The Center: Best Served Cold Part-1

The Center: Best Served Cold -
Part One


Becca has been having nightmares, all of them involving a certain Mr. Green and how he ruined her life. Now Green's whereabouts might be known and Becca will do whatever it takes to make sure that he doesn't get away from her this time, no matter what the cost.


Author's Note: Here's Chapter one in a brand new Becca story. Just in case you ask, no the title has nothing to do with freezing or cryokinetics. It's a part of a quote that I really like pertaining to revenge. I think given the nature of this story that the title is very fitting. I'd like to thank djkauf for the editing and Erin for helping me with my little problem earlier.


Chapter One:

The sun was warm against my face and it felt so good. I couldn’t remember the last time I could just sit in a lawn chair and soak up the glorious rays. It felt like Heaven and me, I was walking on the clouds. Not that every other day didn’t feel like Heaven too, but there was just something about this one that made everything feel so right. I was happy, happy for the first time in a really long time. It felt good to be happy, really good. In fact, I was so happy I couldn’t remember why I was so sad before. I’m sure there was a reason but right now, it didn’t really matter. Right now, all I cared about was laying here and getting as much sun as possible before I had to go inside.

I opened my eyes and looked up. The sky was bright blue and the clouds were so fluffy. They were starting to take shapes as they slowly passed by too. One looked like a bunny rabbit and another that looked like a duck. There was even one that looked a little bit like a pistol. How strange is that? Do clouds usually look like guns? I mean, I suppose so, seeing as they sort of take on the imagination of the person viewing them. But the strangest thing is why I would think that one would look like a gun. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d even seen a gun. I suppose there were some on those cop shows but I didn’t watch them. Too much violence, I abhorred violence. It was silly to like those kinds of things, wasn’t it?

I continued to stare at the clouds, trying to force my mind to make other shapes out of them. But no matter how much I tried, all of them started to look like weapons. A couple of them took on the forms of throwing stars and one of them actually looked kind of like a dart. How strange is that? I tried to get the images out of my head but they kept popping back up. It was starting to frustrate me a little. Why was I thinking of those horrible things?

I was fed up, my mood ruined. I sat up, huffing. What a way to ruin a beautiful summer afternoon. I sighed as I looked around the yard. It was only me and my mother. We bought this house a few months ago because it was everything we were looking for. I smiled as I looked about the yard. It had a white picket fence, a large oak tree with a tire swing and a flowerbed with the brightest yellow daisies imaginable. The daisies matched the color of our bright yellow house with its white shingles and trim. It was our dream home, a place in the country away from the hardships of life. At least that’s what my mother said. Me, I’m not sure that the two of us have hardships.

There might have been something---everyone has something that bothers them---but as far as I knew, the two of us were happy.

I stretched and groaned when I looked at my skin. I was so pale. I thought maybe sunbathing for a couple of hours might bring some color to my skin. But no such luck, I was still as white as a sheet. It kind of sucked... my mother had normal colored skin and mine was whiter than white. If that was even possible. I huffed some more, tugging on my bikini bottom to relieve myself of the wedgie. I hated that, it always happened when I was lying down. I looked down, staring at my modest breasts. Any other girl my age would have had tan lines by now, especially after sitting in the sun as long as I have. I lifted one of my cups, peering around it. But there was no such luck; the skin there was as light as it’s always been. Why am I cursed with such horrid vampire like skin? The kids at school mock me mercifully about it, calling me all sorts of names. I was Goth, there was no denying it---especially with the purple streak in my hair--- but that still didn’t mean they had to point it out to me.

I climbed up off the chair, grabbing my magazine. I looked at the cover; it was some fantasy mag that I had begged my mother for. She finally gave in. It was kind of cool because it was one part fantasy news and things and another part short stories. On the cover was a brunette girl with a clenched fist, sparks dancing all around her. It was kind of cool; I think it was for a new science fiction/superhero movie coming out. It wasn’t really my kind of thing but it looked kind of cool, so maybe I’d give it a look when it came to the local theater.

I started toward the house, leaving my chair, I’d get it later. I got about half to the house when I heard the mail truck pull up to the box. I turned around and sighed. If I didn’t get the mail now, then I’d just have to get it later. So I turned around and walked slowly over. The mailman smiled at me from inside his little truck and then drove down the road, toward the next house. Our closest neighbor was about a mile or so down the road. So when I said we were in the country, I really meant it. Our neighbors were the Griffins, they were farmers. Their daughter, Stella, was my only friend. She was just as invisible at school as I was.

