Chapter Twenty-two

Kane

Terrified didn't even cover it as I was dragged into the police station. They stripped me naked, then one cop fastened a second set of zip-ties connecting his arm and mine before releasing my other, so I had one hand free to take a piss. Then the process was reversed while I dressed in a white jumpsuit. All this while another two cops pointed guns at me.

I didn't remember much about this from the first time. I'd probably blocked it out. But I wasn't giving them a chance to use their tasers or their guns, so I kept it together better, and just reminded myself this was temporary.

It didn't feel like it, though.

I was asked over and over what I could do, was told it would be better for me if I said, and even when my lawyer tried to protest, they completely ignored him. I refused to speak, but then another cop came in and said it didn't matter because my transport had arrived, and I was their problem now.

I didn't recognize three of the four C.O.s that came to escort me. Two were silent, and clearly just doing their job. One was nervous, and one was a prick I knew from before. He started on me as soon as we drove away. "Diaz, buddy, you clearly missed us. You were out what, two fucking weeks?" He elbowed the nervous one. "Don't turn your back on this fucker." I tuned them out as best I could, but it was hard.

He leaned forward. "Bet you can't wait to get there. Meet all your old friends." He snickered.

"Cut the crap, Holroyd," one of the others said, which shut him up, but the journey still seemed twice as long as it had when Rawlings came for me.

I could hear the sound of the gates closing over the noise of the engine idling and I focused on the bite of the zip-ties into my wrists. The pain seemed to ground me a little this time, rather than panic me, and I managed to keep it together while the van stopped and I was dragged out and into the holding room.

"Well, well, Diaz. You just made my fucking day."

I turned around and looked right into the hate-filled stare of C.O. Gary O'Connell.

It wasn't like I wasn't expecting him, and it looked like my luck couldn't hold out that it was his day off.

He smiled like all his fucking Christmases had come at once. It reminded me I'd never asked Danny to look into him. I should have, but this had happened kind of fast and I'd been determined to forget it all, anyway.

Not the first mistake I'd ever made and probably wouldn't be the last. A bored-sounding C.O. came in to tell me how my day would go. I would eat in my cell—all meals—no exception, which meant I would have designated food. My worst nightmare.

Outside yard activity was a privilege based on my ability, which would be determined later. Apparently, they had a library that I had to earn behavior credits to access.

I didn't react, but what the fuck did "based on my ability" mean? Apart from the obvious, that was.

No outside visitors were allowed at all. Real-time facial messenger apps would be used to communicate with my lawyer. Everything else had to be pre-recorded, and if found to contain restricted information would be deleted entirely. It was worse than the equivalent of redacted documents.

We had no privacy, not that I was surprised. The cell walls were made of one-way unbreakable glass. They could see our every breath, but we couldn't see them, and for an idiotic moment, I missed the open cells I'd been used to previously and wondered at the money that had been spent on this.

I was assigned a number.

It took a minute for me to work through that in my head. I was inmate seventy-three and addressed as such. Not that for one second I imagined there were another seventy-two enhanced somewhere here. It was just another way of dehumanizing us. Well, tough. I was used to that. They thought a number would make a difference?

I was led to a different corridor, eventually. I knew it wasn't the cells, when as I was pushed into what was clearly an office, then zip-tied to the chair, it surprised me.

I gazed at the man sitting behind the desk. I would put him at fiftyish. Neatly trimmed gray hair and a matching beard. He wasn't in a uniform of any sort, which again surprised me because I knew without being told that this was the warden. He wore a pinstripe navy suit, a lighter blue shirt, and a dark blue tie. He looked like he was about to enter a board meeting. Maybe he was.

"Inmate seventy-three," he drawled and glanced at some sort of small computer, which reminded me of what Danny used. "My name is Mister Connaught. You may use that or simply say ‘Sir.'" He leaned forward and pressed a button on a panel on his desk, but nothing happened.

