the one now wearing the Cain suit, it rankled.

  She snapped the laptop closed as voices rose from the other side of the room. I couldn’t hear what was going on, but Anderson was making his way through the crowd, his stride determined. I wondered how many fights broke out during drills. It seemed like having us use our abilities on each other was bound to cause some friction.

  Back to Devin. There was heat in her eyes. Fury too intense to be aimed at what Cain had done. Copping a handful was a shit thing to do, but this was about something worse, and a sick feeling settled in my gut as I wondered again if something more had happened between them.

  “Sure I know you. I know your type really well. Spoiled, self entitled, and mean. You think because you have a little power over people, you can do whatever you want. You think it gives you the right to hurt people.”

  “Whatever I want? I’ve never used my ability to hurt someone!” Technically, that wasn’t true. I’d killed Cain.

  Her expression darkened, knuckles going white as she gripped the edge of the laptop. Any harder and she’d break the screen. There was a slight warble to her voice. The kind of hitch that someone gets when they’re trying hard not to crack. “No? So you stalking that girl until she went nuts and killed herself wasn’t hurtful?”

  Chapter Three

  It was like someone had jumped out from behind the couch and sucker punched me in the penalty box.

  “I know all about you, Douglass Cain.” She tapped the side of her head, lips twisting into a disgusted scowl. “Computer brain, remember? I peek at everyone’s file when they’re brought in. I like knowing who’s living under the same roof.”

  I wanted to deny it—to tell her she was wrong—but I couldn’t because it was so clear in Cain’s mind. My mind now. Her name had been Shelly Hough. He’d watched her from afar all through the beginning of high school, obsessed. Finally, one day he was brave enough to approach her, and she turned him down. As it turned out, rejection wasn’t something Cain took well. He stalked her for over a year, forcing her to do whatever he wanted, and it eventually drove her over the edge.

  Just remembering it through Cain’s eyes made his—my—stomach tingle and sent endorphins surging through my bloodstream. She’d gotten what she deserved in his eyes—and he’d enjoyed every minute of it. I could feel the residual happiness he’d felt when they’d told him she was dead, and not only was it making the headache return, it was making me physically sick.

  My name is Brandt Cross, and I would never do anything like that to someone… Never.

  “—with no consequences,” she continued. “You think you’re better than other people because of what you can do, but you’re wrong.”

  Her voice was like a sledgehammer banging against every nerve in my body. With each razor-edged word, my head swam with images and faceless voices. I covered my ears to keep out the noise, but it seemed to get louder. More persistent.

  “Stop,” I said. At least I think I said it. It was hard to hear over all the sound. Devin’s rant. Sheltie’s voice telling me to back away. Cain’s voice raging to fight back. My voice pleading to save Dez. Everything was swirling around inside my head like a tornado on a collision course to destroy Sanityville.

  But there was no stopping Devin. She continued as if I hadn’t spoken, lost in her own sea of issues. This wasn’t about the girl Cain had hurt, or even what she thought she knew about me. This was definitely something else.

  She was shaking, now. Fists curled tight, her knuckles were white as snow, her shoulders stiff. “You have no right to take away someone’s free will! To threaten them to get what you want!”

  I crammed a hand into my right front pocket looking for the skate wheel. Empty. It was getting harder and harder to see things clearly. The lines that separated Douglass Cain and me were beginning to mash together. Too soon. It was too soon after the jump to be dealing with people. My brain couldn’t handle it. His brain couldn’t handle it.

  “Stop,” I said again, this time louder. “Just frigging stop!”

  She froze mid-rant, face paling and eyes growing impossibly wide, and some of the Brandt parts of me felt bad.

  Some. The rest, while they understood she was having some kind of moment, only wanted her to stop. Stop attacking, stop talking, and stop looking at me like I’d murdered her puppy. I climbed to my feet, trying hard not to fall on my ass. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have exited stage left and given my head a chance to even out before I opened my mouth again.

  But I wasn’t thinking clearly.

  There was an overwhelming swell of emotion. Mine—fear that I wouldn’t do whatever it was Ginger sent me here to do in time. I was terrified I’d fail Dez. And Cain’s emotions—a mix of rage and sadness that had effectively poisoned his mind. It was all knotted together, and I couldn’t separate it—or hold back.

  I bent low so that Devin was the only one who would hear. “It has nothing to do with taking away free will. The way I understand it,” I said, leaning closer. Cain reared his ugly head again, and even though I tried to bite it back, the words still tumbled out. My grip was slipping. “The free will is still there, it just can’t be used. The person knows exactly what’s going on.”

  She wasn’t surprised by the venom in my voice. In fact, she seemed oddly vindicated by it, and while that pissed a large part of me off, it also made the Cain parts happy. He’d wanted to be despised. It made things easier. If no one liked you, then they didn’t want anything from you. “You’re disgusting…”

  With a deep breath, I pulled it in some. “You don’t know me. You think because you looked at a bunch of papers you’ve got me pegged, but you don’t. You don’t have the slightest idea who I am or what I’m about.”