I got the mail, flipping through the bills, trying to find anything interesting. But there was nothing, so I tucked it under my arm with my magazine and trudged back toward the house. We had one of those yards that was long and narrow. The house was on a little hill so in the spring, the rain pooled in our lawn and in the winter, the snow drifted around it. Well, I’m not sure about that but that’s what the realtor told us. I was kind of looking forward to the winter; we didn’t get much snow in the city. But out here, we were bound to get loads.

“Becca, honey” shouted my mother from the front door. “Is that the mail?”

“Yeah Mom.”

I started toward the house, smiling when I saw her. She wasn’t really my mother. She adopted me a couple of years ago. Not too many people adopt teenagers but she was confident that we’d be a good fit. I supposedly reminded her of her sister. Trish---I mean Mom---was a doctor. We lived in the city for a while but it wasn’t the right fit for us, too many bad memories. Me, I was running from a life on the street and she was running from an abusive relationship. The two of us were orphans in our own right and we kind of found each other. Ok, so I tried to pick pocket a cop and got arrested. But Trish was there to mend me after I got into a fight at Juvie. We kind of hit it off and against a lot of odds; she managed to get me community service and took me in as a foster child. That was a year ago and now we were family.

I walked up, handing her the mail. She took it and wrapped me in a big hug. Tears rolled down my cheeks, I’m not sure why. It felt like I’d hadn’t seen her in like a month but that was crazy. I just saw her about an hour ago. I wrapped my arms around her and held her close, sobbing into her chest. This was right; this was how it should have been. I pulled away; she wiped my tears and kissed my forehead.

“It’s so good to see you, Trish.”

She smiled. Why did I just say that?

“You’re kind of silly today; I think you’ve had too much sun.”

I smiled and nodded. “I think you might be right.”

“C’mon, let’s go inside and I’ll get you some lunch.”

I nodded, following into the house. It was a good sized house, an old farmhouse. It was just big enough for the two of us and possibly a dog. She promised me a dog but right now neither one of us had time to look after him. I still had school---about a week left before summer break---and she was busy with work. But she promised that as soon as summer started, we’d go to the pound and see what we could find. I’ve never had a dog. There was this stray that hung around one of the old foster homes I was at but it was afraid of people.

We went into the kitchen; Mom got herself busy cooking grilled cheese. I don’t really have a preference about lunch; I’ll eat just about anything that is put in front of me. I guess that’s from the years of not really having a choice what to eat. It’s kind of hard living day to day, not knowing when your next meal is going to be. When the cop arrested me, I’d been living on the street for a couple of months. There was this old house that some of us kids were bunkering down in. It was kind of cool. I took off from my last foster family; my foster father had wandering hands if you know what I mean.

“All done.” She placed my sandwich in front of me just as the doorbell rang. “You eat, I’ll get that.”

I tore into the sandwich as she walked out of the kitchen and down the little hall to the front door. Mom made the best grilled cheese sandwiches in the world. I guess it was because she used mozzarella instead of American cheese. I’ve never been a fan of American cheese so I’m a big fan of her sandwiches. I’m a fan of just about everything she cooks, I guess. There’s just something about her food that makes everything feel so much better. Kind of like I’m in a dream. A dream? Something about that gave me pause. I was bringing the sandwich up to my mouth for another bit when I heard raised voices in the main foyer.

“Quentin, I told you we were through.”

I dropped the sandwich. Son of a bitch. Quentin was her ex-boyfriend, the one that we ran away from. Well, the one she was running from, I’d never actually met the guy before. But boy did I ever. I jumped out of the chair, abandoning my sandwich as I ran over to the counter, grabbing a steak knife. If this bastard was after her then I’d make him regret it. I spun the knife in my hand, making sure the blade was protected by my forearm. Where I learned that I don’t know. It didn’t matter though. I rushed out of the kitchen and down the hall. I took it slow, not wanting to barge in there and do something stupid.

“You’re mine Trish,” said an angry and slurred voice. “If I can’t have you, no one can.”

I ran for the foyer. “LEAVE HER ALONE YOU BASTARD!”

I ran in front of Mom, putting myself between the two of them. I think I shocked him because he stumbled back, surprised. He was a little taller than me but he was a skinny thing. Even though I’d never met him before there was something about his slicked back hair and smug face that looked so familiar. I just couldn’t place it.