I didn't respond, but he didn't seem to care.

"The state has clearly failed you." I frowned in confusion. "If all you can manage is two weeks in the unregulated world, then you clearly need a different sort of environment." I had a second to process what unregulated meant before he continued. "In our new facility, you will learn to acclimate properly."

Yeah, right.

"And serve the greater good."

The what?

"I am one of a few that understand what your enhancement can mean in the fight against terrorists who would revel in the death of every man, woman, and child who hope our military forces can protect them." He looked up and pinned me with a stare. "You want to ensure the safety of your fellow Americans, I am sure?"

He phrased it as a question, so I nodded, obviously.

"The problem is, instead of embracing the gifts you were given, you were made to feel shamed, and it is my purpose to make you feel proud that your abilities can be recognized for the gift they are." He spread his arms wide. "Unfortunately, I am as imprisoned as you. I need to conform to the regulations set for your imprisonment until you prove yourself worthy."

"How would I do that?" I didn't trust this guy further than the stapler on his desk.

He leaned back. "You don't trust me," he said, and for a second I wondered if I'd said that out loud. I wanted to say "duh" like a child, but his laugh stopped me. "I know you have history with O'Connell and there's little I can do about his bias."

His frank admission did more to increase my initial trust than a promise would have ever managed. He stood. "And despite whatever questions you may be asked, any sharing of your ability won't gain you any favors."

Wait. He didn't want to know?

He stood to signal the interview was over. I couldn't stand obediently despite my natural inclination because of the zip-ties and C.O.s entered to release them. With a small shake of his head, I was allowed to walk to my new cell without them fastened around my wrists.

I wasn't sure whether I should be relieved or on my guard. O'Connell was the one to escort me and seemed to take great pleasure in walking faster than my leg shackles allowed. Another C.O. made him slow down, and for the first time I wondered if O'Connell wasn't the big cheese here that he had been on the other side.

I gazed at my seven-by-four cell. A bed took up most of it, along with a toilet and sink. A tiny table and chair packed the rest of the space. The obligatory orange jumpsuit was lying on the bed, along with a white t-shirt to wear under it and some boxers. Not that it mattered. I was here for one job. And I needed to get out as quickly as I could. I also needed to behave. I needed the rec hour in the yard to see which other prisoners were here, namely Shae. I hadn't expected to be completely cut off from other prisoners, and I didn't dare ask the guards about other prisoners, especially O'Connell. Shae had enough problems without O'Connell singling him out.

My day was endless. Time in my cell apparently meant sleeping or reading. But since the only book in my cell was the Bible and once upon a time, I'd already read it cover to cover and it hadn't saved my soul, I spent two endless days fantasizing about Danny. I'd refused food the first day when O'Connell brought it but risked it the second when I didn't think he was working. I doubted he would be able to resist the constant gloating while he was here.

My next surprise was Ringo. I'd stepped back obediently as instructed when the buzzer sounded, warning me my door was being opened, and he was the second guard that came to bring me my breakfast, and the first C.O. was obviously training him. Ringo caught me eyeing the food and met my gaze with a nearly imperceptible nod. Good, last weekend had given me back my appetite, and I was hungry.

The C.O. droned on to Ringo in a bored fashion, explaining that the monitors in the control room could see through the mix of polycarbonate panels, but prisoners couldn't see out. I knew that, so I simply stayed quiet and looked disinterested. Unthreatening. I wasn't allowed to return to my chair while the C.O. was in the room, so I just stood there. I'd been told when I arrived that I was allowed to keep my hands free unless I had to see any of the medical staff.

Eventually, they both left, and my day went the same way as the previous one.

By the next day, I was ready to initiate a riot to alleviate some of the boredom, and even though I'd been doing some push-ups and squats, I wasn't tired enough to sleep. I spent a long time staring at the ceiling, then rolled onto my side and stared at the white wall next to me. Then blinked as a shadow moved across it. I didn't change my breathing. In fact, I yawned, because I knew it was likely I was being watched, but I kept an apparent disinterested gaze on the wall. The shadow moved again, and this time I could make out the shape of what I assumed was a man.

