Chapter 7

Des took another can of soup down from the kitchen cabinet and set it on the counter.  Michael had already gone through four cans of soup and didn’t show any signs of slowing down.  Of course, if she had been dead for nearly twenty years, she’d likely be hungry too.

He hadn’t taken her pronouncement of his death very well and any hope of them continuing their fact finding conversation had ended right there.  Of course, that might have had more to do with the fact that Michael had started laughing at her suggestion that he had died twenty years early, and hadn’t really been able to stop.  It had taken the enticement of food to bring him back around.

He had a nice laugh.  Des slammed a second can of soup down on the counter next to the first one she had found.  Where had that thought come from?  She should be thinking of ways to convince Michael that she was right, at least on some level, and that they needed to figure out what happened to him.  Not thinking about his laugh, or his smile, or how his hazel eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Jeez, Des.  Get a grip!”

She attacked the cans with the hand opener and dumped the contents into the pot on the stove.  She had been hiding out in the kitchen for the past five minutes under the premise that she was going to make more soup for them.  But the truth was, she needed to regroup and figure out what her next move was.

They had been at the safe house for almost two hours now, and there had been no word from Esme.  They had plenty of time until she was due to meet up with Arguletti and deliver the weapon, or evidence of its destruction.  But she didn’t like not knowing where her sister was when she knew that Esme had driven right into a trap.  She also needed her sister’s brain to help her figure out what they were going to do with Michael.

He might be the weapon that Arguletti and the Government were expecting, but he was also a man who should have some say about his own fate.

She turned towards the dining room where Michael was powering through his second turkey sandwich.  At the rate he was going, there wasn’t going to be a speck of food left in the safe house if they had to stay too much longer.

She turned back to the stove to stir the soup, but her mind was still on the conundrum that was Michael.  Yes, saying he had died sounded crazy considering he was definitely alive now.  But Des had a shadowy theory that she was working with and a lot of it was based on what she had seen and felt in the container, and the story that Michael had told her.

What she really needed to do was some research, but the safe house wasn’t equipped with the technology she would need.  She also knew that the odds of finding any records about Michael were going to be pretty low.

She stirred the soup one last time before turning off the burner and carrying the entire pot into the dining room.

“Ready for thirds?”

Michael looked up from the last bite of the sandwich he had in his hand and nodded, his mouth too full to say anything.

Des ladled the soup, plain chicken noodle, into his bowl and put the rest into hers.  She wasn’t hungry, but it had been a while since she had eaten and she needed to keep her own energy level up.

She settled into her seat and they ate in companionable silence for long minutes, the rhythmic clinking of their spoons against the sides of their bowls and the occasional slurping sound the only noises in the room.

Des was fighting to not focus on Michael and on her food but she must have been attuned to him on some level because she realized immediately when he stopped eating.

She looked up to find him watching her with a look of confusion on his face.

Des raised her eyebrows in silent question and knew when he set his spoon down that he was going to ask her something interesting.

“Before, when you were talking about Four Crossings, you said something about “Joined Cities.”  And I remember from before when you said there were no more states.  What’s happened to the United States since 2012?”

Des set her own spoon down and pushed her soup away.  Her soup would likely be cold by the time she finished this history lesson.  She knew the answer to his question, but wasn’t sure just how much detail she needed to go into, or even where to start.

She finally decided to start with the biggest event and work around that.

“World War III happened in 2016, though that wasn’t the end of the United States.  We struggled on for another two years until the Resistance of 2020.” She looked at him closely to gauge his reaction to her words.

He looked startled but also saddened.

“So World War III finally happened?”

Des nodded once.  His next question surprised her.

“Who started it?”

Des canted her head to the side.  “Does it matter?  It destroyed the world as we knew it at that time and no one won.”

He sat back in his chair, clearly confused by her response.

“What do you mean, ‘no one won.’ Someone had to have gained some sort of advantage, even if it wasn’t the advantage they expected.”

Des thought on his words and saw that he had a point.  She conceded, “You’re likely right.  You’d probably have to look at it worldwide to see if there was an outright winner.  In the US, I guess the winners were the new governments that rose to power after the Resistance.”

“You said the US held on for two years before the Resistance.  Did other countries not fare as well?”

Des shook her head.  “Most countries destabilized immediately following the end of the war.  New boundaries were drawn, new countries were born, and new rulers came to power.”

“Are there no countries from before that still remain?”

Des’ response was immediate.  “No.  It wasn’t possible for the smaller countries to survive on their own, so they often joined forces with neighboring countries in an effort to gain strength.  In most countries the military rose to power and toppled the government that was in place.”

“Is that what happened in the US when the Resistance happened?”

Des shook her head.  “No, the Resistance was mostly led by non-military.  Most of the US’s military was destroyed in the war.”

She saw the look of horror on his face and inwardly flinched at how callously she had said that.

“How is that possible?  The US has one of the strongest militaries in the world!”

Des was starting to regret telling him any of this.  As a military man he would obviously be affected by everything she said.  She leaned towards him, wanting to offer him comfort but not sure how.  She could also see that right now he only wanted an answer to his question.

“We were the target of the war, Michael.  It was because of our supposed military might, our involvement in so many other countries, our impact on the economy.  The war initially started over a downward spiraling economy and just blew up from there.

We were blamed for the failure of the markets, for the starving children in other countries, for…everything.  And so we were targeted.”

He shook his head at her words.  “Was it a nuclear war?”

Des shook her head.  “No, thank God.  If it had been, I’m pretty sure there would have been nothing left.  But Michael, you have to know that humans can do massive amounts of damage without nuclear weapons.”

He nodded.  “Yes, I know that.  I just always thought that if World War III ever happened, it would be a nuclear war.”  He looked down at his now cold soup and seemed to be mulling over everything she had said.  There was more but she wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear it or not.

He finally looked up and caught her eyes.  “So what are these Joined Cities?”

Des sat back in her chair again.  The cities were a safer discussion than the war, though they had grown out of the war and the Resistance.

“After the war and before the resistance, there wasn’t much left that worked correctly in the US.  Our mass transportation systems had been virtually destroyed.  Our communications systems had been reduced to mostly only local range.  And there were enclaves of resistance gaining strength on a nearly daily basis.

The government couldn’t handle any of it, despite their efforts to bring everything back to the way it was.  But most people saw that as the problem.  The way it had been was what led to the war in the first place.  Most people wanted something different, so they set out to create it.”

