Ordinary (Anything But) (16 page)

A tall, fit gray-haired man approached them, shaking Nealon’s and Burns’ hands. The man had on gray slacks, a light yellow buttoned-down shirt, and smelle
d like old man and aftershave. He nodded at Ryder, and then turned his attention to Honor. “Miss Honor Rochester. I’m Superior August. I’ve been looking forward to our meeting.” His pale blue eyes drilled into hers, like he was trying to read her thoughts with a look.

Honor was instantly uneasy. He was a powerful man; he was also a cruel man. She could tell in the way his upper lip curled a little, in the gleam of his icy eyes. “Hello,” she said in a low voice.

His lips curved in a glimpse of a smile as he turned his attention away from her. Superior August handed a small gun to Ryder. He took it, staring down at the gleaming metal. It was odd how something so tiny could be so lethal. “Normally the UDK organization waits until a recruit is done with school and signs on full-time before assigning a firearm. I know your intentions are sound. I know your mother, I knew your father. I know you. Don’t disappoint me, son.”

Ryder met his eyes, vowing, “I won’t.”

Honor looked at him, biting her lip to keep from saying all she thought. What was he doing? What was he agreeing to? Did Ryder even know? She feared for him. In that instant, Honor feared for Ryder’s soul. He’d just promised it to another being, to an organization that had not completely justified views, something that should never be done. As if feeling the heat of her judgment in her eyes, Ryder glanced up and away, showing Honor the back of his head. Ryder had just lost a little of himself, even if he didn’t know it. A part of her grieved for that.

“I need you to come with me, Ryder. Nealon and Burns, I’ll be speaking with you shortly.” August turned to Honor. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The man was lying. Honor refused to look away until he did, though her eyes burned with the need to. Again he smiled a smile that wasn’t a smile. It was more of a sneer that was supposed to pass for a smile. Then he was gone, Ryder with him. She could breathe a little easier without his presence near.

Nealon watched her from where he leaned against a wall. “Whatever happens, Rochester, I want you to promise me something.” He pushed away from the wall and stopped beside her, so close she had to crane her neck back to meet his brown eyes.

“What?”

He leaned down until he was at eyelevel with her. Nealon stared at her for a long, long time, making her light-headed. “You do what you think is right.
Always. Make that your mantra.”

Honor frowned. What she thought was right wasn’t going to necessarily coincide with wh
at the UDKs thought was right. She told him, with all honesty, “I always do.”

His lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smile, but wouldn’t allow himself to. “I thought as much.” Nealon moved away to talk to another agent.

Honor blew out a noisy breath. She felt weird, disoriented. Not uncommon when she was around Nealon. She looked around the room, noted the electronic gadgets and gismos she had no idea the names for, the blinking red and yellow lights on them. No one looked at her; no one paid any attention to the newbie.

“Take this.”

She started, not expecting Nealon to return so quickly. Honor looked at the small black rectangular contraption he held in his large hand. “What is it?”

“Tracking device.
See that red blinking light? That’s the UD. You can bring up a map and see what state he’s in, what city he’s in, what street he’s on. There’s also a way to contact Headquarters if there are any problems. You can text too. Clip it to your pants. Don’t. Lose. It.”

Honor took it, studying it. There were four buttons on it. She had no clue what they did. “Ryder gets a gun and I get this?”

“Ryder’s a recruit, you’re still a newbie. Plus he’s committed to the UDK organization.” Nealon paused. “He also gets one of these.”

“Of course he does,”
she muttered.

“This button contacts Headquarters. The tracking device is connected to three others. You can text a message and any of the other three people with the connected devices will be able to communicate with you.
Remember though: any message you send goes to all three devices. That’s this button. The red button is if you’re hurt or in danger. Don’t hit it unless that’s true.”

“Why?”

“Take my word for it. Superior August is motioning for me.” Nealon looked at her. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t let him suck your soul out.”

“He can’t take away what I don’t have,” was his mocking reply.

Honor frowned, watching him disappear around the doorway. Nealon was wrong. Why was it so important to him that others thought he had no heart?

***

They’d split up into fours. She was leading the way, though they weren’t far behind
her. It was dark and cold out. Small animals scurried around her, making her cringe. Honor tried not to think about that too much. She crept along between buildings and through alleyways, like a criminal. Christian was in an alley one street over. Every time she thought of him Honor felt like she was going to throw up. This was wrong, what they were doing was wrong. She thought of the three gunned men behind her and the urge to lose her dinner intensified. Why had August given Ryder a gun? What did he intend for him to do with it?

Honor slowed to a stop. Her breathing was fast, too fast. She put a trembling hand to her perspiring forehead. He was
there. Somewhere. She heard a movement behind her, whirled around, and was slammed against a concrete wall. Her breath left her and she struggled to draw air into her lungs.