I deliberately rolled to my other side, the one with the bed against it, and sure enough, the same thing happened, except this time I could make out what looked like a slightly larger space. A desk or table and two figures standing close enough to be talking. My pulse picked up. Were my eyes actually adapting? Was that what was happening? I knew I could see in the dark, but I'd never been able to see through walls, objects, and then a memory teased at me. When I first got my scar, I wasn't as good at seeing in the dark as I was now. And it had never occurred to me to think that was odd. Hell, I was too freaked out by the whole thing anyway to actually take any notice of what I could or couldn't do. It had always seemed a curse. But maybe my ability needed to develop. Maybe I needed to practice?

I closed my eyes and counted to five hundred really slowly, then opened them again, and just managed to stop myself from smiling. I was looking at some sort of records room. Office? There was only one C.O. in there now, but I knew he was a C.O. because while what I was looking at was black and white, I recognized the uniform, even if he had his back to me.

Did that mean that whatever the wall was made of—the polycarbonate the C.O. had mentioned—was susceptible to my vision? Or that my vision was adapting? It must be adapting because today was the first day I'd seen anything. I glanced at the far wall, the other side of the office door, but that just seemed a regular wall, so I turned over again to look at the first wall, and just managed to keep from reacting in shock, because not only could I see an exact replica of my cell, but I could also see the prisoner in it.

Shae.

By the next day I could see quite clearly through either wall, but it seemed that I could only see through certain types of materials. I'd stared at my own hand so long, if the C.O.s were watching they'd think I was crazy, but I definitely couldn't see through skin.

Which was kind of comforting, really. I had zero wish to see anyone's insides. I spent all day concentrating on the wall by the door and after staring so long my eyes hurt, I started picking up shadows there as well. I kept an eye on Shae and who went into the office at the other side of my cell. I could see there was some sort of group of monitors on one wall, but because of the angle I couldn't see what they were showing, but every time a C.O. was in there, they glanced up at them frequently, so I assumed they were of our cells. It wouldn't be the main control room, simply a secondary monitoring area for whoever was working in there.

I practiced a long time on the wall by the door, then exercised hard to get my muscles moving after staying still for so long. I managed to tire myself out enough to fall asleep for an hour. When I woke, it was a little easier and I could make out the shadows of people as they walked past on the opposite wall, but nothing very distinct. I saw one shadow who I assumed was a C.O. by uniform walk toward my cell, then another come from the other direction. They seemed to pass something to each other, then the first shadow moved away, and my door buzzed. Obediently, I moved to the position I had to stand in and watched as the C.O. that had trained Ringo—who I hadn't seen since—came in carrying my lunch on a tray.

I thanked him politely and didn't move until the door closed, then went to the table and uncovered the food. It looked like some sort of beef stew with a separate dish of vegetables and some bread. At least they weren't trying to starve us. I forked a mouthful of stew in and wondered at what I'd seen out of the cell at the front, then I glanced behind me at the office and every drop of blood in me turned to ice. O'Connell was standing there looking at the screen on the wall and smiling.

I staggered to the commode in the corner, so revolted I didn't need to make myself sick and I only just got there in time. I was sure O'Connell must have realized I was suspicious of him when I didn't eat the times he'd brought me a meal, so he'd tried to fool me. When I stood after rinsing my mouth out, I went to the bed and saw O'Connell still staring at the monitors.

But this time, he definitely wasn't smiling. His lips were pressed together, almost as if to stop a snarl, and both hands were fisted by his side. And I knew I might have just gotten away with it this time, but what about the next? Because one thing was for sure, whatever reason O'Connell had for hating me hadn't gone away, and possibly had just gotten much worse.