  Then the part of Cain that still lingered pushed through and said, “Whatever your issue is, I don’t care. Deal with it and move the fuck on.”

  And before I could stop myself, I stood and backed away, the bits of Sheltie still floating around adding, “I can’t deal with this right now.”

  Without a word to anyone, I stormed away, nearly steamrolling the small guy with the thick glasses on the way out of the room. I got down the main hall and was six feet from my door—eight at the most—when Anderson caught up to me.

  “Douglass. Might I have a moment?”

  Cain’s abrasive reply bubbled to the surface and I let it break free. “Yeah. I know. I walked out on drills. I’ve got a pounding headache. Fucking fire me.”

  Anderson chuckled. “Actually, I have a proposition for you.”

  Not what I’d been expecting. I turned. He was standing at the end of the hall, fake smile firmly in place. “Proposition?”

  Approaching slowly, he nodded, and for some reason, at that moment I wondered if he had a family. A wife? Couple of kids and a dog? Did they know what he did for a living, or did he keep them in the dark like uncle Marshal had with Dez? “Yes. I have a job for you. Something I’d like you to do for me.”

  Cain’s personality surged to the surface,
lips twisting into a greedy grin. “And what’s in it for me?”

  Anderson was all smiles. “I know your background, Douglass. I know about the issues with your father, and how you’ve been barely scraping by since you ran away from home. If you do this for me, you’ll never want for anything again. Everything you could ever need—or want—will be supplied out of the gratitude of the Zendean foundation.”

  I bit back a creative suggestion pertaining to where he could cram their gratitude and gestured for him to continue. Whatever Ginger’s reasons for sticking me here, gaining Anderson’s trust could only benefit. Besides, the sooner he finished, the sooner I could crash. The sooner I crashed, the sooner I could find out why I was here—and also, there was less of a chance that I’d keel over in an undignified position at his feet. I was at the point where I wondered if I’d even be able to dream-walk Ginger in my current state.

  “Starting tomorrow, I’ve arranged for you to start work at Dromere Industries.”

  “Dromere? What’s that?”

  “It’s a genetic research facility.”

  “What kind of work? I failed science, so I’m not sure what I could do at a research facility.” I leaned against the wall, wishing he’d move this along. There was a better an average chance I was going to puke any minute. Judging from the shine on this guy’s shoes, I didn’t think wearing Cain’s dinner would make me a personal favorite of his.

  He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, like he wanted to make sure we weren’t overheard. The hallway was clear. Everyone must still be in the rec room. “You, my friend, will be there to shadow a man named Franklin Wentz. You’ve been hired as his new personal assistant. He has a formula that we’re quite interested in. One that will help many Sixes.”

  Help Sixes? Sure. And I was Jimmy Olsen.

  “I’d like you to get it for me.”

  I braced myself against the wall to keep from toppling over. The hall smelled of new paint, and the stench wasn’t helping my nausea. Every once in awhile, a wave of vertigo would hit, nearly bringing me to my knees. “I’m betting he’s not exactly going to fork this formula over just cause I ask nicely…”

  Anderson chuckled. “That’s precisely what he’s going to do, Douglass. I want you to use your ability to convince him to hand it over.”

  Of course he did. Cain’s ability. If I were thinking clearly, I would have seen that coming. “How was I hired without an interview?”

  Anderson winked and folded his arms. “You did have an interview. You aced it.”

  “So that’s it? Just push him for this formula? What kind of formula is it?” Not that it mattered. If Denazen was interested in getting their grubby little grabbers on it, it had to be bad.

  “All you need to know about the formula is that Zendean will do amazing things with it. Obtaining it is in the best interest of Sixes around the globe. You’ll be given complete instructions in the morning.”

  “Complete? So there is more to it, then?”

  Anderson’s smile grew wider. “This is a field test of sorts. To see if you’re cut out for our little operation. Just follow the instructions to the best of your ability.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode back down the hall, and I finally stumbled the remaining few feet to Cain’s room.

  …

  I hated this place. Usually ripe with overly buff, shirtless men wearing everything from neon-colored Speedos to pink loin cloths, Ginger Midlen’s head was the poster place for ick. Despite my twisted state, I was able to dream-walk her, and was currently wading through a room of men—all thankfully clothed.

  Sheltie’s ability had taken some time to get used to, but slowly, I got the hang of it. It enabled me to enter a person’s dream if I was thinking about them when I drifted off. It had its limits, though. One of the first places I’d tried to go after I figured out how to use it was to see my parents. It wouldn’t work. After a month of frustrating attempts, I came to the conclusion that it only worked with other Sixes.

  “I see you’ve managed to slip into something new,” a voice said behind me.

  I turned to see Ginger standing under an umbrella held by a man wearing a tuxedo. When I glanced over my shoulder, the room had cleared out, leaving just the three of us. “Yeah,” I said.

  “Any trouble?”

  “Other than the fact that I murdered someone and stole their body?”