“What do you want?” Silver eyes glowed down at her, the hand holding her shirt not releasing it. His body was pressed to hers, making it impossible for her to try to get away.

“Christian,” she gasped out. “It’s me…Honor.” He had no smell. It was an odd time to have the thought, but have it Honor did. His breath, his hair, his skin was odorless. He was cooler than her, but not ice cold, not like death. Her father had been like that? She’d never thought about his skin as being cool; he’d just been her dad.

“I know who you are,” he spat out.

Honor stared into the shimmery depths of his eyes, seeing lucidity. Her body slumped in relief. “You have to get out of here. They’re hunting you down.”

“And what are you doing?”

Guilt erupted inside her and Honor had a hard time answering. “They said I had to talk to you, had to try to make you come willingly.”

“So why aren’t you?”

“It’s not right, what they’re doing. It’s not right to any of us. You have to get out of here, before they make you go back.”

“And if I don’t go back?”

“They’ll kill you.” She swallowed, her throat thick. “They’re right behind me. You have to get out of here, Christian.”

He hung his head, his dark hair touching her cheek. It was cold, soft. “Where will I go? T
hey’ll find me no matter what.” It was true. Honor’s eyes stung and she rapidly blinked them. There was nowhere he could go, nowhere he could hide, that they wouldn’t find him. The GPS chip made sure of that.

“Cut it out.”

Christian lifted his head and stared into her eyes. It was unnerving, looking into those strange colored orbs. “What?”

“There’s a GPS chip in the skin under your left ear. It’s the size of a pencil eraser. Cut it out.”

He studied her features. “Why should I believe you?” Christian asked slowly.

“They put it in when you were unconscious. That’s how we could find you.” A male voice alerted her that the others had found them. Honor fought to get free, fought to push at him to get him moving. “They’re coming. Get out of here!
Go
.”

“Stay right there,” Ryder said coolly, gun aimed at Christian’s back.

There was a way to kill them, but Honor didn’t know what it was. Her eyes met Ryder’s. He did. She was sure August had made sure of that. The agents were moving toward them. Burns had another gun trained on them from the left. Nealon approached from the right, gun also raised. She looked at him, remembering his words. She had to do what
she
thought was right. Always.

Honor looked at Christian and
whispered, “
Run
.”

His grip dropped from her and
she sagged against the cold structure. A shot rang out and fire immediately blazed from Honor’s side. She looked down; saw the darkening of her shirt in a lopsided circle, and slowly raised her head to meet Ryder’s eyes. They were stricken, full of self-loathing. He’d shot her. Honor couldn’t believe he’d shot her. She began to collapse and Nealon was there to catch her. A dull roar in her ears drowned all sound and she was woozy, and so tired. She stared at his face, memorizing the twisted features. She had to remember the look on his face. It was important. His face wasn’t blank for once. It was furious, livid. The thought made Honor smile, but it turned to a grimace immediately. It hurt too much. She just needed to rest for a minute. She closed her eyes and let darkness envelope her.

It started in the morning, while he was in the shower. Christian began to shiver. He turned the water as hot as it would go and still his teeth chattered. The water sluiced over him, scalding, but still not hot enough. The air around him billowed with steam. Christian had an article for the school paper to finish today if he wanted it to be in the next issue. There was no way he was getting sick. He
refused
to. Christian got out of the shower only when the water would no longer stay warm.

His brother Corbin banged on the door, yelling that he had to go the bathroom. He hurried up and dried off with a towel, his body jerking with
the force of the convulsions. The light made his eyes sensitive. At first he thought it was the light bulb wattage, but even the pale yellow walls and brighter yellow accessories of the bathroom hurt his eyes. Christian shook his head, and then wished he hadn’t. It began to throb.

“Christian! Hurry
up
,” his brother whined.

He braced his hands against the counter and stared at his image in the fogged up mirror above the sink. Christian’s face was pale, drawn.
What is wrong with me?
When Corbin hollered again it was like knives piercing his eardrums. Christian slapped his hands to his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stay upright when the wave of dizziness hit him. It quickly passed, but left him shaken.

Towel around his hips, he whipped the door open and glared at his gangly, pimply younger version of himself. Corbin opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut after looking at Christian’s face. He remained quiet as Christian walked past him towa
rd his room. That was a first.

He dressed in his messy room
, throwing on the first clothes that looked reasonably clean, and went in search of his mom and sister. It wasn’t hard to find them. The house was tiny. At least they all had their own bedrooms. He loved his brother, but he would kill Corbin if he had to share a room with him.

His mother was washing dishes in the blue-walled kitchen and his nine year old sister, Annie, ate
a bowl of cereal at the table. Tonya Turner didn’t work outside of the house; Christian was well aware how hard it was to keep the house clean, the clothes laundered, and the meals cooked. His mom had an
extremely
hard job. He would argue with anyone who hinted otherwise.

