Catharsis (Book 2): Catalyst (11 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

           
I'm alive!
The thought relieves me as I blink myself awake in my resting place in a nest of rubble.  Since waking up in that alley over a year ago I've not slept or lost consciousness often (still a strange side effect), so my having lost touch with the world for a little bit is a disconcerting experience.  It takes a lot for the world to try and kill me, and for a moment there I was beginning to think that having a building explode around me might be the final straw.  But I made it.

            And that thought is quickly followed with,
"The pain!  The pain!  Ouch, ouch, ouch, ohmagawd, the pain!" 
My body is aching in ways it shouldn't be able to.  My shoulder throbs from where something inside of me snapped upon impact with the wall, my skin stings with the burn of the feet of a thousand fire ants as it tries to mend itself after the flames ate most of it away, and my stomach is twisting in knots as the Dark Hunger begins to rear its head and demand a sacrifice.  I've burned through all my energy stores that those guys in the Cadillac gave me.  It's kept me alive, but just barely.  I need to feed again if I'm going to heal from this.

            Finally, I also realize I don't know exactly where I am.  I know I hit Chadwick's neighbor's house when I jumped, but I don't know which one.  Or why I'm covered in large detached chunks of wall and smashed furniture.

            As I crawl out from under the debris covering me like a giant junkyard blanket, I notice that I'm standing in the remains of a house.  Behind me there is still a fully-standing home complete with finished kitchen and half of a well-designed living room centered around a large flat screen television.  A television that has several two-by-four chunks of wood piercing it like a target on an archery range.  I hope someone was well insured. 

In front of me stands the smoking remains of half the house and a large, open area that appears to have once contained a building.  I'm guessing that's where Chadwick Morrin's house once stood, but it is now just a toothpick-covered hole in the ground.  There's nothing left of his place larger than my leg, and even the pieces that large are mostly just twisted chunks of charred metal.  If there had been any evidence of his misdeeds in that place before, they are certainly gone now.

            "The entire building is gone, Ren."  I say out loud for his benefit so he knows what just occurred.  "The explosion leveled the place.  All those pictures are burnt up.  I’ve got nothing now."

            When he doesn't immediately respond, I glance down at my legs and see why.  Most of my clothing is gone.  What little I have left on my body is blackened and frayed.  I look like I just walked out of the carpet bombing of London in the 1940's.

           
Ren probably thinks I'm dead
, I realize, and then,
Heck!  I probably should be.  Any normal person would have died in that
.

            Not wanting my only friend to worry or think that Chadwick got the better of me (or wait around for the authorities to figure out what just happened and scoop me up for questioning), I stumble through the last few yards of ruined living room and make my way out to the house's backyard.  It only takes me a moment to orient myself and figure out which way I had left my bike (Thank goodness I had had the foresight to not park anywhere near the house.  It should still be in one piece and waiting on me.), and I begin jogging the moment I stop the world from spinning around like an apocalypse-themed carousel.

            Halfway across the now littered backyard I stumble to my knees, and my first thought is that I tripped over some random piece of brick or wood that I hadn't noticed.  But resting on my knees and looking back over my shoulder for the culprit, my stomach clenches into a knot and I fall to my side on the grass.  My energy is waning as my body mends itself, and the expenditure is outpacing what little reserves I have left.  Rolling back over to get to my feet, I concentrate on slowing my body's healing process so that I don't burn myself out before I get back home.

            And then the aroma of meat and food and nourishment creeps its way into my nostrils and my ability to focus wavers even more than before.  Looking around desperately for the source (Whether it is to identify it or feed on it, I'm not immediately sure.), I see the two police officers that had been stationed outside Chadwick's house crossing the street towards me and yelling something.

            My inability to figure out what they're yelling both brings to my attention my inability to hear anything except for a non-stop ringing due to the explosion and the fact that I need to get very far away from here very quickly.  Because if I don't put some distance between me and them in the next few seconds, then there is either going to be one less officer in the world or one more petite Hispanic girl on the police’s BOLO list.  And I don't want either of those to happen.

            Refocusing on pushing my energy away from my burnt skin and instead down into my legs and lungs, I crawl away from the two officers and then move up into a stumbling run as I regain my balance.  By the time I'm hurdling the back fence, I have my feet underneath me and I'm increasing my speed enough to keep the two Boys in Blue at a safe distance.