Des tapped her fingers on the table as she tried to figure out the right words to truly explain the cities themselves.

“Since most communications were only working on a local level, it was easy for small groups from cities in a close proximity to come together.”

She looked around the room as if searching for something and then spotted the old atlas sitting on the book shelf in the hallway.  “It may be easier to show you this one.”  She pushed from the table and went to the shelf, knowing his eyes followed her the entire way.

The atlas was from 2010 but it would still work to illustrate her point.  She blew the dust off of it and brought it over to the table, setting it down in front of him and leaning around his shoulder to open it to the map of the full United States.

“Most of the coastal cities were devastated by the war, so people moved further inland and centered in the major cities.  This put a strain on resources but also stimulated the local trade.”

She placed her finger on Atlanta and then traced it up to Raleigh.  “Atlanta became the southern-most point of a trade area that ran up to Raleigh, and then over to Nashville and back.  The system worked so well that the cities began to work in closer and closer consort on other things, like banking, rebuilding the transportation systems, education, and government.

When whispers of the Resistance reached them, they decided to join, but to do it as one entity, and thus Atleighville was born.”

He turned his head to look at her.  “Atleighville?”

Des had to smile, “Yeah, I know it’s not the best name in the world, but that’s what they decided on.” 

He turned back to the map and pointed to the space that would be centered between the three cities.  “Is this where we are?”

Des shook her head.  “No, we’re farther west.  Four Crossings is here.” She put her finger right where Arizona, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico met.

“Most people thought they should call it Four Corners, but they settled on Four Crossings instead.  We’re actually in the part that would have been considered Colorado in 2012.”

She could see him frowning as he tried to take everything in.  He was looking at the map, his eyes darting from the left to the right.

“How many Joined Cities” are there?”

“In what used to be the US?”

He nodded.

Des looked at the map and did a mental count.  “Eight. Ten if you count Alaska and Texas.”

He turned to look at her.  “You said there were no more states.”

Des shrugged.  “There aren’t.  Texas and Alaska both declared themselves to be independent countries and function in that way.”

“Four Corners looks like its big enough to be a country as well.  Why do people call them Joined Cities.”

Des had to think on this one.  It wasn’t like she had a history book she could refer to and most of what she was telling him was coming straight from her own memories.

“I’m actually not sure. I think this has something to do with money though.  The Joined Cities might all be governed separately, but they all decided to keep the US dollar as the standard currency.  It makes trade between them much easier.”

She gestured at the map.  “I’m sure there’s more to it than that though.  And Texas and Alaska both still use the dollar as well.”  She could see that he was frustrated with her answer.

He turned back to the map and blew out a deep breath.  Des let him look in silence, her eyes drawn to the area on the back of his neck, close to the base of his skull.

She frowned as she tried to figure out what she was seeing. She thought back to the cold metal plate she had touched when she was trying to see if he was attached to the tubing in the box.  There was no metal plate but there did appear to be something metallic there.

She leaned closer, the lighting in the room not strong enough for her to see the area clearly.  She moved her hand up, intent on running her fingers over the spot when he suddenly turned his head towards her.

She stepped back quickly, barely avoiding smacking their heads together.

He looked at her with narrowed eyes.  “What?”

Des gestured towards his head, “There’s something on the back of your neck.”

He reached his hands up to touch his neck below where Des had been looking.  She gestured for him to move his hand up higher.

“It’s higher up, about an inch.  Closer to the base of your skull.”

He followed her directions and then froze as his hands made contact with the spot.  She could see his breathing change and his eyes start to dart back and forth.  He pulled his hand away and Des noted that there was a slight tremor in his fingers.

 Des took a step towards him.  “You didn’t know it was there?”

He shook his head and put his hands in his lap, clasping them together.  It was a move that Des knew well – a tactic to hide tell-tale trembling.

“I’m guessing that means you don’t know what it is, either?”

He turned his head to look at her fully and Des was struck again by how much he reminded her of the lost children she and Esme helped.  He was afraid and trying to hide it.

“What does it look like to you?”  His voice was thin as he asked the question.

“I’m not sure.  The lighting isn’t good enough in here for me to get a good look.” She leaned a hip against the table and looked at him earnestly.

“I can use a flashlight and try to take a better look if you want me to.”

He hesitated, and she got the sense that he was torn between knowing and not knowing.  He must have made up his mind because he turned back to her with a nod.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Des rested her hand on his shoulder briefly before she pushed away from the table and pulled her small flashlight out of the pocket of her cargo pants.

She switched the light on and moved it slowly across his neck. The light glinted off of what looked like three separate pieces.  Two of them were definitely metal, and one was a dark material that Des was not sure about.

“May I touch it?”

Again he hesitated, before he finally nodded his head.

Des moved slowly, not wanting to startle him.  She touched a round piece on the left, her finger noting a slight indentation.  She moved her light over it and then moved her finger to the right to slide across the second piece.

She felt him shiver slightly as she touched what she immediately knew was skin.  Her light went across a black, rectangular shape nearly two inches wide and a half inch tall.  As she moved the light back and forth she picked up hints of numbers and letters seemingly hidden in the blackness.

She leaned closer and held her light at an angle, illuminating what appeared to be a tattoo, the numbers done in a shade of gray that was nearly black and allowed them to blend into the black background.

She wondered what the numbers meant.  Could they be similar to a dog tag but tattooed rather than carried?  She wanted to ask Michael but knew that it was unlikely he knew that there was a tattoo there.

She finally moved over to the right to check the last piece, another rectangular piece but this one much smaller than the tattoo and definitely made of metal and embedded into his skin.

As she leaned closer she realized that the shape reminded her of a USB port on a computer.

She clicked her light off and stepped back.  Michael turned his chair to face her, an expectant look on his face.

“I’m not sure what to tell you, Michael, because I honestly have no clue what they are.”

She could tell that it wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear but he nodded anyway.

“Could you hazard a guess?”

Des took a few moments to think about what she wanted to say.  She returned her flashlight to its pocket and then crossed her arms over her chest.

Michael watched each movement warily but didn’t try to rush her to answer.

She finally sighed and uncrossed her arms.

“There are actually three things back there.  The only one I truly recognize is the one in the middle which is some type of tattoo.”

Michael frowned, his hand going back to his neck as he tried to feel the area she was referring to.

“You may not be able to feel it, but the skin might be a little smoother than the rest of your neck.”

