Day Fourteen ∞ Thursday

SELINA WAS MEDITATING when a number of men entered the hanger at the far end, heading for the control room. That was not what drew her attention, however. It was the resignation and uncertainty of fate emanating from Sterling that made her open her eyes in realization.

She had made a grave mistake.

One of Apocalypse's operatives entered the control room, stopped in front of Sterling and said, "Major. Please come with me."

She sensed Sterling's deep breath in steeling himself against what lay ahead before he stepped toward the door.

—Please forgive me, she projected to him. I should not have spoken.

Sterling halted outside the control room, staring across the expanse of the hanger at the holding cell where she sat. 

—I have to tell him everything I know. Whatever it is you're doing, good luck. You'll need it, she heard him think. He looked toward the exit and then back at her. In spite of everything, it was an honor to have met you. He dipped his head once at her—a movement barely visible at that distance—and turned to leave. Six men in formation escorted the general out of the hanger.

Selina felt the sudden internal shift in the men that remained behind, their tension dropping into utter terror. The mental guard of a couple of them evaporated to reveal their thoughts: an officer of such a high rank taken off base by Black Ops? That one act made the seriousness of the situation crystal clear. No one was safe. Even their own lives depended on their complete compliance. They were well-oiled machines—each one prepared to act on Apocalypse's every whim.

She knew her situation could quickly become impossible—but she was not worried. She had passed that point. It had been a brutal learning experience that only served to expand her boundaries and prepare her for the worst. Each step of the process had led her to this moment, and the moments that would follow.

It all fitted into the bigger picture.

She closed her eyes again and relaxed.

∞

Serdinsky returned with Corporal Neil to the captain's office and closed the door behind them. "Tell us what you told me."

Robertson and Patel looked up in anticipation as Neil sat down. Serdinsky remained standing inside the door.

"You were asking if we'd seen any new faces in town."

Robertson nodded.

"I didn't remember earlier, but I did see a girl early last week on my regular patrol, graveyard shift."

"When was this?"

"Monday the thirteenth. Alone on the bench outside the transport center. She seemed – kind of out of it... I spoke to her."

"High?"

"No... More like tired. I offered to take her here to the station to wait since the center was closed. But she declined."

"A new face... But she was waiting for a bus?" Patel asked.

"Well, that's what she said. Or rather, she said she was waiting for the transport center, so that's what I assumed. She had a large bag with her. That was around three in the morning. I told her it wasn't safe but since she didn't want to come to the station, I told her I would keep an eye out for her on my patrol..." Neil trailed off, frowning.

"So as far as you know, she was just passing through town," Robertson said. "Did you see her again?"

"Well... That's the thing—I didn't see her again. But I should have, now that I think about it—or... It was a quiet night, I completed that loop as I normally do but..." Neil turned his head to follow his eyes in an attempt to recall his movements.

"She had left?" Robertson prompted.

"Noo," Neil shook his head, "that's what's strange..."

"What was strange?"

Neil met his chief's gaze, a puzzled frown on his face. "I passed that spot at least three more times and... I can't say if she was still there or not..."

Robertson exchanged glances with Patel and Serdinsky. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"I don't understand... I didn't look... Why didn't I look?  I always check the transport center on my shift because there's usually shit going on..."

"I think we've got a suspect...," Patel said, patting Neil on the shoulder.

"I think we do." Robertson nodded and jotted something on a notepad. "Neil, I think you're the first vic to experience mind control by the same person who's enabled the recent heists!"

"The jewelry stores and the banks?"

"A new face joins forces with local scumbags," said Serdinsky. "That's why we never came across this MO before."

"I think you're right," said Patel. "This girl..."

Neil nodded. "I'd say, she was in her late teens, average height—can't tell for sure because she was sitting. Caucasian, blonde reaching below her shoulders. Wearing sky blue jacket, black pants, and boots. Looked more like a uniform of sorts. And she had a... a broad choker necklace. Funny thing about her eyes, though..."

"What about her eyes?" said Robertson.

"Well... They reflected the street lights for a moment... like golden flashes."

"Light brown eyes?"

"I suppose..."

"Okay. Get Jackson to do a composite sketch of this girl and—"

"Jackson's out on loan, remember?" said Patel. "He won't be back 'til late tomorrow."

"Shoot. Okay, Neil, record the description so we can fax it to the other departments and the Feds. Make a note that she should be approached with caution. Then see if you can identify anyone like her in the register. Good job, Neil. Because of you, we've finally got a breakthrough!"

∞

Sterling had been sitting alone at the table, behind closed doors for the past two hours, waiting. It was an exercise of patience; he could look forward to a lot of that from now on.