  Ginger frowned. It was the closest thing to sympathy I’d ever seen from the old woman. “I know this was hard for you, but it was necessary.”

  “Speaking of which, you going to tell me why I’m here now?”

  “Your uncle was wrong.”

  “Wrong? About what?” A chill inched up my spine.

  “Deznee’s sickness and the loss of Kale, while tragic, came with a beacon of hope. A cure for the Supremacy side effect. My sources have revealed that Cross’ promise to cure Deznee had she returned to Denazen with him was a bit premature.”

  “Premature,” I repeated. They’d all been through so much already. Kale had willingly gone back to Denazen to save Dez from the poison one of uncle Marshal’s Sixes inflicted. They’d lost their home. And now she was telling me there was no cure?

  The room sort of flickered, and a wave of worry washed over me. I sucked in a deep breath and tried to stuff it down. If I wasn’t careful, I’d slip from the dream. It’d been hard enough getting here in my current state. The balance was precarious. “So you’re trying to tell me there is no cure? What about that other girl? The one you told me about. Kiernan? She’s over eighteen and still alive!”

  Ginger nodded. “Yes. She is, and I promise you that there is a cure—Cross just doesn’t have it yet.”

  I ran a hand through Cain’s shoulder length hair, fingers knotting in the ends. Apparently the guy had issues with combing it. “You’re confusing me, and right now, that’s a bad idea. Speak English,” I snapped. If I’d been in the waking world, I might have blamed my shortness on Cain, but the truth was, Ginger was pissing me off.

  “Kiernan was given what Cross thought to be the cure, but as it turned out, it was merely a key component of what they now believe to be the antidote. The effects of the cure she’s been given were only temporary. After several months, she began to show signs of decline.”

  “But you’re saying there is a cure? One that’s not temporary?”

  “We believe so, yes,” she confirmed. “A trusted source has informed me that it’s in the possession of a man named Franklin Wentz. He’s—”

  “The guy from Dromere,” I said. “Anderson is planting Cain there as of tomorrow. He wants me to push him into handing over some formula.”

  “Anderson must not get his hands on that formula.”

  “Why? What is it?”

  “Wentz is a brilliant individual. Based on information we’ve received, this formula he’s developed will act as a bridge. Combined with the component Cross has in his possession, we believe it will act as a viable cure for the Supremacy victims.”

  “So we need the formula and the mystery component.”

  Ginger winked. “One thing at a time.”

  “If Denazen gets it, Dez is as good as gone. No way am I letting that happen.”

  Ginger shook her head. “There’s more. Yes, I’m concerned for Deznee’s health, but if Cross gets that formula, the ripple effect will be far greater than you can imagine.”

  “And I don’t guess you intend to share information about said ripple?”

  “The only thing you need to concern yourself with is getting that formula. Deznee’s life, and the lives of all the other Supremacy children, depend on you getting to Wentz before Denazen.”

  Now she sounded like Anderson. I was about to tell her that when a loud bang shot through the room. It came again, this time accompanied by a ground shaking tremor. “What the hell is that?”

  “That, I believe,” she said with a wink, “is your wake up call.”

  I opened my eyes and pulled the pillow from over my he
ad just enough to roll over and glance at the annoyingly bright clock on the dresser. A soft knock came from the door. I’d been asleep barely forty-five minutes. What the hell was with these people? Cain and I had one big thing in common. We both loved sleep.

  I tossed aside the covers and swung my feet over the edge. The room spun a little, but I managed to keep it under control. Another knock. This time it wasn’t Henley. I could tell because the knocking was softer. Almost hesitant. Stomping across the floor, I slipped through the shadows, miraculously managing to avoid the landmine of crap that littered Cain’s floor, and pulled open the door.

  “About time,” Carina said as she pushed past me and slipped into the room.

  “What—”

  “I thought you’d never answer. I’ve been out there for five minutes.”

  “Okay,” I said, taking a few steps back to flip on the small lamp beside the bed. “Why?”

  She frowned, thrusting her bottom lip out, and moved closer. Normally I would have found it sexy as hell—I was as much a sucker for a good pout as the next guy—but now? I just wanted her to leave.

  “I thought we talked about the Skinners’ thing.” Lips curling into a mischievous smile, she sauntered forward the rest of the way, swaying her hips dramatically. “I told you I would be more than happy to scratch any itch you might have…”

  I tried to remember the conversation between them, but there’d been too much stress. If she stayed here any longer, I was sure to do something out of character and pique suspicion. “Right now, the only itch I have is to sleep.”

  Her kitten eyes narrowed to angry slits.

  Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

  “Are you shitting me?” Her previously warm, sexy voice, turned arctic. “One minute you’re all over me, foaming at the mouth to get into my pants. I finally decide to let you and you’re brushing me off?”

  Against my will, the memories pushed their way to the surface, making the room spin a little faster. Cain and Carina had fooled around a few times since he’d gotten here. She’d kept him on the hook, playing games and teasing. I’d done her a big favor by evicting Cain. He wouldn’t have waited much longer—weather she liked it or not.