Redemption (Enigma Black Trilogy Book #3) (40 page)

Kara squeezed his arm, drawing his attention toward her. “Give her time.”

At the close of the funeral, the crowd disbursed away from the cemetery and out into the world. A world that had changed dramatically in a matter of hours. A world that was trying to heal the wounds inflicted upon it, but which would never truly be the same no matter how much time passed.

A lone snowflake fell from the gray December sky. I watched as it fluttered through the air with purpose, like it knew exactly where it wanted to go and was bound and determined to get there. It floated with grace and beauty from the heavens without a care in the world, eventually landing in the palm of my open hand. Seconds later, it slowly faded away from the heat of my body as though it had never existed. Still, despite its short time on the earth, it was enough time for me to admire its unique intricacies and appreciate its fragility for the precious beauty it held. The same, I have learned, could be said about life in general.

I remained kneeling in front of Ian’s headstone, a place I visited at least once a month since I’d been deemed healthy enough to travel. Around his gravesite, flowers and letters of appreciation from people who had never had the privilege of knowing him in person were displayed, which always managed to bring a smile to my face. The fact that they were there meant the sacrifices he’d made wouldn’t be forgotten any time soon. He deserved so much more than to fade away like the snowflake that had disappeared in my hand.

“Celaine,” Chase said from behind me, his voice wary. “It’s nearly noon. We need to get moving if we’re going to make it to the trial.”

After the crowd captured Brooks at the execution, it was decided, after much public scrutiny, that he would be given the fair trial he’d denied to so many others. Our elected council explained that if we were to have any hope of reclaiming our country and the democracy we’d once held so dear, we’d have to practice it ourselves. For in the words of President Jeremiah Delaney, ‘You can’t fight fire with fire and expect it to extinguish the blaze.’

“Okay,” I answered.

With my back aching, I slowly made my way to my feet. My steadily-growing belly protruded out of my jacket and was beginning to make it hard for me to perform even the basic act of standing. When I finally made it up, a slight flutter from inside told me that the baby, Ian’s son, was kicking me with his tiny legs. His movements always seemed more profound whenever I stood in front of his father’s grave. I liked to think it was because he knew where we were, and that, somehow, he could sense his father’s presence around us.

Smiling, I placed my hand over my swollen stomach, a gesture which seemed to calm little William George—named after both of our fathers.

Though he never said anything, the pain I often caught in Chase’s eyes when he looked at me was palpable. But no matter what he was feeling, he didn’t let that affect him and the devotion he had for me and the child who wasn’t his own. A child who would be, as the media called him,
the world’s first natural born superhero
.

It sounded good on paper, but the reality couldn’t be further from the truth.

While I recovered in the hospital, it was discovered that the transmitter originally implanted at The Epicenter wasn’t stimulating the production of adrenaline like I had been led to believe, but was actually releasing a chemical compound inside my body. This compound, the components of which were still being studied by doctors at Hope Memorial, was slowly mutating my body’s cells, altering the development of muscle mass and speeding the healing process, among other things. Initially, its effects had taken hold at a rapid pace, which explained the sudden appearance of the strength and speed I’d had upon waking. But, after a while, the change became more gradual, never ceasing, but occurring at a slow enough rate that my body had adapted to it. An increase in adrenaline was merely a product of this adaptation, as my body constantly sensed the compound as an encroaching threat, and it reacted to it the way it was biologically designed to do.

After doctors made this discovery, they drew more blood from my body, and will continue to draw even more on a weekly basis to analyze for cellular changes in comparison to those tissues they preserved from Victor’s remains. When the baby is born, they will make a plan to find a safe way to remove the transmitter implanted in my neck at The Epicenter. What will happen to me after the transmitter is removed, and whether or not I will ever return to the way I was before The Epicenter, remains to be seen.

Chase smiled, sheepishly holding his hand out to me, which I took without the normal hesitation I usually felt. Like the rest of the country, over the past few months, we’d begun the daunting task of rebuilding our lives, picking up the pieces and trying to move on as best we could. After moving out of his apartment, Chase found one across the hall from the one Kara and I were renting, often choosing to spend most of his time with us between rounds at Hope Memorial. Kara took to him right away and, together, they took turns hovering over me.

