Perfection Page 4

  She tottered to the stream and dropped to her knees. She scooped up the cool liquid and splashed it on her face, washing away the dried sweat and dirt. It felt cool and refreshing on her bruised skin.

  Temptation to pull the cool liquid between her lips overwhelmed her. The untreated water stopped her. She splashed more on her face, then rose on her aching feet.

  Sloshing through the water, Ellyssa took to the middle of the stream, her legs feeling like weights were tied to her ankles. The more distance the better, played through her thoughts, keeping her going. Sleep would be a sweet blessing better enjoyed at a later time.

  5

  Though the hour was late and he was tired, Dr. Hirch looked up with a forced smile on his face when Detective Petersen strolled through his office door. By her expression, he doubted the news was good. He kept up the formalities, anyway.

  “Ah, Detective Petersen. How is the search going?”

  Before answering, Angela took a seat in the guest chair on the opposite side of his mahogany desk. Her eyes and cheeks sagged with weariness and, with the dark jacket she wore, the contrast made her look gaunt. She laid Ellyssa’s file on his desk. “I made some copies.”

  “Of what, precisely?”

  “Only things relevant to finding her. Her likes and dislikes. What she excelled in, which is everything.”

  Pleased, he smiled genuinely. “Of course. We only provide the best training.”

  “There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she said, meeting his eyes. “Are the other subjects like Ellyssa? Do they have special…abilities?”

  “That, Detective Petersen, is none of your concern.”

  “For security purposes, I think it is my concern,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “If I’d known before she’d escaped instead of afterwards…”

  Dr. Hirch leaned forward in his chair. “It is none of your concern. Now,” he said, dismissing the subject, “what news do you have?”

  Angela opened her mouth as if to argue, then apparently thought better of it. “She escaped from the train,” she answered, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “How?”

  “We aren’t one hundred percent sure.”

  Dr. Hirch leaned back in his chair, rocking slightly as he stared at the ceiling. “First time out of The Center. Able to adapt quickly, blend… very astute,” he mused, with a smile.

  The detective’s face puckered into a scowl. “This isn’t a research project. She wasn’t anywhere on the train. When the police interviewed the passengers, one said he thought he saw someone jump, but he wasn’t sure.”

  George’s eyebrows rose, wrinkling his forehead. “Do you think she jumped?”

  “You know her better than I do.”

  Folding his hands together, he thought for a moment then nodded. “Yes, if she felt threatened and jumping was the only option, she would take that course of action.”

  “Do you think she feels threatened?”

  “For unknown reasons, she left. She knew to do so was prohibited. I sent you after her. Yes, it stands to reason that she feels threatened.”

  “Then she could be dangerous.”

  Trying to remain calm, Dr. Hirch met the detective’s gaze. “All the children could be dangerous,” he said. “Your job is to bring her back safely. Do you understand, Detective?”

  “Perfectly,” Angela said, through tight lips. She rose to her feet. “One more thing.”

  “Yes.”

  “What about emotions?”

  “She has been trained not to feel useless reactions that could jeopardize themselves.”

  “But she can still feel them?”

  Narrowing his eyes, George leaned forward in his chair. “Yes, I suppose feeling is possible. Regardless of how she was conceived, she is human. But I, myself, structured her program. And Ellyssa’s ability to fool me for eighteen years would be unlikely.” He leaned back. “Why all the questions, Detective?”

  “Have you ever thought that maybe something went wrong?”

  “Never. Not since she was young has Ellyssa shown any inappropriate emotions. She is quite efficient. Why do you ask?”

  “Because, when she stepped in front of me on her way to the train, she seemed nervous.”

  The doctor’s eyebrows stitched together. “Nervous? What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. She was fidgety, and she over-explained her situation, like she couldn’t stop talking.”

  “Interesting,” he said, tapping his finger to his chin. After a moment, his eyes shifted back to Angela. “She needs to be brought home.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Angela, her tone abrupt. “I think we should take the dogs.”