He sneered at me. “You picking up strays now, Trish.”

“Leave her out of this,” said Mom, putting her hand on my shoulder.

Quentin laughed. “So you do care for something other than yourself.”

He swung his hand toward her. But I got in the way, taking the blow. Then I snapped up with the knife, cutting him with precision across his arm. He screamed and stumbled back. It was all I needed. I grabbed Mom’s hand and dragged her toward the stairs. She didn’t protest. Quentin screamed at the bottom of the stairs and charged up after us. I pushed Mom ahead of us and stood my ground two steps from the top. He came barreling toward me and when he got close, enough I kicked him in the face. He stumbled back, falling and sliding back down to the first floor. I took that time to run.

I found Mom fumbling with my bedroom door. I think she was scared. I ran over, opened the door and the two of us ran inside. We slammed the door and locked it. Mom leaned against it, panting.

“Move out of the way so I can push this desk in front of it” I said but she didn’t budge.

She just looked at me, tears in my eyes. “I’m so proud of you, Becca.”

I smiled. “You have to move.”

“I can’t,” she said, sighing. “This isn’t real. I’m already dead; you and I both know that.”

Suddenly her whole look changed. Gone was the matronly woman in her yellow dress and cute hair bun. In her place was a much younger woman with wire frame glasses and a white lab coat. I stopped pushing the desk as everything came back to me. It was Trish, my Trish. Agony took over. I fell to my knees, crying. She was here, she was with me and she was alive. The room suddenly dissolved around us, the house and the picket fence and the crisp country air melted away and became dark and gray. I closed my eyes and when I reopened them the two of us were standing in that garage, on that fateful day that I would never forgot.

There was no one else there but me and her. She was bathed in a bright white light, smiling. I jumped from my knees and ran into her arms, bearing my head in her chest as I cried. She held me, hushing me, speaking soothing words.

“I can’t do this,” I said through my tars as I looked up at her face. “I’ve tried but I can’t do it without you.”

She wiped away my tears. “Yes, you can. You’re strong Becca; you’re the strongest person I know.”

I shook my head. “I’m weak. Green got away and we can’t find him. It’s been over a month, Trish, and the bastard is gone.”

She hushed me. “You have to let it go.”

I shook my head, angry. “I’m never going to let it go.”

She sighed. She opened her mouth and said something but it was too soft for me to hear. I strained as hard as I could to hear but no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t. Not even my super ears could hear it. Then she let go of me, backing away. Her fingers slowly slipped away from mine. I reached out for her but no matter how hard I tried; she was still just out of reach. I ran for her but she kept getting further and further away. I ran as hard as I could and the room got darker. Trish started to fade away and I screamed her name.

Then he was there. He popped up out of the darkness, larger than life, his head filling my entire void. It was Green, Quentin Dekker, the man who ruined everything. The man who killed my Trish and the man who was going to die by my hand.

He smirked, reached for me and I screamed.


I snapped awake, screaming.

My heart was hammering in my chest, my breath coming out in seizing gasps. I was drenched in sweat, my hair plastered to my face. A dream, it was a dream. I looked around the room, confused for a moment about where I was. But then everything came back to me. I was in my room, at the Center. I looked at the walls, painted their pale purple, and at the posters strewn about. Most of them belonged to Stella. I looked at my desk with the laptop and Stella’s desk with the mirror. I sighed. I was home and I was safe. Then why did I feel so bad. I felt a tear trickle down my face but I didn’t bother to wipe it away. Instead I groaned some more, running my fingers through my damp hair.

“You ok?” asked a soft voice.

I looked over at Stella. She was sitting up in bed, staring at me with concern on her face. All I could do was nod; I didn’t trust my voice. But nodding didn’t seem to be enough to stop her. She threw off her covers and slowly walked over, sitting on the bed next to me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and I gently put my head on her shoulder. We sat there like that for a while. We were definitely becoming fast friends. Her pheromones swirled around her head, enticing me but now I could block out their effects. For the most part anyway. I still had some problems but we were dealing with them.

She finally let me go, wiping the tear from my cheek. “You sure you’re ok?”

I nodded. “I’m good.”

“It was another nightmare wasn’t it?”

