Chapter Eighteen

John

"It's no fair playing hide-and-seek with you," Freddie said. "You can see through things."

John couldn't help but laugh at the young boy. "I promise you I am not using my ability to find you."

"Then how are you finding me?" Freddie asked.

John pointed to the wagging tail sticking out from behind Freddie.

"Your furry shadow leads me to wherever you are."

"Gracie, are you giving me away?" Freddie laughed before giving the friendly dog a big hug.

Kyle's service dog had certainly taken a shine to Freddie, following the boy everywhere. Today was the third day the others were away on their mission, and as of yet, they'd only been able to do surveillance on the building in North Carolina. The team was working on a plan to gain entrance to the facility to determine what lay inside.

"You found him," Kyle cheered as he entered the stables. "I was beginning to think Freddie had disappeared into thin air."

"Gracie gave away my hiding spot," the young boy explained.

"That she did, but who could be upset with that adorable furry face." John laughed as he scratched the retriever behind her ears.

"When are you going to open your letter?" Freddie asked out of nowhere, stopping John and Kyle in their tracks.

"What letter?" Kyle asked the boy.

"The one John carries around in his pocket."

John instinctively touched the pocket of his jeans, and sure enough, the envelope was still there.

"How did you know about it?" John asked.

"Your dad told me. He wanted me to ask you to open it," Freddie said as if talking to a ghost was normal. John knew about the boy's ability to talk to the dead, but this was the first time he'd seen it in action.

John knelt and looked at Freddie. "Can you tell my dad I'm not ready to open it yet, please? I need more time."

The boy smiled wide. "He says he understands and will wait until you're ready."

"Thank you, Freddie," John said, before ruffling the hair on the boy's head. He didn't want him to feel odd or bad about his gift.

"You're welcome. Can we go get a snack now?" Freddie asked.

"You got it, buddy," Kyle said before leading Freddie out of the stables. "Are you coming, John?"

"Yeah, I'll be along in a couple minutes."

Kyle nodded his understanding and walked away with Freddie, leaving John to his thoughts. He reached into his pocket and pulled the envelope out. John easily recognized his father's handwriting on the outside addressed to him.

He glanced around the area, unsure of what he was looking for. A sign, maybe, that his dad was there. However, he didn't have Freddie's gift; all he saw were hay bales and empty stalls.

"I don't know if you're here or not. I don't know how many times I've wished to be able to talk to you again. I can't say I understand everything that happened back then when you found me or what was going through your mind. Why you and Mom decided to keep me, but I do want to thank you for everything you tried to do for me. I miss you guys."

John wasn't sure if he looked like a fool talking to himself or if his dad's spirit was even still around. He shoved the envelope back into his pocket and headed for the door. As he was about to walk through, he caught a glimpse of a reflection in the pane of glass that wasn't his. When John spun around, no one was there.

He sucked in a deep breath and smiled.Maybe the people we love never really leave us.It was a calming thought he decided to hold on to.

"I'll read the letter soon. I promise."

With that agreement, John walked up to the ranch house, a slightly different man than before. A better, less lonely man.

***

Stryker

The area was quiet as they approached stealthily from three different directions, and split into smaller groups to closely examine the building. Over the last two days, movement in and around the building had increased significantly. Stuff was moved in, and other stuff taken out. The team had to find out what was going on inside.

The full moon made traversing the area easier but harder to stay under the radar. The building was only five stories tall, and they weren't sure how many of those stories were manned. Stryker and Conor were coming in from the east, only a hundred yards from their target.

The others approached at different angles while Gunner watched everyone from above on a nearby building. It was almost two in the morning, and the place was quiet. Dressed in their gear, they moved as they had been trained—silent and deadly.

When you realized they were there, it would already be too late.

They ran the final distance and pressed their backs against the wall beside a large air-conditioning unit twice as tall as they were and at least fifteen feet wide. A metal door was on the other side, and that would be their entry point. From the schematics Spencer had pulled on the building, that door should lead to a maintenance area in the back of the building.

One team would come in from above, while the other would take the underground parking below. Stryker held his rifle to the side and looked at his watch.

"Fifteen seconds," he whispered to Conor, who nodded in agreement.

As he counted the seconds, he knew the other team members would do the same.

"Team A in place," Brick said.

"Team B in place," Stryker responded.

"Team C in place," Fletcher said.

"All clear from the eyes in the sky," Gunner announced.

Stryker maneuvered around the air-conditioning unit and approached the door. Conor followed him in and picked the lock while Stryker remained on the lookout. With one final glance at his watch, they entered the building, silent as ghosts.

They carefully made their way down an empty hallway, checking each room along the way. Most rooms were empty. Some had filing cabinets and desks, while others had large boardroom tables and chairs. Typical office equipment. However, things took a strange turn when they reached the rooms farther back.

There were medical chairs, similar to those in a dentist's office, in some rooms; others had narrow hospital beds and large overhead lamps. There was a laboratory with microscopes and jars of different-colored liquid. As they went, the pictures they took were automatically sent back to Spencer's computer to be analyzed in real time.

Conor placed his hand on Stryker's arm, stopping him mid-stride. When Stryker looked back, Conor motioned for them to go into one of the rooms. Without question, Stryker followed Conor in, and soon, Stryker heard two sets of footsteps coming from down the hall. Conor had sensed someone coming their way, so they waited for whoever it was to pass. Stryker had left the comms open to ensure the entire team could hear any noise or conversation.

"This job sucks big hairy balls," a male voice said.

"We have to be patient. The new test subjects will arrive soon," the second male answered.

"Yeah, but it's been weeks already, and still nothing. We've been set up and ready to go for days, and there's still nothing. I'm bored out of my mind."

"Once the subjects arrive, you won't have time to be bored. They must be processed and ranked according to ability before they can be housed in their cages."

The word "cages" made Stryker want to growl.

"I don't know why these freaks are causing such a shit show. We would have just bagged and tagged the whole lot ten years ago. No questions asked. Now, we must guard and sort them before they can be exterminated; seriously, who the hell needs some kid that can change the color of his skin? Big deal. You can use makeup for that shit."

Conor didn't have to say a word; Stryker knew what the man was thinking simply by the look on his face. He was also horrified at the callous way this person was talking about someone's life—a kid's life.

"They're more valuable now to the bosses. Back in the day, they were just meat puppets to experiment on, slice and dice. Now that they have proven abilities, they must be brought under control to be useful to this division. The entire project could be at risk if they were allowed to run free. That's why they need to be rounded up."

"Under control," the first man huffed. "Put a fucking collar around those animals and shock them into submission; works on dogs, that ought to do the trick. None of this hand-holding bullshit."

"That's not too far off from what they have planned for them." The second man laughed. "Let's get back to the control room; my television shows are about to come on."

Stryker and Conor listened as footsteps went farther and farther away until they were inaudible.

"Did everybody get a read on that conversation?" Stryker asked into the comms.

"Yep." Brick's tone was flat.

"Yes." Shaw sounded disgusted. "Those guys were something else."

"There's some fucked-up things going on around here. Finish up with your recon and get out. We'll meet back up at the rendezvous point," Brick ordered.

Stryker glanced out into the hallway, finding it empty; he and Conor moved down the hall. Room after room, they contained more hospital beds and restraints right up until they found the cells—small, dark, and dingy. The place was a house of horrors, and Stryker wanted to burn it to the ground.

He would if given the chance.