  “Dogs?” The idea of his creation being treated like a common Renegade, instead of the secret to a better humankind, sickened him.

  “According to the train personnel, all exits were covered. If she was on the train, she jumped, and if that is the case and if she didn’t sustain serious injury, she’s on the run. The dogs will pick up her scent.”

  “And what if the whole thing was a ruse?”

  “I have my best men searching for any sign for her in Chicago.”

  Dr. Hirch rubbed his forehead. The whole thing was getting out of control. It was bad enough he had had the detective involve more of The Center’s secret police, but also the local authorities in Warrensburg. Secrecy was of top priority and becoming impossible to maintain.

  “Fine. Take the dogs.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “You have to understand the dilemma we are in. Ellyssa must be found, but by divulging as little information as possible.”

  “I understand.”

  He paused for a moment while he removed a ticket and the proper traveling papers from his desk drawer. He slid the credentials over to her. “Unfortunately, due to our circumstances, you will have to travel by train. It will leave in two hours.”

  She leveled her eyes on the doctor. “I will find her.”

  “Very good,” Doctor Hirch said, dismissing her.

  With a curt nod, Detective Petersen departed. As soon as the door closed, George reached into his bottom left-hand drawer and pulled out another file on his missing beloved creation. The file contained his lifelong work, each of the children’s powers well documented and studied. When Ellyssa returned home, Hitler’s future goals—his future goals—would soon come together.

  Detective Petersen stalked through the long corridor of the sterile center on her way to her apartment. From her coat pocket, she removed a copy of Ellyssa’s picture and unfolded it. The creases were beginning to warp part of Ellyssa’s face, but the photo only served the purpose of keeping her quarry next to her, not for a reminder of her appearances.

  The platinum hair, the bright azure eyes, and smooth, pale skin were embedded in Angela’s mind. She served as a constant reminder that the detective had failed.

  But Angela wouldn’t fail again. Ellyssa would pay for the embarrassment and disgrace she had caused.

  When she was a child and had been brought to The Center for training, she’d competed with the children born there, both types—the ones like Leland and the ones considered pure, whom no one ever saw. The visions of perfection were sectioned off in a secure part of the building, where only a few were allowed to go.

  Angela had worked hard, studied hard, and excelled in physical fitness. She was just as intelligent, cunning, and beautiful—determined by the unwanted attention she received from male suitors. But even with working her ass off, her excellent record, and obtaining the position of Chief of the Kripo Unit, she still fell short. At least according to Dr. Hirch and The Center’s prerequisites. But the detective knew without a doubt, if given the same type of training the pictures of perfection had, she would’ve excelled beyond them. Even with their special abilities.

  Angela released the tension in her hands, where the edges of the photo crinkled under her grip. Fighting an urge to rip it apart and stomp on it, she placed it against h
er stomach and smoothed out the wrinkles.

  After glancing at the photo one more time, Angela slipped it back into her pocket. She rounded the corner and stopped at the first door, extracting her card to swipe through the lock.

  Because of her position as head of the Kripo unit held, her set of rooms was larger than those of her subordinates. The apartment opened to a decent-sized living room, decorated in soft earth tones, and a black and white walk-in kitchen. Immediately to the right of the kitchen, a small hall led to the bathroom and ended at the bedroom.

  Angela went straight to the bathroom, shrugging off her jacket and clothes along the way, and turned on the shower. Steam rose in the air and coated the mirror with a sheen of condensation. She stepped into the hot water and quickly washed away her grogginess. There would be time for a nap on the train.

  Her head wrapped in a towel, the detective hurried to her bedroom, where she changed into off-duty flared-leg jeans and a gold blouse. Then, she went to her closet where a military-green duffle bag hid on the top shelf behind blankets and other knickknacks. She yanked it out. The bag fell like it held bricks, and thumped against her thigh on its way down. She shuffled over to her bed and dumped the contents onto the cover.