            Running up to the house where I had parked my bike, I see my ride just where I had left it.  Thanking fate for at least giving me some small reprieve, I climb on and whip my helmet into place.  As the soft fabric envelopes my cheeks and forehead, the relief I feel at having entered a sensory cocoon is almost debilitating.  The caustic smells are blocked from my nose, the ringing in my ears is muffled and even the darkened visor helps shield my eyes from some of the harsh lights I had been subconsciously squinting against.  It's akin to the behavior change that happens when a puppy is put back into its kennel at night.  The sweet embrace of the familiar and safe is both calming and uplifting.

            Pushing the starter button on the Zero, I lean forward with my weight and pull down on the throttle hard enough to feel it shudder and nearly lose control.  Nearly, but not quite.  Sitting back down on the cushioned seat, I do my best to keep as much of my weight centered as possible to prevent the bike from popping a wheelie or wobbling uncontrollably.  At the first intersection I come to, I lean left and take the corner at full speed so as to put as many angles as possible between me and the pursuing officers.  I want to kill their line of sight to me and prevent them from radioing in any identifying information.

            "What happened back there?"  The speakers in my helmet screech once I’m moving, and my surprise at hearing Ren's voice almost undoes all my careful work I'd put into escaping.  "You're mic died suddenly, you stop answering me, and I intercept a call over the police scanner about a house explosion.  What did you do back there?"

            On the bright side, I guess my hearing is returning.  Although after listening to that tirade, I'm already missing the blissful silence that nearly busted eardrums brought.

            "Wasn't me Renny," I say through gritted teeth.  "It was Chadwick.  He booby-trapped the place.  I was wrong about him."  I pause as a wave of pain squeezes my insides like an irritated boa constrictor trying to work the fight out of a downed monkey.  It's all I can do to not close my eyes and just give in to it.  "I'm hurt bad.  Real bad.  I'm going to need the reserves.  Get 'em ready.  Can't talk anymore."  My last few words come out in a mumble, but I'm sure he was able to pick up on them.  He knows me well enough by now.

            I can continue to hear his breathing and the constant clacking of keyboard keys as I drive frantically towards the warehouse, but at least I don't have to concentrate on his words.  And the soft sound of his breaths helps keep me focused on where I'm going.  A place that wouldn't exist without him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

            The fact that Ren is smart enough to keep an industrial-sized fridge at the warehouse partially filled with "donated" blood is just one of the reasons why I owe him more than I can put into words.  That's something I either never would have thought about doing, or I wouldn't have the patience to set up and follow through on.  But he does.  And its existence has saved more than one life tonight.

            If I hadn't had a supply of blood waiting for me, then I might not have had the strength to ignore the police officers who chased me on the way home.  Or the pedestrians I passed in alleys as I rocketed down main streets to get back here.  The pull I felt to stop and indulge the Dark Hunger was only assuaged by the knowledge that guilt-free sustenance awaited me here.  My morals and conscious were boosted by those plastic bags sitting chilled behind quietly humming metal doors.

            But if nothing had awaited me at home?  If I had simply been running from that explosion in a hope to make it here so that I could sit and fester in my own pain, then I would have eventually succumbed to the seductive song of the hunger and left the confines of the warehouse to seek my fill.  And in my current state I can't swear that I'd be able to stop myself from going too far.  Or if the drive were strong enough, then I might even seek out an easier target here at home.  A target whose blood I know is poisonous to me, but if the choice is between impending death and possible future death...

            I shake my head to clear the thoughts, and turn my body in my reclining chair so that I can see Ren typing away over at his computer console.  He was right again about tonight.  About Chadwick.  Really, about everything.

            "Thanks," I mumble quietly to the back of his head.  He doesn't respond nor does he stop typing, but I do notice he slightly shakes his head back and forth.  I’ll just have to accept that that's the best I'm going to get right now.

            "So how many of them did I go through?"  I ask even though I know the answer.  It's just an easy topic to broach that is neutral enough to hopefully not bring on a lecture.  I want to talk about what happened, but I don't want him to tell me what all I did wrong.  I'm not ready for that yet.

            "Six bags so far," he says without turning or stopping what he's doing.  "You'll need more, but I want you to rest and let your body heal without trying to digest anything.  I think it'll be safer for you."

            I nod in agreement even though he can't see me.  His voice was tinged with more worry than anger, and I hope that's a good sign.  I don't want him mad at me, even though he has every right to be.

            "So what's the word out there now?"  I ask cautiously.  "Are they looking for him?  Or for me?"

