The Girl in the Box 01 - Alone (3 page)

“Mom said it was for my own good—”

“I bet,” he interrupted. His face barely concealed disdain. “Putting that aside, I know your mother disappeared—”

“How do you know that?” My fingernails dug into the soft wood surface of the table, leaving marks. “Do you know where she is?”

“No. But she goes missing and suddenly you have a host of people after you?” He wasn’t smiling. “You realize that’s not coincidence.”

“I do. I’m not stupid.”

“Didn’t say you were. I—” He stopped midsentence and his eyes widened as he looked past me. I turned my head to follow his gaze as Oldie walked in through the sliding doors with a thin young guy at his side – the guy I had hit in the groin earlier. He was limping. And he was hot.

“How did they find me?” I turned to Reed, and he wore a stricken look.

“Some sort of tracking device, maybe,” he murmured, sliding out of the booth. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Nuh uh. I want answers.” My hand slid to my waistband. Mom had taught me the basics of how to use a gun, though I had never fired one. Tough to practice shooting live rounds in the house.

His eyes almost exploded out of his skull. “Are you crazy?” His voice was just above a whisper, but it was delivered with the force of a shout.

“I bet they know about my mom.”

I started to advance on them, but he brushed against my arm. I looked to his eyes, and they were wide with fear – for me. “You don’t know what they’re willing to do.” He tugged on my arm. “Please. Let’s leave before they see you.”

The gears were grinding in my head. I’d been left alone for a week, and these guys came for me, armed. Mom was missing and I didn’t know where she was. Lots of questions. I looked back at him and a hint of pleading was obvious in his brown eyes. Seeing the world on TV was different than seeing it like this. And for some reason I couldn’t define, I trusted him – a little. “All right. Let’s go.”

We watched as the young man (so tempted to call him Hottie) and Oldie split up, each headed in a different direction to search the store. We waited until Oldie had walked down an aisle and Hottie had his back turned before making our move. We walked out the entrance door and into the parking lot, and Reed’s pace quickened. The snow sloshed beneath us and the cold bored into gaps in my clothing that I didn’t know were there.

As we approached his car, I looked up. The sun was still hiding behind the clouds; I had yet to see it. I looked over my shoulder. The two stooges weren’t following us. I turned to Reed to make a wisecrack and stopped, my mouth agape.

A monstrous hand with long, pointed fingernails was wrapped around Reed’s throat. His olive skin was turning purple and there was no sound coming from his mouth, which was open. His eyes were locked on me and his hands were wrapped around an arm that looked bigger than my torso. My eyes followed the arm to a man, at least a foot taller than me, built thick and muscled like a pro bodybuilder.

His head was huge, hair tangled and matted, dark with streaks of gray running through and it almost covered his brow. Furrowed above his black eyes were two eyebrows that were shaped like knife blades. His sideburns rolled down into a scraggly and unkempt beard that ran around his mouth.

Oh God, his mouth.

Pointed teeth. I’ve never seen anything like them – and his lips upturned in a cruel smile, his tongue lashing back and forth, not quite concealed by his incisors.

“Hello, little doll,” he growled in a voice barely audible above the wind as he crept toward me. “My name is Wolfe. I’ve come to collect you.”

I felt fear creep through me; the sudden sickness for home that told me that I wasn’t sure I was ready to be out in the world. It only lasted a few seconds, and then I brought down my right hand in a hammerblow against the weakest part of Wolfe’s wrist.

And it bounced off.

Wolfe didn’t even grunt in acknowledgment of my attack. He reached for me with his other hand – and I have to give him credit: he was
fast
.

I was faster. I swept in below his arm and rammed my head into his solar plexus. Not my ideal choice, but I was a little off balance and I didn’t want him to get ahold of my neck. I slammed my forehead into his stomach, straightening my spine. I’d broken boards like this training with Mother, and it’s not without discomfort.

He didn’t react. My head felt like I had hit a wall where it should have been soft tissue. I spun to slide under his arm to get behind him, but the pain from my failed headbutt slowed me. He grabbed me around my turtleneck and lifted me off my feet as if he were picking up a head of lettuce one-handed. I felt the blood pooling in my brain, fighting to get out through the veins he had squeezed shut.

“Hey!” A voice drew my attention and Wolfe’s. I was still struggling, but two men in their twenties approached wearing heavy coats and jeans. “What are you doing?” Their faces were contorted with rage and the one that was speaking pointed at Wolfe. “You can’t treat a girl that way! Drop her!”

Wolfe acted as though he did not hear them and the two of them rushed at him. I saw it coming through the haze that was beginning to cloud my vision, even if they didn’t. Wolfe flung Reed into the side of a car and he ricocheted off, coming to rest in a pile on the ground. I would have worried about him if I wasn’t too busy trying to free myself to take a breath.

Wolfe turned his body so that his left hand, the one he wasn’t choking me with, could deal with them. His backhand sent the first flying a good six feet in the air and he landed with a crack on the asphalt almost fifteen feet away. It was so loud when he landed that it even caught my attention, and by this point sparkles of light were filling my eyes.

The second guy couldn’t stop fast enough. Wolfe’s hand lanced out, wrapping around the man’s throat, but I could tell his grip was less merciful because the guy’s eyes were bugging out of his head and Wolfe’s fingernails had dug into his skin. Blood dripped down Wolfe’s fingers, mixing with the spots in my vision. I hammered the bigger man’s hands and wrists, searching for leverage, but I couldn’t reach anything of importance.