Jim Turner had his own business as the only plumber in Anderson Junction, and as such, was a busy guy. He was usually gone by seven in the morning and didn’t get home until close to seven at night. Again, Chri
stian knew how hard he worked. His dad hoped he would go into the family business after school, but Christian had other plans. He was going to go to college to be a journalist, or something similar that dealt with writing.

“Want some coffee, Chris?” his mom asked, blinking as she took in his outfit.

“No thanks.” The thought of any food or drink made his stomach cramp up.

“Why are you dressed like that?” his ever curious sister asked.
His sister had dark brown hair like Christian and blue eyes like his father. Her hair was in pigtails and she had a red sleeveless dress on. Pain stabbed Christian’s temples when he glanced at the bright color. He quickly looked away.

Christian had on jeans, a tee sh
irt, and a long-sleeved tee shirt over that, finished off with a hooded sweatshirt. Still he was freezing. “I’m cold.”

A dish slipped from his mother’s hands and landed in the soapy water, splashing her pink top and jeans with suds. She turned completely around, wiped her hands on a green towel, and walked toward Christian, apparently not noticing her top and bottoms were wet. His mom was looking at him strangely.

“You okay, Mom?”

“It’s almost seventy degrees out. How can you be cold?”

“I think I’m getting sick.”

Tonya put a hand to his forehead and snatched it back. Something swept over her features and was gone. Her gray eyes flashed and dimmed
so quickly he was sure he imagined it. “Maybe you should stay home. Get some rest.” She swallowed, putting her hands to her lips. 

“Can’t.
I have to finish my article for the paper. I’ll be fine, Mom.”

Her lips trembled and tears wet her eyes.
“Right. Okay.” She began to walk away, toward the sink.

Something was off with his mom
. “Mom, what is it? What’s wrong?”

His mother spun around and pulled him into a tight hug, her body quivering. She smelled like roses, a scent he usually liked. Today it was too heavy,
cloying. It made him nauseous. “I love you, Christian.”

Christian awkwardly patted her back.
“Me too. Can I go now? I’m going to be late for school.”

She nodded, but it took another minute or so for her to release her hold on him. “Have a good day.” She looked like she wante
d to say more, but she didn’t. His mom walked over to Annie and leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. Christian stared at her, wondering why she was being so weird. His mom was naturally affectionate, but today it was overkill.

“Right.
You too. See you after school.” He thought he heard her inhale sharply, but when he turned around with a frown on his face, she was quietly talking to his sister.

Christian noticed kids staring at him as soon as he entered school grounds. Everyone else had on short-sleeved shirts and shorts or jeans. He removed the sweatshirt and long-sleeved shirt, shoving them into his locker
, and his body immediately shivered. The hallway stunk like sweat and body odor. Bad. He slammed the locker door shut. It dented in where his hand had held it. Christian lifted a trembling hand and fisted it, quickly opening it when needles of pain went through it and up his arm. The buzzer sounded and Christian gritted his teeth at the shrill sound.

Natasha
Becwar stood near the doorway to Art class, staring at him. Christian never talked to her unless it was absolutely necessary. The girl was a spaz. She had on some gothic punk outfit he didn’t understand. “You feeling okay, Christian?” she asked when he walked by.

“Wonderful.”

“Because you look a little pale, kind of like you’re in pain. Maybe you should go home.”

The room was filling with loud students. The sounds of their voices were too much and made his head throb. “I’m…f
ine,” he said with difficulty. The smell of paint and clay roiled his stomach. He’d never felt so terrible in all his life. His whole body ached.

“You sound like it.”

He glared at her. “Don’t worry about me.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed as her head tilted to the side. She didn’t say anymore, just sauntered to her seat in the back of the classroom.

By lunchtime Christian’s whole body was visibly shaking. He was so cold he felt hot. It was like millions upon millions of ice picks were stabbing into his flesh, his brain, his eyeballs, and veins, like his blood was turning to ice inside him. He hurried to the English room, relieved to find it empty. He sat down at a desk and rested his head on it. The desk vibrated from shoes and boots walking outside the door. Christian lifted his head, frowning at the door. How was that possible? He could hear voices talking, lowered into whispers, the sound of running water, a toilet flushing. The bathrooms were on the other side of the school. Christian shot to his feet, swaying at the sudden movement, completely freaked out.