I sighed. I didn’t need to say anything. I’d been having them for the last few days, ever since getting back from our last mission together. Going into that facility, the one so like the Syndicate, must have dredged up some bad memories. The nightmares came that night when we brought Emma and Brad in. At first, they were just small things, me floating in the dark with Green floating across from me. Then they got more intense, building in size until tonight. Tonight felt so real. It was the world that I should have been living in, the one that Trish and I wanted to make. Not that I didn’t like this place but it wasn’t my home, not really.

My home was with Trish and nothing any of these people could do would ever even come close to that.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not right now.”

I was done talking about them. After my first one, two weeks ago, The Colonel ordered me to visit Dr. Tipps. I was not too happy about it but I went. We spent the whole time in muted silence, neither of us speaking. She tried to get me to open up but I wasn’t really in the mood to play Dr. Phil with her. So she reluctantly let me go. The next dream came a few days later and she tried once again to get me to open up. But I didn’t want to open up or share my feelings. I knew exactly how I felt and there was nothing some shrink could say to change that. Our last session was a couple of days ago, after my last dream and like all the others it didn’t end well. She tried unsuccessfully to get me to talk and I stormed out of the room in a huff.

There was a knock on the door. Stella smiled at me and got up to answer. But I had a pretty good idea who it was. So when she opened the door and I saw who was standing in the doorway, I sighed. Mattie was wearing a cute pink nightgown, her hair in pigtails. She didn’t even wait to be invited. She ran into the room and threw her arms around me, wrapping me in the tightest hug imaginable. I looked beyond her to Clara, who looked a little green. I felt bad for her because of what Im sure she suffered through. Her power had to be the worst, and I wouldn’t have wished it on anyone. She leaned against the door, smiling at me weakly.

Mattie pulled away. “Don’t you dare tell me you’re Ok or else I’ll smack you.”

I smiled. “Ok I won’t.”

She sighed. “You’re impossible. Why don’t you just tell Dr. Tipps what’s going on. She can help, I’m sure of it.”

I shrugged off the gentle hand on my shoulder. “I don’t need some shrink to tell me what I already know, Mats.”

She sighed and nodded. Then she cocked her head toward the door. “Doesn’t matter what you want. Your scream was pretty loud; it woke most of the girls on the floor up.”

I sighed. Damn it. Now everyone was going to be here, making sure the world wasn’t crumbling around them. That’s all I needed. Sooner or later, I’m sure one of them would be Kris and then Tipps herself. That’s all I needed. I groaned, looking at the three faces already staring at me. Out of all of them, Clara was the only one who knew how I felt. She was standing there in her black pajama, holding her temples, wincing from pain. My pain in fact. I wanted to walk over and give her a hug. I smiled sheepishly at her and mouthed “sorry”. She nodded and smiled weakly back at me.

“What’s going on?” asked another voice.

I looked and saw a bleary-eyed Emma come up behind Clara. She looked like she’d just rolled out of bed, half awake. Her hair was a ratty mess and there were still bags under her eyes. She was dressed in a hockey jersey. I’m sure there was something underneath but it was too big on her to show. It was her jersey actually, one of the few possessions that she got to bring from home. She looked all right now, seemed to be settling a lot better now. She and her brother, Brad, were twins and the subject of my last mission. They’re only been here about two weeks.

“Becca had another nightmare,” said Mattie, ever the blabbermouth. I shot her a look and she winced but stuck out her tongue at me.

“I’m fine,” I said, cutting off Emma’s attempt to ask me if I was Ok.

“No you’re not,” said voice from behind the newest arrival.

Who the heck was that? I stood up, wondering who had the nerve to bug me tonight. What I saw was a short girl, with a blonde pixie cut and big dimples. She looked kind of out of place, especially in her white t-shirt and boy cut panties. She looked cute, like a little doll except for her eyes. If I didn’t know any better I would have sworn they were silver. When I looked at her and stared into those eyes, I felt real uneasy.

I found my voice. “What do you mean by that?” I snapped, clearly annoyed that this girl would dare to try to piss me off.

“You’re lying,” she said, “you’re not Ok; you’re angry, real angry.”

I clenched my fist, ready to belt the girl. I stepped forward, Emma got in my way real quick. “Don’t, she can’t help it.”

I backed down some. I was good but there was no way I was getting through Emma. She turned to the girl, making the introduction.

“This is my roommate Lola Marston; she’s a human lie detector. You can’t lie in front of her because she always knows the truth.”

Lola nodded. She looked at me. “That’s how I know you’re not really going to hit me. You talk big, but you’re a lot of hot air.”