He nodded before removing his head.  “Yes, I can tell the skin is different, but I wouldn’t have known it was because I have a tattoo there.  What is it a tattoo of?”

“It looks like some type of code or serial number.”

Michael looked startled.  “I have a serial number tattooed on my neck?”

Des shrugged slightly.  “I’m not sure if it’s actually a serial number, but it is a series of letters and numbers.  The odd thing is, it’s tattooed in a way that makes it very difficult to see.  I had to shine my light on it at an angle just to pick up the numbers.  Without the light it just looks like a black rectangle.”

Michael swallowed hard at her words.  “And the rest of it?  The pieces I can feel as if they are raised?”

Des gestured with her hands, “The one on the left hand side is a small circular hole.  It looks like something you would jack something into, almost like a headphone jack.  The other piece looks like a USB port.”

“That just doesn’t make sense.”

Des shrugged, “It does if you were dead and then somehow brought back to life and sustained by machines.”

He rolled his eyes at her.

“Hey, I know it sounds crazy, but how else do you explain the fact that you’ve seemingly lost twenty years of your life?  Not to mention the fact that you know nothing about the world today and you were naked in a box!”

Des hadn’t meant to shout and surprised herself by her loss of control. She was known for her ability to hold her temper, especially in front of others.  But here she was yelling at someone who could very well kill her with one blow.

As if to reiterate that fact to her, Michael stood up to his full six feet, nine and a half inches, and loomed over her.

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth about any of these things?  Do you know how crazy you sound to me right now?  Yes, I have some gaps in my memory, and yes, I was naked in a box.  And no, I don’t know why any of this is happening, but there is no way that I died back in 2012!  For all I know, it’s still 2012!”

If he thought his show of anger was going to frighten her, then he had a lot to learn about Desdemona Quinn.  She took a step towards him until they were nearly nose to nose, or nose to chin considering she barely reached his chin.

"I am not the one who is crazy here buddy.  It is 2032 and the world that you knew in 2012 is long gone.  I’m trying to help you figure this whole thing out.  The least you could do is give me the benefit of the doubt that I wouldn’t lie to you!”

Des stood there fuming, waiting to see what his response would be.

“I don’t know you, Des.  Why would I automatically know whether you would lie to me or not?”

Des blinked her eyes rapidly, before she replied, rather lamely, “Because I don’t lie.”

Michael gave her a disbelieving look.  “Ever?”

Des had to sigh at that.  “Hardly ever.”

“And when do you lie?  When it suits you or gives you an advantage?”

Des scowled.  “No, I only lie when it will spare someone pain.”  She looked him squarely in the eye.  “So you see, if I were going to lie to you, I’d tell you that it was still 2012 because that would be less painful than telling you it was 2032.”

Michael had to admit that there was an odd logic to what she was saying, but that still didn’t mean he was willing to believe that he had someone come back from the dead.

“Okay, so let’s say that it is 2032 and I’ve misplaced twenty years.  There has to be another explanation, other than death, to explain my memory loss.”

“And the odd things embedded in your neck.” She helpfully added.

His hand went up to his neck reflexively, but he stopped short of actually touching the spot.

“Yeah, that too.”

They both got quiet and Des noticed then just how close together they were standing.  Des stepped back first, eyeing him warily.  Esme was usually the only person who could reduce her to yelling so quickly.  Even Arguletti had never made her raise her voice.  But she had known Michael for less than five hours and she was already at screaming level with him.

Thinking about her sister made Des remember that she had not heard from her yet.  “Esme, where in the hell are you?”

As if on cue, Des felt her phone vibrate in her pocket causing her to jump slightly.

She could sense Michael watching her as she pulled her phone out and read the text message on the screen.  She tapped out a response and then put the phone away before looking at the man who could be either her savior or the very bane of her existence.

“That was Esme.  We can head back into the city now.”

She could tell that Michael was considering her words and she started to wonder if he would refuse.  She hadn’t considered the idea that he would not want to go with her, but considering their most recent conversation, it was starting to look like a very real possibility.

            She decided to try to reason with him. “What other choice do you have, Michael?  Whether you think I’m lying or telling you the truth, right now you don’t know where you are.  At least admit that so far I’ve done nothing but help you.”

            Her words seemed to get through to him and he nodded.  “Alright.  I’ll go with you.”

            He didn’t say it, but they both heard the unvoiced “for now.”  Des wondered how long she had before he decided to strike out on his own.

Chapter 6

Des returned to the living room to find him still sitting as still and patient as when she had left.  In fact, the only part of him that seemed to move much at all was his head.  He had been looking around the room but as soon as she entered, his focus was only on her.

Des found it slightly disconcerting to have him staring so intently at her, but at least his eyes were still soft brown.  She approached him slowly but stopped directly in front of him.  Part of her wanted to sit back down on the coffee table – it had been a long night.  But standing gave her a small sense of being in control.

“What’s your name?”

The man was silent in response to her question, though Des thought she saw his eyes flicker.  After a long moment she decided to try a different tactic.

“I’m Des, Des Quinn.  And you are?”

This time her question earned her a frown before he finally spoke.

“Is Des short for something?”

Des arched an eyebrow at his question.  That was a question she got a lot, but it wasn’t what she had expected him to say.

“Yes.”

He looked at her expectantly, but she had no intention of telling him what it was short for until he told her his name.

It was almost as if she could see his mind working.  Whether he was trying to figure out what Des was short for, or was trying to figure out whether or not to tell her his name, she didn’t know.  But she could also see when he came to a decision.

“I don’t know what my name is.”

Des stared at him hard, trying to figure out if he was lying or if he really did not know what his name was.

“How old are you?”

This time the man didn’t hesitate.

“Thirty-eight.”  He cocked his head to the side.  “Or, at least I was thirty-eight in 2012.  But you said its 2032, so I would be fifty-eight, I guess.”

“You don’t look fifty-eight. You barely look thirty-eight.  You always look younger than your years?”

He frowned slightly as if trying to remember something and then shrugged.  “Not sure.  I don’t think so.  Of course, I don’t think I even know what I look like now.”

“What do you remember yourself looking like?”

The frown returned, and Des started to recognize it as a sign that he was trying to remember something.

“Brown eyes?”

The fact that he said it questioningly told Des more than anything else that he truly did not remember.

She nodded in encouragement.  “Yes, your eyes are brown.  Well, a very light brown, almost hazel, I’d guess.”

“What else?”