            He continues typing and glancing back and forth between two monitors as he speaks, "One moment Cat.  Let me finish this first.  Not all of us are superhuman and can do everything at once."

            His words sting at first as an attack on me and my impulsive need to take on more than I can handle, and then I hear the smile in his voice and detect the lack of any hostility coming from him and I realize that it is just my own insecurities asserting themselves.  I don't need to be defensive with Ren.  He's the only real friend I have right now.

            Laying back down and looking around the mostly empty warehouse, I replay as much of the evening as I can in my head without it hurting too much (Both physically from exerting the energy to tap into those abilities, and mentally from the knowledge of how badly I screwed things up.). 

            The cartels are ramping up their pursuit of me.  I imagine the men I ran into tonight are a good indication of what my future escapades are going to be like.  They are prepared for me, well trained and resolute in their desire to see me killed.  This is no longer going to be the easy pickings of me showing up at a drug house and just roughing up some random pill pushers and street thugs.  I'm now going to be running into hired assassins - or worse, if such things exist - that are willing to die to make my threat to their livelihood disappear.  I am going to have to become remorseless in my pursuit of them.  Or, I guess, just give it up completely and move on.  They are going to require either all my attention or none of it.  If I try and face them again while I’m distracted like I was tonight, then I won't be the one walking away from the fight next time.  That won't be an option any more.

            Those men and the drugs they bring into this city were my original motivation to keep living once I figured out who I was and what was happening to me.  But does that mean that
still
needs to be true?  Is it worth pursuing if it means my death?  Or can my abilities be used better elsewhere?

            And what about Chadwick?  That man is evil.  And smarter than me.  Much smarter. 

            I was gone from his house for no more than six hours, and in that time he went from having no idea that I even existed to being able to identify not only who I was, but also my name, and he devised a way to counter my abilities and cripple me.  All that without leaving his house at any point.  Or at least without anyone knowing that he had left his house.  How am I supposed to beat someone like that when all I have are some heightened senses and a trumped up metabolism?  He nullified everything I could throw at him, and he was willing to destroy his own house in an attempt to kill me.  That's more than I can do.  He's a better opponent than I'm ready for.

            "He's a genius, but he's far from perfect."  Ren's voice startles me so much that I jerk myself into an immediate sitting position and gape at him.

            "How'd you know?"  I begin as he just smiles at me.  "I was just thinking about him."

            Ren smiles and leans back in the chair he's brought over next to my recliner (How'd he get that over here without me even noticing?  Was he quiet or am I that distracted?).  "Relax Catarina," he says easily.  "I don't have any superpowers like you.  I was just watching your face and how much you were frowning and grimacing while you laid there.  After tonight, I figured there was only one person who could get that kind of a reaction from you." 

            I shake my head slightly and stare at him.  "Still impressive, though," I say softly.

            "I'll accept the compliment, but my abilities are still far from what you can accomplish.  I’m simply a Sherlock Holmes to your Superman when it comes to crime fighting."  He watches as I shake my head back and forth after his kind words.  I don't deserve them right now.               

"Don't dismiss what you did tonight so quickly.  You got
beat
.  That's not the same as being
beaten
.  I know you're upset about Chadwick getting away and his getting the better of you, but don't just focus on the negative, Cat. 

            "You had an impressive strike against the cartels.  There were four men in that vehicle who fully believed they were prepared to handle a threat like you, and they failed.  Epically.  You removed three from the immediate battle, left one to tell the tale and managed to get their vehicle destroyed along with any weapons that may have been inside.  You did all that singlehandedly.  Plus you accomplished it without the police having the slightest clue that you were either there or that you even exist.  That's not a small feat."

            "So the fourth guy hasn't talked yet?"  I ask in a small voice looking for Ren's bright side in all of this.

            "Nope.  Not as of yet, but then again it's only been a few hours.  We'll see what happens once he has a chat with his cartel-financed lawyer.  But at least he didn't sing to the police.  As far as they're concerned it was a shootout with a rival gang.  You still don’t exist anywhere in their records."

            "Thanks, but I still should have found a way of stopping him.  I don't like leaving people behind who can identify me.  That's going to come back to haunt me, Ren.  It already spooks me that Chadwick knows exactly what I look like and who I am.  Speaking of which..."

            "I was getting to him," he continues in his deep voice.  "That's still going to take some digging as they're just now swarming the place with emergency vehicles.  It may be days before we know exactly what went down in there."