By then things were so hazy it felt like I wasn’t even in my body anymore. My hands relaxed and I stared into Wolfe’s eyes, which were giant pools of black; no white, no iris, just black. I watched his hand relax and the Good Samaritan who tried to come to my rescue fell limp from his grasp. Blood was pooling in the snow and the man’s eyes were open and lifeless.
Maybe if he’d had a gun.
The thought drifted into my mind.

A little shock ran through my brain. I had a gun.

My hand sprang to my waistband. I pulled the gun and brought it up as Wolfe licked the man’s blood from his fingers. His eyes ran back to me as I pulled the trigger.

The shot hit him in the eyebrow and his hands flew to his face, releasing me. A howl as loud as an explosion threatened to overcome the sound of the blood rushing back to my head. I landed and my legs buckled. I fell to all fours, gun still clenched in my hand. I pulled up and shot at him twice more, this time aiming at his legs. My brain was sluggish, but when I looked to confirm that I hit him, all I saw was a thin black cylinder a little less than an inch long sticking out of the surface of his pants.

A dart was sticking out of his leg. Not a bullet wound. Damnation.

I raised the gun to shoot him again but his paw of a hand slapped it away. It skidded across the parking lot and under a car.

“Little doll,” he breathed in my ear. I lifted my head up to see those great black eyes staring at me, but they were different, unfocused. “That’s not a fair toy for playtime. What have you done to Wolfe?”

I might have responded if I’d had my wits about me, but his chokehold had deprived me of both oxygen and blood to the brain, and I was so dizzy I felt I might vomit. And if I did, I was aiming for him. Asshole. I was sucking down air greedily, large breaths so cold they hurt my lungs. It didn’t seem to be helping. The spots were still clouding my vision. His eyes still stared at me.

“Back away from her!” I heard a voice from behind, but I was too gone to turn my head. Everything was spinning.

“New playmates are not part of our game,” Wolfe breathed in my ear as he staggered to his feet. At least, I think he did. I saw his boots running through the snow, away from me.

I felt my head tilt back and my hair landed in the slush on the ground. I stared up into two faces – the men from my house. Oldie’s swollen nose overshadowed his other features. They were both talking, but I couldn’t hear a word by then.

The spots in my vision clouded everything out, and the spinning in my head worsened until it felt like I fell down, through the snow and slush and mud, through the concrete and asphalt of the parking lot, down into the ground. My vision darkened and blotted out the sky and faces above me.

I awoke in a small room surrounded by sleek metal walls that reminded me of a stainless steel refrigerator, save for one that was made of glass and mirrored. If I went by my TV experiences, it was a one-way, and someone was watching me from the other side. The walls were paneled into squared segments that were two feet by two feet each, allowing the door to be disguised so I couldn’t see the way out.

I lay on a hospital-style bed in the middle of the room. I had a moment of panic until I realized that my hands and feet were unbound. I sat up and dangled my legs over the edge of the table, then blinked down at them. I wore the same shoes that I had on when I was attacked. My gloves, sweater and jeans all seemed undisturbed. My hand jumped to my throat, checking where Wolfe had grasped me. Bandages covered my neck.

I walked to the mirrored wall, staring at myself. My brown hair highlighted my pale face. My blue eyes turned greenish toward the iris and my skin showed nary a freckle. Strange what twelve years with no sunlight will do to you. My nose was not quite pointed, but long enough to make me self-conscious. I wasn’t sure what to think of my height or weight – it’s hard to compare yourself solely to people on TV.

My fingers found the ends of the bandages wrapped around my neck and I pulled on them, gently at first, and then harder as they began to unwind. They were wrapped three layers deep, with only spots of crimson showing on the first layer, then heavier as I peeled them back until the last layer of gauze was covered in dried blood. I looked to my neck in the mirror and smiled. The skin was flawless.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” A voice from behind caused me to turn, bandages already forgotten and hands at my sides, clenched and ready to move into a defensive position. The speaker was a stately woman in her forties, with bright red hair that showed not a streak of gray, bound into a tight ponytail. She wore a black jacket and pants that gave her the look of a businesswoman – not quite severe, but hardly casual. Her arms were folded in front of her and she wore only the thinnest hint of a smile. “You’re Sienna Nealon.” It was not a question.

She took a step toward me and the door behind her closed with a soft click. “You’ve been out for about a day and the wounds around your throat are gone.”

“I heal fast.” My words came out more acidic than I had intended. “Where’s Reed?”

“He beat a hasty retreat after my men scared off Wolfe.” Her eyes showed the first trace of amusement. “You should get better friends.”

I studied her as she slowly cut the distance between us. “Can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same if I’d been mobile at the time.”

She bowed her head and the smile became more than a hint. “That would have been a mistake. Because there’s no one that can help you as much as we can.” Her eyes rose to meet mine.

I laughed. Loud. “I haven’t even heard who YOU are and now you’re talking about a WE.”

Her smile didn’t dim a bit. “My name is Ariadne Fraser. I’m Chief of Operations for the proverbial ‘we’ – which in this case is called the Directorate.”

My right hand found its way back to my neck and kneaded the new skin against the leather of my glove. “And what exactly is the Directorate?”

“We identify and assist meta-humans like yourself.”

I felt my head spin, and I doubted it had anything to do with my recent injury. “What’s a meta-human?”

She blushed. “A meta-human is someone like you – who has powers beyond that of a normal human.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Your strength is far above a normal human’s, my men tell me.” She pointed at my neck. “I saw your wounds when they brought you in. Gouges like that don’t heal in a day, and they leave scars. I’m sure you have other abilities as well. If you’d allow us to do some testing, we could help you—”