He continued to think for a long moment.

“My hair is black, and curly.”

Des quirked a smile at him.  “I suspect you’re right, if your eyebrows are any indication. But not sure about the curly since you don’t have any hair right now.”  At least, not on your head.  But she kept that thought to herself.

He reached a hand up to his head in surprise.  She watched as he rubbed his hand over his cleanly shaven head.

“You’re not used to being bald?”

He looked at her and shook his head.  “I don’t think so.  I remember having short hair…and…I remember being told to get a hair cut…by someone.”

She could see that he was getting lost in vague memories and she needed to bring him back to the present.  Or at least as close to it as she could get considering he thought it was 2012.

She decided to try some direct questioning to see if he would be able to remember better if he was able to respond more automatically.

“When did you break your nose?”

“When I was fifteen.”  He looked at her in surprise at how easily that response had come.  “I was playing baseball and got hit in the nose by a line drive.”

“How tall are you?”

“Six feet nine and a half inches.”

Des was a little surprised that he wasn’t the seven feet that he appeared to be to her, but six-nine and a half was pretty damn close!

“How much do you weigh?”

“Three fifteen.”

Des nodded, and then made an educated guess.

“What’s your rank, soldier?”

“Lieutenant.”  This response brought him up short and Des saw something flash across his face before he gave a hesitant smile.  “First Lieutenant Michael Scantorri of the U.S. Army.”

Des returned the smile.  “There you go.  Your name is Michael.”

“How did you do that?”

Des shrugged, “You seemed to be having more trouble with the open-ended questions, so I thought I would try a few direct ones to see if they would help jog your memory.”

“How did you know I was in the military?”

Des finally moved to sit down across from him again, her legs and back starting to protest the amount of time she had been on her feet.  She was still sore from the cage fight from the other night, and starting to feel the effects of the fight she had been in with him just a few hours before.

“It was a lucky guess.  You hold yourself like a soldier, so I took a chance that you would be able to remember your rank, if not your name.”  She cocked her head to the side.  “You don’t look like a Michael, though.  Do you prefer Mike?”

He said the name aloud as if to test it out, then shook his head.  “I don’t think so.  Mike just doesn’t feel right to me.”

"But Michael does?”

He thought on it for a moment before giving a slight shrug.  “It’s better than Mike.”

Des nodded.  She could work with that, even if she was now curious about what he preferred to be called.  At least now she had something to call him.

“Des is short for Desdemona.”

His eyebrows arched up, “Pardon?”

Des had to laugh at his expression.  “You asked me earlier if Des was short for something.  It’s short for Desdemona.”

He managed to school his face back into a serious expression, but she could see he wanted to laugh.

“Go ahead and laugh – most people do.  Why do you think I go by Des?”

He nodded even as a small smile snuck through.  “I can understand that.”

“Good.  Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, we need to talk about a few things.”

The small smile disappeared and she could see a look of wariness cross his face.  “A few things?”

“Well, maybe more than a few.”

Des leaned forward with her arms on her knees.

“What are you?”

This time he did laugh out loud.

“What do you mean, ‘what’ am I?  I’m just a man.”

Des snorted.  “A naked man, in a box, who thinks that it is 2012, can’t remember his own name, and who has eyes that glow silver, is not ‘just a man’.” 

“Wait.  What do you mean my eyes glow silver?”

Des shook her head at him.  “I shouldn’t be surprised that you wouldn’t know that considering you didn’t even know your own name until five minutes ago.”

“My eyes?”

Des nodded.  “They’re not silver now, but they were before when we first came into the safe house.”

He blinked rapidly, “When it was dark?  So they glow in the dark?”

Des almost nodded but then she thought about the transporter and shook her head instead.

“They were also silver back on the transporter when you were trying to kill me.”

She saw him tense at her words and wondered what was bothering him.

“I tried to kill you?”

Des stared at him in silence as she began to have a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.  Her assumptions about his origins, of who and what he was, were beginning to feel all too real and possible.

 “What’s the first thing you remember about tonight?”

He responded quickly.  “Your hair.  I remember crouching over you and touching your hair.” 

His eyes went to her hair now and Des could feel his eyes like a touch.  Des sat away from him slightly, feeling a little self-conscious and also a little wary of the way he was looking at her.  She mentally shook herself.  She didn’t have time to be self-conscious.

“You don’t remember being in the box?  Or grabbing me?”

His frown deepened.  “No, I don’t remember being in the box or grabbing you.”

“You don’t remember me scratching your face or grabbing you in the…” she stopped and eyed his groin meaningfully.

His eyes widened when he realized where she was looking and his hands came up to rest in his lap almost reflexively.

“You grabbed me in the..” He trailed off too, as if he wasn’t sure what words to use.

Des took pity on him.  “You were choking me and I had to make you let go.  I tried scratching your face but you managed to push me away, so I went for your other sensitive area.”

“Why was I choking you?”

Des didn’t have an answer for him.  “Based on what you’re telling me now, I think it was just a reflex.”

She could see that he was becoming even more confused by their conversation and there were still too many questions they had to answer.

“Let’s try a different tact.  What were you doing before you remember being crouched over me?”

He looked at her almost blankly and Des thought he was ignoring her question until she realized that his eyes had a light sheen of silver over them again.  There was something going on in his head but she could still see his irises, similar to how he had looked in the dark. 

He wasn’t likely to attack her again but she got up from the table and moved across the room to be safe.  Until she knew fully what he was capable of, she was going to take the change in his eyes as a warning to back off.

This shouldn’t be so hard, he thought as he tried to dig into his mind and find the answer to her question.  It had been a simple question, one that should have been simple to answer.  But there seemed to be nothing but darkness where his memories should be.

He had started to give up, could feel the first twinge of pain in his head as he tried to force himself to remember, when he saw a flash of something, a mixture of sounds and images, almost like a movie.  He started to speak aloud, telling Des what he was seeing.

“There’s smoke, lots of smoke and gun fire.”

Des pushed away from the wall where she had been leaning and moved closer to the couch.

“We’re under attack!”

Des ventured even closer, “Who’s we?”

“My unit.  We were returning to our base after delivering supplies to a few remote villages.  We were almost back when the lead truck in the convoy was hit.”

“How many trucks were there?”

His eyes remained open but still silver-glazed as his brows drew together in a frown.

“Four…no, five trucks.  I was in the last one, bringing up the rear.  They’re firing on us now!”

“What else?”