            "I
know
what went down in there, Renny," I interrupt him.  "Remember?  I was there.  He set that house up as a perfect death trap for me, and then let me light the fuse all by myself."  I think back to that picture I pulled off the wall with the fishing line attached to it.  "Literally."

            "Yes.  That was devious, and you fell right into it."  He says it gently as if he's talking to a small child, and I turn back to glare at him.  "But you also survived it, and that means he isn't as good as he thought.  He
thinks
he knows who and what you are, but he doesn't really know.  He can't know, because we don't even really know.  We can only guess."

            He pauses and looks back at his computer monitors for a moment, and I imagine he would much prefer to be over with them rather than speaking to me face to face.  We may be friends, but I believe on some level my existence still creeps him out.  And talking about who, or
what
, I am just shines a large vibrant black light on the fluorescent elephant in the room.  It’s a topic that is bound to make him uncomfortable.

            "But we can use that to our advantage," he continues without looking away from the glowing monitors.  "Right now he has to believe you're dead.  It'll be a few days before they get through the rubble and remains and discover the lack of bodies."  He stops, closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose.  "Or at least I hope there aren't any bodies.  Who knows with this man?

            "I'll use the next few days to track his whereabouts, and we'll get another go at him.  He won't be expecting it, and you'll be more prepared for whatever defenses he sets up.  We'll have the advantage this time around."

            I watch as he smiles, and I can tell he is envisioning our victory against this evil.  I like it.  But I can't do it.  Not after being in that house tonight and almost dying.  For once I will be the voice of caution instead of him.

            "No, Renny," I say softly knowing I will be disappointing him.  "I'm not going after him in a few days."

            Watching his face, I let my words sink in and wait.  I know it isn't what he wants to hear, and the confusion on his face reinforces my thoughts.

            "What?  What do you mean, Cat?"  He asks and finally turns to stare me in the eyes.  "You want to wait longer and give him time to be prepared?  If this attack was rough, then the next one will be even worse.  We don't want to wait until he's figured out you're alive and built up his defenses even more.  The sooner the better.  Trust me."

            "No, Renny, you don't understand."  I sigh and look down not wanting to meet his gaze while I say the next words.  I don't need him to compound the shame I'm already feeling.  "I'm not going after Chadwick...ever.  I'm done with him.  He's better than me.  Just knowing I'm out there will hopefully be enough to keep him from doing what he did before.  He couldn't kill me, and that will have to be what haunts him.  But it won't be me hunting him down."

            I look up just enough to see him staring at me and frowning, but he doesn't say anything.  He just takes me in with his large, brown eyes.  "I know I've always been the reckless one in the past, but being in that house tonight changed things.  I realized as I was running from that fire that I don't want to die anymore.  Do you understand that?  For the first time since all this began, I'm not actively looking for death.  And when that house spit me out against a brick wall, I knew that pursuing Chadwick meant Death.  Capital "D" death.  I won't survive another confrontation with that man, Renny.  Even if I live through it, he will find a way to kill a part of me.  His is a level of evil I'm just not ready to face.  I can't do it."

            Finally, I lift my head up the rest of the way and stare at him.  I'm not quite defiant, but I want him to see the strength in my words.  I'm ashamed of not going after Chadwick while knowing what kind of person he is, but I don't think it makes me weak.  It makes me smart.  I know my own boundaries, and he is well outside of them.  "Please don't make me go after him, Pater," I say, and he flinches at my use of his real name.  I need him to understand how serious I am about this.  "I will if you ask me to.  If you
tell
me it's the right thing to do.  If you say it is what is required to make the world a better place.  But I'm asking you to not say those words.  For me."

            I continue to stare at him until he finally breaks a smile and shakes his head.  "Ok, Catarina.  I agree with you.  But it does scare me that it took a near-death experience to put some caution and maturity into you.  I'll accept the new you and your wishes."

            We just smile at each other for a few seconds and let the moment pass, before he says, "So we don't pursue Chadwick for the greater good of the world.  Then what
are
we going to do next?"

            "Well, I've been thinking about that," I say straightening myself up in my chair.  "I haven't wanted to practice or hone my skills in my free time as I've been kinda, subconsciously I think, hoping for a Glorious Death in battle.  But I don't want to die anymore.  And the best way keep that from happening is for me to get better at what I do.  If the cartel is going to send assassins and professional hitters at me, then I need to be better than them.  And I need to be better than all of them combined since I don’t know how many of them I might be facing at once."