He thought about his daughter and her four-year-old son, how she'd be worrying about not knowing what happened to him. Nobody would know anything about him until the alien issue was resolved. He'd disappear into a virtual black hole known only to the Apoc's employer. He could only hope he'd still be alive at the end of it all. If not, then his daughter would never know the truth about how he died. She'd probably receive a letter from the State Department saying he was killed in an accident.

The door opened and Apoc strode in, carrying a glass of water. He placed it on the table, sat down and folded his hands on the table, studying Sterling.

"So... A single slip of your private thoughts and you blew your career to Kingdom Come, huh?" He clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "What a shame..."

Sterling waited, meeting Apoc's gaze steadily, aware of the barely masked triumph in those eyes. He knew Apoc had been waiting for this moment ever since he took over the operation.

Apoc leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. "What do you know about these EBEs?"

Sterling decided he'd just give him straight answers. He knew what he was facing. There was no point in wasting time and complicate the situation further with resistance. A simple little injection and Apoc would get all the intel he wanted before disposing of him.

No, he saw no reason for sacrificing his life yet—not if he could help it.

"I know that they are here by accident and they say they want asylum. Their planet was destroyed and somehow, some sort of wormhole delivered their ship via that storm in the Sargasso Sea into our world two weeks ago. I know that... The human and the ghost are connected in some way that precludes them from being separated by greater distances. I don't know why this is so. We had tissue and blood samples taken from the human and those disintegrated at the lab a few days later."

"Have the EBEs communicated to you in private?"

"Yes."

"What did they say?"

"The ghost told me it's unable to be separated from the human. They also didn't want me to tell you about the lab results."

"Why?" Apoc pushed the glass of water to Sterling.

Sterling ignored the glass. He knew Apoc wasn't being civil—it was simply an intimidation tactic. That was something they'd all learned in SERE school (Survival Escape Resistance Evasion). "I'm not sure why. I think—"

"I don't care what you think, General. I want answers. Perhaps you don't grasp the severity of this situation. My employer takes National Security very, very seriously. You should have remembered that, General."

Neither of them turned their heads as the door opened and four men walked into the room to station themselves, two behind each man.

"If you can't provide me with what I want then we're done here." Apoc leaned back in his chair, muttering under his breath and shook his head. Sterling thought he heard something like, sometimes they forget what they're dealing with.

Sterling hadn't forgotten. But in all his years in service, his gut feeling had never failed him. This time, his gut feeling said that these aliens were not a threat. And whatever their purpose was, whatever they were protecting, was not a threat either. However, that was not the protocol they were operating under. Only direct proof would be sufficient.

"Sir," Sterling said.

Apoc threw out a hand. "What else do you know?"

"It seems to me, they're waiting for something."

"But," Apoc leaned forward with his palms on the table, "you don't know that either." He rose. "General... I am having you transported off the base at 1700. Until then, you will remain here."

Sterling lifted his head as he watched Apoc, itching to ruffle some feathers. "And just where do you think you're going to take me?"

Apoc stepped swiftly back to the table and leaned over, pressing his knuckles on the surface, and narrowed his eyes at Sterling just inches from his face. "Wherever – the fuck – I want... General. Pray that you can speak the language."

∞

It required a different level of self-control to allow the sedative to spread from her shoulder to the rest of her body. Selina closed her eyes while tracking the number of molecules leaving the syringe. According to Apocalypse, the six hundred milligrams of ketamine would put her to sleep for thirty minutes. She needed to put more of her consciousness in her light self to stay aware before the drug took effect. At the same time, she had to maintain her physical self. It was a delicate balancing act of knowing where from and how much of her self she could withdraw without triggering complications—like what happened the first time she tried to create a dual presence.

The effects of the foreign molecules were already making themselves known in her extremities. She would not attempt to keep it from crossing the bridge of her neck into her head any longer. She had agreed to allow it to take effect, and Apocalypse was waiting.

Apocalypse. He was sitting in front of her, looking her dead in the eye, marking the response of her pupils. She registered a knowing smirk on his face as she started to lose mental focus. She calculated she had less than a minute left before the drug would take full effect. As she released the last stream of atoms to her light self, the guard on the right stepped to her side. In the next moment, she heard the deliberate draw-click of his weapon, its hammer being locked into position, before it pressed against her temple.

"How do you feel," Apocalypse whispered, "not knowing whether you'll ever wake up again?"

Selina drew a breath, but she did not feel anything. She thought she heard the bluff in his mind, that they were simply using scare tactics on her. Or did she imagine that? She was no longer able to separate thought or sense from imagination, the swimming of her mind disconcertingly unfamiliar as she tried to maintain eye contact with her captor. Eventually, she gave up the consciousness of her body and watched its head and shoulders slump in the chair.