“Fire…there was fire from the first truck burning.  We maneuvered the other trucks into a tight circle and started firing back, but we couldn’t see anything.”

“How long were you under attack?”

He shook his head.  “I don’t know, I just kept firing and reloading, firing and reloading until I was sure I would run out of ammo.”

Des was back to her perch on the coffee table, intently listening for clues as to where he had been.

“Shane’s yelling something at me, but I can’t tell what he’s saying.”

“Who’s Shane?”

“My best friend.  He’s trying to tell me something but then…”

He trailed off and Des saw something change in the way he held himself.  Where he had been ramrod straight on the couch, he now seemed to slouch, his shoulders dropping.  Something about the memory he was seeing had caused this, and Des started to ask him another question to urge him to continue speaking, but he started again on his own.

His voice was lower, barely above a whisper.  “Shane was hit in the chest.  I tried to help him, tried to stop the bleeding but I couldn’t.”

His head came up then, his eyes flashing at her.  “I was leaning over him, pressing on his chest and then…nothing.”

Suddenly he groaned and lurched forward, his hands going up to clutch his head as he doubled over on the couch.  The move was so sudden that he nearly landed in Des’ lap where she sat on the coffee table.

She jumped instinctively until she realized that he wasn’t attacking her.  Then she realized that he was in pain.

Des moved to place her hands over his and tried to get him to lift his head.

“Michael?  What is it?”

He turned pain-filled sheer silver eyes to her and turned his hands to clutch hers.

“My head.  When I try to remember, it hurts.”

Des nodded as if she understood, but she truly didn’t.  Why would trying to remember something make his head hurt?  What would cause something like that and how did she help him now?

She tried to think about it logically.

“Are you still trying to remember something now?”

He shook his head once in a jerky motion before he groaned again, dropping his head further down.

“Michael, look at me. I need you to look at me so that I can see your eyes.”

With her help he managed to lift his head and Des saw that they were still covered in a silver sheen.  He may not realize he was still remembering something, but she had the feeling that until his eyes went back to brown, he would still be in pain.

“Michael, I need you to concentrate on something else, something in the present.”

“Like what?” he managed to grit through his teeth.

Des thought frantically and then remembered how he had reacted to her hair.  She took his hands and placed them against the sides of her head and then leaned her forehead against his.

“Concentrate on me, Michael.  I’m in the present.  I’m here now.  Concentrate on me.”

She repeated herself softly as she felt his hands clutch and then tangle tightly into her hair.  It was painful but she knew that he wasn’t trying to hurt her.

She could feel his harsh breathes against her face and noticed again just how hot his skin was.  His forehead against hers was like a hot compress, and she could feel the heat of his hands as well.  She tried to catch his eyes but they were too close together for her to be able to see them clearly.

She continued to chant softly to him until she finally felt his breathing slow and the grip he had on her hair loosen.  She pulled away from him slightly and caught his gaze, now hazel-brown again.

She winced slightly as his hands in her hair pulled on her scalp.  She saw him grimace and then move to untangle his hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Trust me, compared to earlier, pulling my hair doesn’t hurt at all.”

He flushed at her words.  “I seem to keep trying to hurt you but you’re helping me.  Why?”

Des shrugged, “You need help, I provide it.  It’s what I do.”

Her words caught his attention.  “It’s your job to help people?”

Des considered his question before she responded.  It would be easier to just say yes, but even she knew that it was more complicated than that.  She finally settled for a half-truth.

“It’s something I do to make the world better.  I don’t have to help people, but I feel as if I should.”

“And what do you get out of it?”

Des paused before responding again.  She knew her hesitations were telling him more than she intended, but for some reason she couldn’t just give this man the glib answers she normally gave others.

“It depends on the situation.  Sometimes I get money.  Other times I get the satisfaction of seeing someone return home to their family.”

“The people you help pay you?”

Des shook her head.  “No, it’s not like that.  If I’m helping someone, I don’t expect money from them in return.”

He surprised her by giving her a lop-sided grin.  “That’s good, because I don’t seem to have any money.”

Des returned his smile with one of her own.

“No, you definitely don’t seem to have any money.”

“So, how do you sometimes get money for helping people?”

Des squirmed a bit on the coffee table, not sure how to answer his question.  Though she and Esme had never committed a crime by Four Crossings’ standards, she wasn’t exactly proud of some of the jobs she had taken on.  They had all been for a good cause, whether she had earned money, or found some lost children.  But that didn’t make her ready to just share them..

For some reason, she cared what this man thought of her and she didn’t know how he would feel about her actions or her tactics.

She mentally shook herself.  Why was she worrying about what this man thought about her?  She didn’t care what others thought of her.  She had even been known to feed their fears at times, especially when their fear made her work easier.

 But you do care, she heard a voice whisper in her mind.

She finally looked at him and realized he was still awaiting her answer.

She sighed heavily.  “I’m a sort of ‘Jill of All Trades’ if you know what I mean.”

His brows arched but he nodded.  “Like a Jack of All Trades, you do anything?”

Des shrugged slightly.  “Pretty much, though I draw the line at anything that is illegal.”

Michael nodded.  “So, you won’t steal anything?  Or kill anyone?”

It was Des’ turn to flush.  “Those things aren’t always illegal here in Four Crossings.”

She could tell that she had stunned him as he sat there staring at her with a look of horror on his face.  She hurried to reassure him.

“Though I have never killed anyone when it wasn’t in self-defense.”

He seemed to digest her words and then nodded as if in acceptance.  “What about the stealing.  How is that not illegal?”

Des chewed on her lower lip as she tried to think of an easy way to explain the concept of “stealing” in Four Crossings.

“You can’t actually steal something that doesn’t exist.”

“I don’t understand.”

Des sighed heavily.  “In Four Crossings, well, actually in any of the Joined Cities, items that are delivered must be registered on a manifest and then signed over to their rightful owner.  If an item is not included on a manifest but it finds its way into the city, then it is fair game.  If you can take it, then it belongs to you.”

“What keeps someone else from taking it from you?”

“Nothing, if you don’t register it.  But depending on what the item is, you may choose not to register it.”

“If registering something would make it legally yours, why wouldn’t you do it?”

“Taxes.”

He sat back slightly on the couch.  “Taxes?”

Des nodded.  “Yes, taxes.  You register something, you pay the Government twenty percent of what it is worth.  And since the Government sets the value of the item, you could end of paying more than it is actually worth.”