  A metallic clatter came from the growing pile, and the scent of old gunpowder and cleaning oil filled the air. Her green bedspread was covered in pistols and rifles. Unlike the authorized .40 S&W, the only weapon allowed when hunting Renegades, these firearms had been illegally obtained from the Renegades she’d captured over the years. None of them could be traced back to her.

  Angela picked up an SG 550 assault rifle, liking the weight of it in her hands, and brought it firmly against her shoulder. She’d had the opportunity to sight it only twice, but the feeling of her finger on the trigger, the forced impact against her shoulder, and the odor of the powder as it filled her nostrils were all ingrained in her memory. Unfortunately, the rifle wouldn’t accompany her on the trip.

  She set it down and picked up the Taurus PT145. Perfect. A smaller handgun, designed for concealed carry. She removed the double-stacked magazine and loaded ten rounds of .45 cartridges. Sliding the magazine back into place and chambering a round, she held the gun. Her fingers felt at home around the contours of the polymer grip.

  Placing the gun on the bedside table, Angela grabbed three more magazines and stuffed ten .45 rounds into each one. She couldn’t imagine needing more. Then again, after what had happened at the park, who knew? She had no way of knowing whether Dr. Hirch kept other secrets, and she wasn’t going to be unprepared again. The embarrassing episode of waking behind the bush back at the park had been enough. Even now, the humiliation burned through her with a vengeance of its own when she thought about it.

  If she could only get the perfect bitch alone…

  Renegades would be blamed, and Angela would have her revenge and walk away unscathed.

  She set the box with the remaining cartridges off to the side along with the ankle holster and magazine pouches and grabbed another box just for good measure. She replaced the rest of the firearms in the bag and hauled her illegal possessions back to the closet to store away from prying eyes.

  With the holster tied to her ankle, the gun nestled inside, the leather hugging the metal contours, she stood and looked in the full-length mirror attached to the closet door. Her damp hair, like spun silvery thread, draped over her shoulders. And her eyes, although tired and tinged with red, remained alert. Her body was toned and lean. She was just as deadly as The Center’s children, and even more so with the stainless-steel weapon hidden by the flare of her jeans.

  Pleased, Angela attached the ammo pouches to the inside of her waistband. In each pouch, she placed a magazine. They felt hard against her back, but not uncomfortable. She hid the extra rounds with a lightweight blue jacket that fell loosely around her waist.

  Angela checked her watch. An hour left. She grabbed another suitcase and shoved in three pairs of off-duty pants and shirts, a set of camos, and other necessities. She wrapped both ammunition boxes in a pair of pajamas, placed them within her essentials, and zipped the suitcase closed.

  After one last glance around the room to make sure everything was in order, Angela shut off the lights.

  6

  Ellyssa woke with her cheek against the cool moss-covered ground. Fine grass tickled her skin, and the sun warmed her hair. Soft gurgles of water rushed over rocks and intermingled with the hum of insects. For a brief second, she felt peaceful, before a dull throbbing echoed from her legs, up her spinal cord, and ended at her temple, informing her that she was not well.

  She swallowed. Her throat felt swollen and scratchy, like she’d eaten a wad of sandpaper. Her tongue darted between her dry, cracked lips and pulled back the metallic taste of blood.

  Tauntingly, just a meter away, the water bottle lay next to her bag. With the way she felt, it might as well have been a kilometer.

  She wanted to close her eyes again, to let sleep take her away, but she couldn’t. She had to keep moving.

  Slowly, she pulled her hands under her chest and pushed. Her body screamed in protest. Her sore muscles felt tight, like her tendons were tied into knots. Especially her leg, which was heavy and unresponsive. Gritting her teeth, she stood and stumbled forward before crumpling next to the bottle. The three or four swallows left in the bottle sloshed tantalizingly and reflected the morning sun like glittering diamonds.

  Ellyssa flicked her gaze toward the stream. Cool, thirst-quenching water ran over river rocks, shimmering with browns and greys. So was the possibility of bacteria. She turned away from the rushing stream and unscrewed the cap, then took one last small, unsatisfying sip.