The guard stepped away with his pistol still aimed at its head, his eyes on her light self for any sign of threat. So did the other guard. She remained motionless at the far corner of the cell, watching. Apocalypse checked her body's slow pulse for over a minute as the door slid open and two men entered with a wheelchair. Her body was lifted into it and strapped in above the waist, the wrists and ankles shackled as before. Then they rolled it out of the cell toward the exit.

Apocalypse remained behind for a few moments, studying her as she hovered, but he said nothing. He merely repeated the intent he had in mind: —Remember... your companion's life depends on your cooperation.

—I understand, she projected, contracting and widening slightly to underscore her acknowledgment. She would not be able to comply for long, and she knew he knew it. She could only hope that her inability to do so would not be taken as an act of aggression.

∞

"What is 'greased pole climbing'?" Mickmi asked as Danny came out on the porch with a ruled writing pad, a calendar, and pencils. She pointed to a half-page advertisement in the Thursday Tribune.

"Oh!" He sat down, grinning. "The Spectacular—there'll be all sorts of entertainment and competitions going on there this weekend. You saw all those racing boats coming in—they're here for tomorrow's trials. Now, try climbing a slippery post to take down a flag. There's a prize for that."

"Have you done that?"

"Oh, I've tried," he laughed. "Many times too... Never quite made it. Shall we get to work?"

"Aye," she said, looking amused as he gave her the writing pad and a pencil. She gave him the newspaper in return.

"Let's see..." He leaned forward and studied her, then smiled as a thought came to him. "You said you're seventeen-and-a-half. When's your birthday?"

"Birthday? I have no birthday." She had a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"No...? You mean you don't remember?"

"I have a birth night."

"Okaay..." He chuckled. "What's your birthdate then?"

"Nineteenth-twentieth of," she wrote something on the pad, "Primary."

"Nineteenth or twentieth? You don't know which?"

"Both."

"Two dates aren't allowed, you'll have to pick one..."

"Twenty-four o'clock and zero o'clock." She showed him what she'd written.

"Exactly midnight, huh? That's good; you remember that. But you'll still have to pick one..." He looked at the paper. "Anno 6648," he read quietly. "But what month is Primary?"

"The primary month of the year. January."

"Right... Should've guessed." He nodded. "That's good to know. Pity it's not coming sooner, I'd bake you a birthday cake..." He grinned at her expression. "Don't look so surprised. I do have some tricks up my sleeve, you know." He laughed.

Mickmi wagged the pencil at him, grinning. "I want to taste that cake."

"If you stick around long enough, I promise I'll make you one." He caught his breath, almost biting his tongue. It was the closest he'd ever come to asking her to stay.

She stared past him with a wistful look in her eyes. "Aye... I would like that..."

"Me too... O-kay," he said and drew a deep breath, tearing his thoughts away from the subject. No pressure, he reminded himself. Get back to business.

"Yours is day sixty-eight," she said suddenly.

He looked at her in surprise, he hadn't been thinking about his own birthday. 

"Ehrm... Lemme check that." He grabbed the calendar and started counting. She was right as usual. "Why don't you draw up your calendar so we can get a visual to match up with? I know we're probably just making assumptions here but at least we can get an idea of where you are in terms of your time. 'Cause I really can't see it with you just rattling numbers off the top of your head."

Mickmi smiled in response, nodding, and got to work on the pad. As Danny leaned back to wait, the screen door opened, startling him.

"Dear?" It was Mother. "I'm going to make it an early night. Will you two need anything before I go? Some tea perhaps?" She was looking curiously over his head at what Mickmi was doing.

Danny got up to divert her attention. "No, we're fine. Thanks." He nodded at her and smiled. "No need to worry about us. Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine, dear. Just a bit tired." She hesitated. "Okay then." She was looking from him to Mickmi and back again, a slight furrow between her brows. "Goodnight."

"'Night," he said, holding the screen door open for her.

Mickmi looked up. "Good night, Grace."

Mother nodded and returned inside. Danny slowly closed the door after her, his eyes thoughtfully on Mickmi.

No need to worry about us.

All of a sudden, the phrase didn't feel reassuring at all—disconcerting chills running up his arms, making him frown. They were living in a perfect little paradise, a bubble—but something out there in the night was pressing close. He could feel it, like a needle against his skin.

Mickmi met his gaze, her amusement gone. She felt it too.

∞

The code on the radio that day was an alert for Weaver to make contact, so he drove to Abbeville to make that call to HQ for the second time.

"There are rumblings underground," came O'Malley's voice over the payphone. "They're getting stronger. Be prepared to take cover when the cracks appear."

Weaver hung up without a word. He knew it was only a matter of time before the subject and his girlfriend—and his family—would be rudely awakened by a living nightmare. 

He could only hope she'd recover her memory before the start of her apocalypse.

— ∞ —

©2017 by kemorgan65