“I guess some things never change.”

Des smiled, “You remember paying taxes, but you don’t remember the rest of your life?”

Michael grunted softly.  “I remember there being a saying that there was nothing for sure in life except for death and taxes.  Looks like that’s still true in the future”

“The taxes part I agree with.  But I wouldn’t be so sure about death.”

He looked at her questioningly.  “Last time I checked, death was pretty permanent and happened to all of us.”

Des looked down at her hands, wondering if she should express verbally what she was now thinking.  When she looked back at him, she knew that she really had no choice.  If she was going to get this man to be her ally, she was going to have to be as honest with him as she could be.

She blew out a deep breath.  “Death may be permanent for most of us, but I have a funny feeling that it wasn’t permanent for you.  Michael, I think you died in 2012.”

Chapter 5

            He had to be dreaming.  He kept thinking this as the van he now rode in moved quietly through the night towards a place called Four Crossings.

            The woman had said that it was 2032, and though he wanted to deny her words, there were too many things not making any sense right then.

            One of those things was his own spotty memory.  He knew what year he thought it was, but if the woman was correct, he had lost 20 years.  That would make him almost sixty years old, but he definitely didn’t feel as if he were any older than the thirty-eight years he knew he had.

            He looked down at his own chiseled arms, chest, and abs, and knew that he didn’t look like he was nearly sixty years old either.

            His memories told him his age, but there were missing things that worried him, one of those being his name.  How could he know his age but not his name?  Or the names of his family members?  Did he have a family?  If he did, were they still alive now?

            He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall of the van.  He could tell by how the van was swaying that they were moving at a high rate of speed, but the other woman was driving with such skill that he wasn’t being tossed around much at all.  He was grateful for the seatbelt though, and thinking about the belt made him think about the woman who had buckled him into the seat.

            She was startling, with her large green eyes, flowing black curls, and her caramel skin tone.  But even more startling was her presence.  She held herself like someone with authority, reminding him of his former brigadier general. 

He frowned at the memory of the man, whose face he could see in his mind, but whose name was eluding him.  He tried to focus on the image of the man’s face, but it was like a fading photo, fuzzy around the edges.  The harder he thought about it, the blurrier the image became and he started to notice a sharp pain ebbing in his head.

He released the fuzzy memory with an audible groan.  He should be glad that he was having any memories at all, but the desire to know who he was, and why he was here made him impatient to remember more.

He opened his eyes and looked towards the front of the van to find the woman watching him with concern in her eyes.  Neither said anything as they stared at each other in silence.  After a few moments she seemed satisfied that he was alright and faced forward again. 

He continued to watch her for a few more minutes before he again closed his eyes and rested back against the van.  Maybe if he sat there quietly and thought about nothing, something would come to him.  It wasn’t likely to work, but it was all he could think of to try.

Des had heard him groan and had immediately turned to see if he was in distress.  She could see a frown on his face but his eyes were closed.  She had started to unbuckle her belt and go back to him when his eyes had opened and found hers in the darkened van.

She had been glad they were still a light shade of brown and not that steely silver that boded nothing but trouble, but she had watched him for a bit longer until she was satisfied that he was alright.

Or, as alright as a half-naked cyborg who thought it was 2012 and who had tried to kill her could be.

Des stared vacantly through the front windshield, trusting Esme to get them back to the club in on piece.  They needed to get back and get the “weapon” hidden before the transporter arrived at the station without its cargo.

But how was she going to hide someone of his size?  He would stand out in Four Crossings due to his sheer size alone.  If he went out in public he was going to attract a lot of attention.

The government had eyes and ears everywhere, and the minute they realized their weapon was AWOL, they were going to be looking for him.  The odds of them not knowing what he looked like were slim to none.  And if by some miracle they did not know what he looked like, a man of his size was sure to be the number one candidate, especially if he said anything about it being 2012.

Des had just started to think that at least they would have time before anyone came looking for him when an alarm began to beep in the van.

“Shit!”  Esme reached up to turn the alarm off and then looked at her sister.

“They’re either radar sweeping or setting up a road block.  Either way, we’ll have the government on our asses in less than ten.”

Des narrowed her eyes and then glanced back at the man who was now watching both women with a question on his face.

“Can we run to Moan and beat them there?”

Esme flipped on her onboard radar system and immediately shook her head.

“This is looking more and more like an Arguletti set up.  There are at least twenty government trucks converging on us right now.”

Des grunted at her sister’s words.  Arguletti was a dead man when she next saw him.

“Hidey-Hole?”  Esme’s suggestion was likely their only choice.  But they had never tried to hide someone the size of this man at one of their transfer stations.

Des nodded reluctantly.  “If you think you can make it.”

Esme smiled.  “Oh, I’ll make it. But you’d better go back there with the big guy and let him know what’s up.”

Des nodded again and then unhooked her belt so she could climb into the back of the van.

The man seemed to sit up straighter as he saw her coming.

“Something’s wrong.”

Des nodded as she dropped into a crouch next to him.

“Yeah, we’ve got someone who’s going to try to stop us from getting to safety, so we’re going to have to take a slight detour.”

She tried to smile but knew that her effort fell short.  He studied her face closely before he finally spoke again.

“Am I placing you in danger?”

Des shook her head quickly.  “No.  I placed myself in danger and in turn, I placed you in danger.  Now I have to make sure that you’re safe.”

Des could see the frown forming on his face at her words and almost smiled at how ludicrous the situation truly was.  The man could easily snap her in two, and had tried to less than an hour earlier.  Now here she was protecting him.   

He started to say something but Des held a hand up to forestall him.

“We can talk later when we get to the safe house.  We’re going to need to hit the ground running as soon as Esme stops the van.  Do you think you can keep up with me without shoes?”

The man looked like he wanted to push the issue and ask the question on the tip of his tongue, but after a moment’s hesitation he gave her a short nod.

Des rewarded him with a brilliant smile that immediately made him catch his breath.  She truly had a radiant smile that lit up her whole face.  If he had thought her striking before, he now knew her to be truly beautiful.

She started to say something but stopped when her sister brought the van to a shuddering halt.  The motion was so sudden that she was thrown violently to the side and was only saved from flying across the van by his arm coming out to catch her.

The motion was a blur and Des doubted she would have seen him if she hadn’t been staring at him directly.  As it was she only caught the motion out of the side of her eye in the same instant that she felt his strong arm clamp around her waist and pull her back towards him.