I clenched my fists even harder. I lunged for her but she made no attempt to move. Emma held me at bay. “Keep her away from me or else I’m going to smack her one.”

I hated know-it-alls, especially ones who could read my mind. I hated them even more when they knew more than they should have.

“She can’t help that either” said Emma, letting me go. “She can only speak her mind. Whatever she’s thinking, she has to say.”

“Its really annoying” said Lola “but I’m sure you guys are used to it, what being friends with Miss Cranky over there.”

She pointed at me then slapped a hand over her mouth. I lunged again and once again, Emma held me back. Lola stopped and took a few steps back. This girl was really going to get on my nerves, real fast.

“What the hell is going on here, girls?”

I groaned. We all groaned. I knew that voice all too well. As one, all of us turned as saw Mrs. Fine walking down the hall, a bemused Kris with her. A lot of the other girls on the floor were out of their rooms now, some lingering in the halls, others peeking out of their doorways. A lot of them scattered when they saw Mrs. Fine coming. Most gave me nasty looks when they disappeared back into their rooms. Mrs. Fine didn’t look too happy either. I snapped my head back into the room and looked at the clock. No, wonder she was so pissed; it was four in the morning. I groaned and looked at the others; they all looked exhausted. I turned back to Mrs. Fine was dressed in a silk robe, her hair pulled into a clumsy bun. Even in her pajamas, the woman somehow looked extremely professional.

“Becca had another nightmare” It was Lola who spoke.

I snapped around and glared at her. She lowered her head, shying her way behind Emma for protection.

“Why don’t you girls all go off to bed and try to regain some of your sleep back” The was murmurs and nods.

I watched as one by one as my friends---Lola not being one of them---disappeared. Mattie squeezed my hand as she left and Stella patted me on the shoulder. After a minute or so, it was just Mrs. Fine, Kris and me standing in the hall. Kris looked a lot more alert than any of us. Her clothes were a bit ruffled and looked as if she’d just thrown them on. Things wouldn’t have been so out of place if not for the fact that she was wearing a guy’s t-shirt. I smiled slyly at her, I wonder what she was doing up so late. Her face flushed crimson. I think she realized I noticed the hickey on her neck too. She pulled up the collar of her shirt, trying her best to hide it. Mrs. Fine didn’t seem to notice or if she did, she didn’t make a comment. Instead, all of her attention was directed at me.

“Sergeant Howe” she said in that cold tone of hers. “You mind explaining to me the nature of all this?”

I bit my lip. “Its just like Little Miss Annoying said, I had another nightmare, ma’am.”

Mrs. Fine nodded. “You mind telling me what about?”

I could screw with Dr. Tipps but there was no way to get anything past her. “About Trish, ma’am.”

She didn’t show any emotion, the woman never did. Instead, she nodded her head. “I thought Dr. Tipps was helping you get to the bottom of these anxieties of yours.”

I wasn’t going to lie to her; she was technically my boss. “She’s trying ma’am. I’m a difficult patient.”

Mrs. Fine nodded. “That, I don’t doubt.”

Kris stepped up, going to bat for me. “Might I suggest an alternative form of therapy?”

Mrs. Fine raised an eyebrow. “Of what kind?”

Kris turned to me and smiled. “Something I think will definitely help get out all that stress of hers.”


I put two more shots into the paper target, putting both bullets right between the bastard’s eyes. There were already six there to begin with. It’s really kind of cool when you have enhanced senses, especially sight. Hell, I could be on the other side of the firing range and still be able to make the perfect shot every time. I don’t like to brag, but come on, that’s pretty cool, right? In fact I had the target as far back as it could go, practically on the back wall. When I looked at it though, it didn’t look like a speck like it might to everyone else. It’s really hard to describe but it appeared to me like it was no more than twenty feet in front of my face.

I heard a computerized voice in my head, telling me to hold my fire. I pulled back, setting my baby on the little bench before me. I smiled down at Reta; she was definitely getting a work out tonight. I was on my tenth target and each shot was made with sheer precision, between the eyes each time. To make things even better, Kris actually pasted Quentin Dekker’s---Mr. Green’s---face onto each target. So when I was shooting the targets it was as if I was actually shooting the bastard. It pained me to think that this wasn’t the first time I’d actually shot him. I squeezed off a couple of shots after he killed Trish. I pegged him at least once, right in the leg if my memory is correct. He dropped like a ton of bricks and should have been dead. There were wolves there and everything. Somehow the little weasel survived, I’m still not sure how.