  Standing with care, Ellyssa slowly distributed her weight. Sharp teeth of pain clamped onto her wound. She yelped as her right leg buckled, sending her back to the ground. The already tender leg banged against jagged rocks and more skin scraped off. A slow burn mingled with the rest of the aches and pains.

  Thoughts of the beatings she’d endured while training were diminished to trivial nuisances. Nothing compared to the way she felt now.

  Eyes watering, Ellyssa held her leg, refusing to let the agony get the best of her. She is superior. Weakness is intolerable. Absolute control over all situations. Her father’s words repeated in her head, over and over, until she managed to push the pain aside and gain control.

  Calmly, she regarded her right thigh. An angry redness spread from under the makeshift bandage. She gingerly poked it with her finger. An unhealthy yellow depression bloomed before the red reestablished its presence. After untying the bandage, she carefully pulled it away. Stringy pus, tinged green with red dots, stretched from the fabric to the wound.

  Disgusting.

  Ellyssa glanced at what little liquid was left in the bottle, her only source of clean water, and then the stream. Given little choice, she rose and limped to the babbling water, grabbing her bag along the way.

  After retrieving the scissors and the antiseptic cream, she took off the coveralls. Blood stiffened the material of her tan skirt. She took it off, too. She cut off the remaining leg of her coveralls, then cut the clean part of the skirt into strips.

  Using part of the skirt, Ellyssa scrubbed the wound while biting the inside of her cheek to hold back the screams. The pain was beyond belief, clouding her vision and rolling waves of nausea through her stomach. When she was done, she let the blood flow to clean the wound before re-bandaging her leg and shrugging back into the coveralls.

  She gathered her items and stepped into the stream. Water lapped at her calves. She cautiously measured every step to ensure she wouldn’t fall. She couldn’t afford any more injuries. Her pace was already considerably slower than yesterday.

  Ellyssa hoped the police were going upstream and the dogs, as they had undoubtedly been brought in by now, hadn’t found her scent. Wishing she could walk on the bank, but knowing such carelessness would prove to be a fatal mistake, she picked up speed, pushing her already ove
rly-taxed body. She kept her eyes downcast as she navigated the rocks. Her arms swinging in stiff arcs, she pressed on, forcing her legs to move faster. She’d regret it tomorrow, she knew, but nevertheless, she didn’t slow.

  Under the heat of the afternoon sun, perspiration gathered on Ellyssa’s forehead and dripped down her face, stinging the sores on her lips. She took another sip of her dwindling water supply. Soon she’d be forced to drink the water she was sloshing through. She shoved the thought out of her mind to worry about later.

  Right now another pressing sensation gnawed in the pit of her stomach, protesting the emptiness. Hunger echoed in the hollow depths of her gut. With the expenditure of her energy, water couldn’t be her only source of sustenance. She’d have to find food. The forest in late summer provided all the nourishment she’d need in the forms of fruits and roots. If worst came to worst, the little minnows struggling to hold their positions against the current could be a delicacy.

  She left the safety of the water and moved into the grass bordering the rocky edges. As predicted, just a few meters away from the stream, blackberry vines burst with ripened fruit. She hobbled over to them, her mouth watering and stomach rumbling in anticipation.

  Ellyssa placed the dark purple fruit on her tongue and squeezed it against the roof of her mouth. The sweet juice soothed her burning throat. Sitting down, she picked another, and another, following the same procedure, until her stomach began to swell.

  Making camp next to the food supply would be ideal, at least until she could decide on her next course of action, but that was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She started to take turns with the berries, one in her mouth and one in an empty water bottle, filling the container with the fruit.

  Squeezing her eyes tight, she pulled her feet under her and stood. Her body uttered a scream of defiance that, thankfully, calmed to a mumbled complaint. She wallowed back to the stream, submerged her feet in the icy water, and continued downstream.