She freed herself quickly and scrambled to her feet, shooting a glance towards her sister in the front of the van.

“A little warning next time, E!”

Esme turned around with a frown on her face.

“No time.  You have to get moving.  I can’t get you any closer without driving right into one of their radar traps.  You’ll have to hoof it a bit farther than normal.”

Des caught and held her sister’s gaze for a long breath before she turned to the man and quickly undid his harness.

“Run where I run, and stay on the path.  There are traps set along the way that I don’t want you to step in.”

She didn’t give him time to respond, turning and heading to the back of the van.  She threw the doors open and jumped down.  Glancing back at him, she gestured for him to follow with her head before she disappeared into the darkness.

He moved quickly to follow her, jumping down from the van and rounding the corner to find her looking up and down the road as if she expected to see something or someone.  Noticing him, she gave her sister one last look before she turned left and edged into the underbrush.

He glanced at the woman driving the van too and noticed her running her hands through her hair.  He wanted to stay and watch her to see what she would do.  Why was she staying behind while they went to a safe house?

But he knew if he hesitated too long he might lose the woman he was to follow.  At that thought he felt something click inside of his mind and a hazy film seemed to slide down over his eyes.  He didn’t know what he was feeling or seeing, but he realized right away that he could now see as clearly as if it were daylight outside.

He turned towards where the woman had gone and was able to see the impressions of her footprints in the hard earth.  A part of him knew that he wasn’t seeing actual impressions and was likely seeing some sort of residual heat signature, but he didn’t have time to think about it.

Filing that information away, he bolted after the woman, following her footsteps deeper into an area he could only call a swamp.

Des didn’t bother to look back to see where the man was.  Somehow she knew he was behind her.  It was like she could feel his presence, the heavy thudding of his footsteps as he thundered after her.

She hoped he took direction well, as she hadn’t been kidding about the traps set along the sides of the path they were taking.  She knew about them because she and Esme had set them.  Anyone unfamiliar with the area would never see most of them until it was too late.

Someone familiar with the area would see most of them but not realize the danger.  That was the beauty of using nature to help you set defensive traps.

Des knew that they had at least two miles to cover from the point where Esme had been forced to let them out.  She usually tried to reach the top trail, as they called it, where it was less than a mile to the safe house.  But with the government converging, they had been forced to go with the less attractive bottom trail.

The path was so narrow in some places that the overhanging trees gave the impression that the path disappeared completely.  You could squeeze through them but the branches and leaves would do their best to mark you as you passed.

Des didn’t try to move stealthily on this night.  Speed was more important than silence and they needed to make sure they were out of sight before the drones were sent out.  Thinking of the drones, Des glanced up out of reflex as if to see if they were already out.

Seeing nothing, but feeling as if time were running out, she increased her pace, dodging low branches with the practiced ease of someone who had used this path a number of times.  Normally she wouldn’t have moved this quickly when she had someone with her, but she had a feeling that the man would be able to keep up with her easily.

Breathing heavily she burst through one final gauntlet of trees and slowed to a stop in a small clearing.  Before she could even catch her breath the man was beside her and to her disgust, not breathing anywhere near as heavily as she was.

He stood in the clearing silently looking around and obviously trying to figure out why they were stopping.

She answered his unspoken question.

“We’re here.”

He did another quick turn around and then gave her a confused look.

She smiled slightly and pointed towards what looked like more of the forest.  “We go in through there.”

            Sucking in one last large breath, Des approached the trees and then dropped to all fours and began to crawl underneath into the darkness.  She came through quickly onto the other side and stood up in a dark space with no lights to guide her.

            She moved by memory, crossing over to a brick wall that she knew was there.  She heard the man enter the space but continued towards the wall.  She placed her palms against the cool bricks and slowly began moving them around in circles.  She was looking for a specific mark on the bricks that would tell her where she was.

            After a few seconds her right hand found the mark and she was able to orient herself to where the lever to open the hidden door would be.  Even with knowing the starting point, she would have to move carefully to locate the lever.

            Inching her hands to the right she started counting bricks.  She heard the man moving to come near her and her concentration broke.  She sighed at herself and moved back to the left to relocate the dimple.

            Starting over, she moved to her right and continued to count the bricks.  When she had found the brick she wanted, she inched her way downwards towards the floor.  She had just reach the next indicator when the man spoke behind her.

            “What are you looking for?”

            Des was surprised that he could tell she was looking for something considering how dark it was in the space.  Not willing to take her mind off of her task she answered him absent-mindedly.

            “There’s hidden lever on this wall.  I need to find it so that I can open the door.”

            She went back to her counting and had just reached her next marker when the man brushed up next to her, took her hand and moved it to a point on the wall.

            “Is that it?”

            Des stood there in shocked silence as she felt her hand make contact with the lever.  She turned to ask him how he had known where the lever was but was brought up short by the silver sheen over his eyes.

It wasn’t quite the same as the steely silver look she had seen him have before. This time she could actually see his irises beneath the silver.  But it was still unnerving to see the glow of his eyes in the dark space.

Wanting to move away from him in case he was heading towards a meltdown, she pulled the lever quickly and felt the wall swing inwards away from them.

            She stepped into the front room of the hidden house and immediately switched on a light.  She turned back to the man and sought his eyes.

The silver sheen was gone and she wondered if it was because she had turned on a light.  Was the silver sheen some sort of night vision for his eyes?  Her hand went to the light switch again as if she were going to switch it off again, but she stopped inches from contact.

She could just ask him about his eyes, rather than playing games with the lighting.  She could also get them settled first.

Des sighed and gestured to the man.

“Why don’t you have a seat over there on the couch?  I’m going to see if we have anything here that will fit you.”

The man moved to the couch without asking any questions or complaining.  Des watched until he sat down before she left the room and headed back into the back of the house.

She seriously doubted that there was going to be much to choose from, but she would at least likely find him a shirt to wear.  She smiled slightly to herself as she navigated the hallways.  It wouldn’t be too disappointing if she couldn’t find him a shirt, though.

The couch he sat on wasn’t very comfortable, but the woman had asked him to sit there, so he had.  He could hear her in the rear of the house sliding drawers open and closed.  He wondered at his ability to hear her so well and added it to his list of things to figure out, along with his ability to see so clearly at night.

He wondered if those answers would be easier to come by than pieces of information he was missing, like his name.