Kris tapped me on my shoulder. I turned and took off my headphones, the sound in the room rushing back to me. Ok, I could hear it even with the things on but it was much clearer now.

“How’s this for a stress reliever?”

I sighed. As good as it was it wasn’t really the same. Dekker was still out there, slinking about somewhere, mocking me. There was no way he should be alive and Trish not. He was a slimy little weasel that deserved to die. One day he would, one day soon. I had a bullet with his name on it, literally. Shortly after arriving in the Center and being let out of my month long isolation, as soon as I got some free time the first place I came was here. I took a file and scratched Dekker on one of Reta’s bullets. I carried it with me wherever I went, just in case. It was in my pocket tonight, itching to be fired. I know I probably sound like a nut and frankly, I don’t care. I will kill Dekker; it’s only a matter of where and when.

“Has Dr. V woken up yet?”

Kris sighed, shaking her head.

Dr. Violet is what we were told to call her when she was at the Syndicate. Now I knew her name to be Dr. Miranda Thompson, PhD and MD. She was one of the few bastards at the Syndicate who escaped the judgment of the Deviants---I’m sure you remember those girls, right? I think I might have been responsible for her survival. I kind of broke her wrist and knocked her unconscious. I’m not sure how she managed to avoid being picked up by the FBI after they swept the facility but somehow she got away. The best I can figure is that she crawled her way back to Jason Carson. You remember him right. CEO and all around nice guy? Well on the outside maybe but on the inside, he’s a crazy, power mad megalomaniac with aspirations to be the next Bond villain. This guy is seriously fucked, big time.

Dr. V. somehow managed to get back to him. He rewarded her survival by making her his little errand girl. That’s sort of how she fell into our laps. We picked her up two weeks ago, outside the very same facility that we rescued Emma Ford from. She was a surprise find to be sure, partly because she had a lot of valued intel on her. Barry is still going through most of it, so we started on the interrogation of our most valued prisoner. Things were going pretty good until Dr. V. decided to try to kill herself. She did via hanging. Our security got there in time to cut her down but the damage was done. She slipped into a coma and has still yet to recover from it.

“She’s starting to show some upper brain activity though,” said Kris, leaning against the wall of my little cubicle. “It’s only a matter of time. If not, we have other means of communicating with her.”

I shuddered at the thought.

“When she wakes I want to know immediately.”

Kris nodded. “I think that can be arranged.”

I turned back to my shooting. I picked up Reta and put in another clip. There was a new paper target up, Dekker’s grinning face staring at me. I put the first shot in his forehead; the next two went between his eyes. Kris slipped off, allowing me to get all my frustration out. I went through a whole clip, putting every single round in his face. The buzzer sounded, I discharged my mag and waited for a new target to be put up. I did this for the next hour or so, emptying clip after clip into his face, over and over again. I fired until my fingers started to crap up. I didn’t really feel the pain but I’m sure I would later. I finally gave up, after huffing and puffing through my last go around.

Though I was still on an adrenaline high, I think I was finally spent. I discharged the last mag, signaled to the guy that I was done and took Reta with me. I walked her back to the armory, securing her in the locker with all the other handguns. No one took her because I marked her as mine; her handle had a purple streak to match the one in my hair. I bid her goodnight and slowly made my way back toward my room. In was a quiet walk, through the vacant halls in the dark. I could see everything of course but the only image that seemed to come to mind was Dekker’s face. I was even seeing it every time I closed my eyes.

When I got to my room, I stopped before going inside. Dr. Tipps had prescribed some sleep aids but I didn’t take them. I didn’t want anything to dull my mind and to keep me from dreaming. I wanted to dream, I wanted to see Trish every night I went to bed. I loved her, she was like the mother I never had and the best friend anyone could ever hope for.

I opened the door and walked into my room. Stella was sound asleep, an empty blanket rising and falling with her breathing. Some might think it strange but it’s kind of commonplace when you have roommate who turns invisible. They were still trying to help her control it, but so far, she still hasn’t figured out how to master not sleeping in the invisible. I trudged over to my bed and lay on the covers. I was too wired to sleep. I reached into my pocket and took out the bullet. I turned it in my fingers and stared at the etched writing on it: DEKKER.

One day soon, very soon.

Photo Credit: Model AJ Stewart

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