As the day progressed it got worse. His body was stiff and Christian had to struggle to move his limbs. His heartbeat was slower than usual. Christian felt sluggish and it was beginning to scare him a little. Wh
at kind of illness did he have? He noticed two people watching him throughout the day; Natasha Becwar and Ryder Delagrave. Ryder was another one Christian didn’t care too much for. The guy thought extremely highly of himself. He was rich, good-looking, and smooth. Everything he wasn’t. Ryder was in doorways and against walls, hovering, watching. The guy had barely spoken two words to Christian since he’d moved to Anderson Junction his sophomore year. What could he possibly find so interesting about Christian now?

He
took his seat in History class, glad the day was almost over. He was sweating yet he was freezing. Christian was nauseous. He hadn’t been able to eat or drink anything all day. He felt weak, disoriented. Everything hurt. On top of it all, he hadn’t had a chance to finish his article. He couldn’t concentrate enough to. He felt eyes on his back. He turned his head and his gaze collided with Honor Rochester’s. She quickly looked away, her face reddening.

Honor was pretty with her black hair and blue eyes. Her skin was pale and smooth. She was a nice girl
. He’d seen her stick up for countless kids throughout the years. Christian had never gotten that about her, her need to stand up for those who couldn’t. Why did she care? He admired her. In fact, he thought she was pretty wonderful. Not that he would ever talk to her. She was out of his league in all ways. Besides, Ryder had a thing for her. He couldn’t compete with him. One more reason Christian didn’t like him.

The pain attacked him without warning; intense, fiery agony that was like an electric shock through his whole body. Christian went still, hoping it would pass. It didn’t. It grew. Waves of it hit him, starting at his temples and rolling all the way down his body,
to his toes, and back up again. His hair was damp with sweat, his body taut. A jolt of icy anguish stabbed his chest and Christian shot from his chair, a hand to his heart. He staggered from the room, not caring about the attention he was drawing to himself. He had to get of there, fast.

Christian stiffly made his way down the empty hallway, pulling his shirt over his nose to mute the terrible smell. How had he never noticed how bad the school stunk before? His ears rang from sounds all around him and none around him at all. He lurched forward as dizzying pain debilitated him, catching himself with a hand against the cool glass doors that led outside. Even the doors were warmer than him.

He heard his name called across the hallway, far enough away that he shouldn’t have been able to hear it. It was Honor. Why was she looking for him? Christian couldn’t stop, couldn’t go back. He had to get out of the school and to home. Had his mom known something was wrong with him? Was that why she’d acted so oddly? Maybe he had some kind of hereditary disease and he’d been showing symptoms that morning, but she hadn’t wanted him to worry so she never said anything. She’d looked at him like she’d known he was about to die or something.

Warm air blasted him as he pushed the doors open, but it wasn’t warm enough. He was so weak Christian was surprised when it opened for him. He stumbled down the steps,
squinting his eyes against the too bright day. He turned toward the direction of his home and his steps faltered. In the parking lot was a silver SUV. Two men stood beside it, watching him. One was short and burly with a bald head. The other was taller, younger, not quite so mean-looking, although he didn’t exactly look friendly. They were there for him. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. They started for him.

Christian tried to move, to run, but his legs wouldn’t listen. He stood there, helpless, as they strode his way.
He swayed on his feet, fighting to keep his eyes open. He had no energy. He wanted to let his body collapse to the hard ground, to succumb to the pull of unconsciousness.

“You need to cooperate and come with us, Christian Turner,” the bald one said. He had a scar that ran vertically across his face, giving him a menacing look.

“Screw…you…” he rasped out. Christian’s mouth was dry, his throat too. He tried to swallow and couldn’t. The ground was starting to creep up on him.

“I don’t think so,” the ugly man said, reaching for him.

Christian’s brain told his arms and hands and legs to move, to do something, but they wouldn’t listen. Why were the men with guns there? What did they want with him? He tried to pull away at the same time icicles stabbed his body. Christian’s body contorted and he didn’t even care when the taller brown-haired man grabbed his other arm. He would have fallen on his face if he hadn’t. They began to drag him toward the vehicle.

He felt her behind him, watching. Honor would try to save him if she could. He couldn’t let her do that. Christian had to get away on his own, before she did something dumb, something heroic. He didn’t trust her to be smart enough to run, to
not draw attention to herself. Honor had a hero complex: she thought she was one. They angled his body toward the vehicle. It was now or never. Christian made one last attempt to get away. It was laughable. The pain became excruciating and Christian finally gave in to it, losing consciousness, welcoming the black.

***

In his hazy world of pain, there were varying kinds of agony, but they all hurt. Christian didn’t know if he was awake or asleep. He didn’t know if he was dead or alive. He almost wanted to be dead. It was endless. Christian thought he might even go crazy from it. Maybe then he wouldn’t care so much. He was so cold; he never thought he could be so cold. There were lucid times when he thought of his parents and his siblings, times when he wondered what they were thinking, if they were okay, but they didn’t last long. The pain always took them away. It was taking everything away.