He frowned again as he tried to search his mind for that one simple piece of information.  What was his name? Who was he?  And why had he been on that transporter.

So engrossed in his thoughts he didn’t hear the woman return to the front room until her voice finally penetrated his fog.  Her hands were full of what looked like camouflage gear and she was looking at the clothing rather than him as she crossed the room.

“I’m not sure which of these shirts will fit but I’m betting on the black one.  As for the pants, we may have to just cut the legs out and go with shorts – I don’t think they’ll be long enough for you.”

She finally looked up at him when she was in arms reach and froze in her tracks.  She was staring at his face intently and he wondered what she saw.  Was there something wrong with his face that he didn’t know about?  Considering he didn’t even know what he looked like, it would be a bit of a blow to find out that he had some sort of deformity.

She took another step towards him and then handed him the clothes.

“Put these on.  I’ll be right back.”  She turned smartly on her heels and returned to the back of the house.

The man shook the pile of clothing out and remembering what she said, decided to try on the black shirt first.

It was definitely a tight fit but he was able to get the shirt over his head, and the arm holes even accommodate his massive biceps.

He looked at the camo pants and saw the same thing she must have seen – the pants would fit his waist but the length would be way too short.  Grasping one of the legs at the bottom, he pulled until the seam split to where the knee would be.  He did the same to the other leg and then moved quickly to drop the cloth he wore and slide the pants into place.

The pants hit him on his upper calves, which bulged through the openings he had made when he ripped the seams.  It wasn’t the most comfortable outfit he had ever worn, but it was better than running around with nothing but a cloth wrapped around his waist.

He had just returned to the couch when she came back in the room with what looked like a first-aid kit in her hands, and another bundle under her arms.

She stopped short when she saw him sitting there, and her lips quirked up on one side.

He glanced down at his outfit and then back at her and couldn’t help the small smile that touched his lips.

He shrugged slightly.  “They don’t quite fit, do they?”

Des shook her head and took the last few steps to stand in front of him on the couch.

“No, they don’t quite fit.  But,” she dropped the bundle into his lap and set the kit on the couch beside him, “it’s better than nothing.  And we’ll find you something that fits later.”

He nodded at her and then looked at the bundle in his lap.  “What’s this?”

Des sat down on the empty coffee table across from him and gestured towards the bundle.  “Socks, another shirt, and it’s wrapped in a sweatshirt that will likely be a bit too tight as well, but it’s too cold for you not to have something.

He started to tell her that he didn’t feel the cold, but kept the information to himself.  Instead he unrolled the bundle to pull out the socks.  Though he wasn’t cold, it would be nice to have something on his feet since he didn’t have any shoes.

He moved to pull the socks apart but she stopped him.

“Not yet.  I need to treat your feet first.”

He looked at her in confusion and then looked down at his feet.  He didn’t see anything on the tops of his feet but when he lifted his left one, he noticed the blood that smeared along the arch.  He poked the area with his thumb and didn’t notice any pain but there was clearly a gash there.

He put his foot back down and looked at her in surprise.

“How’d you know I had cut my feet?”

She shrugged slightly before she pointed behind her.  “You left a trail on the floor.”

He followed her arm and noticed the bloody footprints that came directly to where he now sat on the couch.

“Sorry about that.”

She waved away the apology.  “Don’t worry about it, the floor will come clean.  But we need to clean up those cuts so that you don’t pick up an infection.”

Des gestured with both hands for him to give her his foot.  He looked a little uncomfortable at first but finally lifted his leg and put his foot into her hands.

Des assessed the bloody, muddy mess and was glad to see that most of the cuts were superficial and did not seem to cause him any discomfort.  She reached over and grabbed the first aid kit, and pulled out a large bottle of saline, some gauze pads, band-aids, and anti-bacterial ointment.

She saw him looking at the saline so she turned the bottle’s label towards him.  “To clean the dirt and blood off.’

He nodded and since he didn’t seem to have any other questions, Des concentrated on the task at hand.

The mud came away fairly easily but the blood continued to flow from a few of the gashes.  Des concentrated on the cuts nearest his toes first and slowly worked her way down, cleaning and covering the larger gashes with gauze and some of the smaller ones with band-aids.

He had large feet and it took Des a good fifteen minutes to finish the first one.  She stole glances at him periodically as she cleaned, checking to see if he had any reactions to her poking and prodding.

She always found him watching her with an impassive expression on his face, and no indication that her ministrations affected him at all.

When she finished with his right foot she started to put it down but hesitated.

“I think you’d better put the sock on before we put your foot back on the floor.”

He nodded, shook the socks out and levered his right foot into one before he put it back on the floor.  Then he lifted his left foot into her lap without her having to ask.

Des fought another smile as she thought again of how much he reminded her of one of her lost children.  They never complained either, and settled into an ease with Des and Esme that they did not often have with anyone else.

This man seemed to be settling into an ease with her that definitely made her job easier as she tried to mend his wounds.  And, she thought wryly, he wasn’t trying to kill her anymore.

She ministered to his left foot in the same manner as the right, but much more quickly as that foot seemed to have suffered less damage.

When she dipped back into the first aid kit for an alcohol swab she could see the confusion on his face.

Des tried to give him a reassuring smile.  “I need to treat your face, too.”

He reached a hand up to touch his cheek, “My face?  I have cuts on it too?”

Des grimaced slightly.  “Sort of.  You have a few scratches on both cheeks from my fingernails.”

His hand moved but he couldn’t seem to feel the scratches she could see.

Des held up the alcohol swab.  “They aren’t deep and they didn’t bleed, but I really think I should clean them out.”

She expected him to hesitate at the idea of the alcohol swab but again he simply nodded and dropped his hand so that she could access the scratches on his cheek.

Des stood up to better reach his face and found she liked it better when she could tower over him for once.  But even sitting down, there was no denying the sheer size of the man.

Des made short work of washing the scratches on his face, again marveling at the fact that he didn’t even flinch at the sting she knew he must have felt.

Feeling as if she had done all she could, Des picked up the trash and the kit and took them out of the room.  She could feel his eyes on her back as she left the room and she wondered what he was thinking.

She knew what she was thinking.  Where had this man come from?  She shook her head as she started back in the room to face him.  That wasn’t the real question – the real question was, how in the hell was she going to figure out how to use this man to her advantage?

Because though she didn’t know exactly who he was or what he could do, she had no doubt that he signified a change in the power structure within Four Crossings.  And whoever controlled him would control the city.