Chase and I had each changed in our own way. We were different people than we were before I left, and we always would be. Pain had a way of hardening a person. Yet, every now and then when I looked into his eyes, I saw the same person I remembered from another lifetime ago, and I know he still saw the old me sometimes, too. Those glimpses of the past were what we held onto as we moved forward with our lives. They gave us comfort and peace. They gave us the hope that we could heal each other. Together, we would be able to reclaim our lives.

She sat alone in a Washington, D.C. coffee shop with a blank stare across her face. In front of her, her coffee sat untouched, cold and no longer inviting. Behind the counter, the barista glanced up and frowned at the woman who, for the past couple of months, had been coming in just to order coffee she never drank and stare out the window for hours on end. The woman only ever spoke to place her order, but rarely even did that anymore as the barista poured a cup of black coffee for her as soon as she came through the door.

“Excuse me, Miss,” a man’s voice said, snapping her out of her trance long enough for her to glance up at the person who had been brave enough to speak to her. She raised her eyebrow at him without saying a word. “Is this seat taken?” he asked, gesturing to the empty seat in her booth. She shrugged, her eyes wandering back to the street outside the window. “You seem like you have a lot on your mind. I’m a pretty good listener if you want to unload.”

She chuckled to herself. “If I unloaded we’d be here all day, I’m afraid.”

“That bad, huh?”

“If you must know, yeah it is.” She took a sip from her coffee, scowling as she withdrew the cup of cold liquid from her lips. Across from her, the man eyed her intently. “Okay,” she began again, indicating for him to sit down. “In a nutshell, within the last year, my dad died, his business went under shortly thereafter and I lost my job. Oh, and my wedding day was destroyed by some psychopath, and if that wasn’t bad enough, my fiancé ditched me afterwards as I stood in the street in my wedding dress, watching as he ditched me for his ex-girlfriend.”

“Ouch,” the man said. “That is most certainly a stroke of bad fortune.”

“You think?” she said sarcastically.

“You know, if it’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we have the power to change our fortune, if we want it bad enough.”

“That’s a load of shit. Because believe me, I do want it bad enough.”

“I don’t doubt you do. You just don’t have the tools or the power to do it on your own, but you could.”

“Oh, yeah?” she said, rolling her eyes at him. “How could I?”

“I’ve recently inherited my former partner’s medical practice. He had a gift for turning the ordinary into the extraordinary. After the uprising, a group of us were forced to abandon our old practice and form a new one. We’re looking for others to join us.”

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered.

“Well, I guess you really don’t want it bad enough, then.” He scooted over to the edge of the booth and acted as though he was about to stand. “I guess you don’t want the chance to make those who’ve done you wrong pay for what they’ve done to you.”

“No, wait,” she said, reaching her hand out to grab his arm. “I never said that. Look, at least tell me your name.”

He smiled, knowing he had her. “You can call me Dr. Martin,” he said, sitting back down in the booth.

“Dr. Martin, I’m Paige,” she said with more enthusiasm than she had been able to muster for months.

“Paige.” He let her name roll off his tongue. “I’d like to make you an offer.”

I firmly believe that writing a novel is a team effort, and I’m grateful to have a wonderful team of people by my side to help me through the process. First, I’d like to thank my husband and daughters for putting up with my late nights and time spent glued to my laptop. Without your unconditional love and support to keep me sane, I wouldn’t have been able to get through the process.

To my beta readers and proofreader/editor, who spend hours of their own time to make sure my novels are up to par, I thank you. Your time, attention to detail, and friendship mean more to me than I can adequately express.

To my readers, your overwhelming support on Amazon, Facebook, Goodreads, and Twitter has been more than I could have ever hoped it would be. Thank you for purchasing my novels, taking the time to read them, and reviewing them.

Sara “Furlong” Burr was born and raised in Michigan and currently still lives there with her husband, two daughters, a high-strung Lab, and three judgmental cats. When she’s not writing, Sara enjoys reading, camping, spending time with her family, and attempting to paint while consuming more amaretto sours than she cares to admit.

You can learn more about Sara at
http://sarafurlongburr.blogspot.com
, follow her on Twitter via @sarafurlong, and read more of her ramblings via Facebook at
https://www.facebook.com/EnigmaBlackKindle
.