December 23
6:00 a.m.
Sherry Birkin stared at her reflection in the fogged bathroom mirror. Her face didn't show the trauma that she had been through in her short life. It didn't reflect the virus antibodies flowing through her body that made it practically impossible to be affected by life-threatening injuries. She wasn't like most people. She was an anomaly; a freak used by her own father to further his precious creation. Sherry took several deep breaths and stepped away from the mirror before she was tempted to put her fist through it. Her superiors had already spoken with her about her anger problems so now she had to keep them hidden.
She dried off from her shower and started to pull clothing from her tiny closet, selecting a warm purple sweater and cream-colored slacks. She wasn't working in the field, so she selected a pair of heeled boots. The coffee machine was gurgling to life when she entered the kitchen, so she popped a slice of bread into the toaster and surveyed her apartment. It was relatively large for a Manhattan apartment, with a living room and fireplace on one side and a small study and windows overlooking 79th street on the other. The kitchen was tucked behind the living room, with her bedroom and the only bathroom on the other side of the apartment.
Sherry sloshed some coffee into a travel mug and spiked it with sugar and cream just as her toast popped up. She buttered it, poured some coffee into a mug and drank it black while she ate her toast. She had been eating the same breakfast every day since joining the Strategic Intervention Division, or SID for short. Leon had used his pull with the Presidential cabinet and recommended her for a field position there; Sherry was convinced that she was only given the position because the government could keep an eye on her, as SID was an off-shoot of Homeland Security.
There were always threats and rumors of "the next virus" bouncing around between cubicles, and Sherry was a bit of a celebrity, being a survivor of Raccoon City, and the incidents in Edonia and China. Her co-workers gazed at her with macabre fascination, always full of questions. Sherry would usually shut them up with a hard stare or a harsh word, which sent them running to the Chief's office.
Renee Malek was in charge of the SID, and she ran a tight ship. Everyone referred to her as Ice Queen behind her back, but she certainly earned the nickname. Sherry found out rather quickly that Malek had little sympathy for her employees, especially Sherry. It wasn't long before she learned that Malek's parents had died in Raccoon City, so she made it her life's goal to eradicate bio-terror weapons from the world. It was an honorable goal, but she treated Sherry as if she was the one who flipped the switch.
Sherry slid into the chair in her cubicle, avoiding the nosy glances that greeted her each morning. "Why doesn't she age?" was this morning's murmuring, so she snorted in annoyance. Her email was full of garbage, along with a stupid chain email from Carlos Oliveira. She didn't know how he had gotten her official government email, but she usually sent his mail straight to the trash anyway. Asking him to leave her alone would just hurt his feelings unnecessarily.
Malek was making her way down the row of cubicles, being nosy simply because she could. Sherry opened up a few files related to a case she was closing out, then rooted around in her filing cabinet for an invoice.
"Morning, Agent Birkin," Malek greeted pleasantly.
"Good morning, Chief. Did we wear back from the Tunisian government about this supposed arms deal?" Sherry replied, holding up a laundry list of weapons.
"Not as of yet. I'll put my feelers out. Are you sure your source is credible?"
"It's not my source, but I trust the person who referred them to me."
Malek drummed her acrylic fingernails on the back of Sherry's chair. She was blatantly skimming Sherry's inbox, searching for something of interest. Sherry pulled up a satellite photo and tilted her screen up.
"This is the supposed deal, or at least the inspection of the goods to be exchanged. The real transaction is supposed to go down tonight in Valletta, a small island in the Mediterranean Sea. I don't think I need to tell you how unstable that entire region is—"
"You're right, you don't," Malek interrupted. "I'll let you know what I find." She walked away, and the merry-go-round continued to spin. Sherry tapped away at her keyboard, calling her sources, re-checking facts, pulling satellite photos from their secured server, until it was very late.
Sherry picked her head up and looked around the office; it was a ghost town. A few lights were left on, but somehow she had been sitting in the dark and hadn't even noticed. With a stretch, Sherry groaned and closed up shop until the following morning. The janitor was vacuuming as she walked by, but she said goodnight and waved anyway. The clock on the wall near the elevator read 8:45; somehow she managed to work a thirteen hour day yet again.
The winter air was blisteringly cold when she stepped out of the office building, and she wrapped her scarf a little tighter around her neck in a feeble attempt to keep warm. She could hear Christmas carols in the distance, accompanied by jingle bells and ho-ho-hos. The holiday season only served as a weeks-long reminder that she had no one to celebrate with, and nothing to really celebrate.
Feeling the need to walk, Sherry skipped taking the train and hoofed it to her apartment. There were too many people on the streets, ogling at store displays and sucking on candy canes. Sherry didn't want to feel bitter, but the magic and special quality that had once made New York City exciting was now replaced but something else. She tried to put her finger on it, but kept coming up with disdain. The city had once represented hope for her; a new job and a new city to settle down in, where she could make friends and live a little.
Sherry smiled bitterly at the memory of the one and only time she had went out with her fellow SID employees. Everyone wanted to go drinking as it was a Friday night, and drinking was the only logical conclusion they could come to. Annette, a red-headed twit had sidled up beside her an hour in and sloshed her drink all over the bar.
"So you're the real deal, huh?" she whispered drunkenly, eyeing Sherry up and down. "The daughter of the doctors Birkin who killed all those people?" Not knowing what to say, Sherry said nothing. A man she only knew as Tino came up on her other side, eager to listen in.
"The indestructible Sherry Birkin," he breathed hot whisky breath on her face, his gaze settling where it shouldn't.
"I think I'm going to head out," Sherry said, twisting out of her bar stool. She made a beeline for the door, ignoring their japes and jeering. She hadn't noticed that Tino followed her out until he cornered her in front of a shut-down bodega.
"What do you want?" Sherry had asked him, swallowing down a whimper as he pressed his body into hers against the dirty glass windows. He reached for her hips, and she twisted but couldn't get passed him. His fingers rubbed her sides before he grasped at her breasts, breathing hotly against her neck. Fueled by rage, Sherry kneed him in the nuts and punched his jaw as hard as she could before charging down the street.
He had made a big show of apologizing the following Monday, and he was assigned an overseas detail once Malek had heard what he had done. That was when she was still on Sherry's side.
Sherry wiped her eyes, surprised that she was crying at the memory. She hadn't cried that night, nor when she reported it to Malek and eventually to Leon. She didn't feel like she was victimized, but knew that it could have very easily turned out that way. Unfortunately, turning on Tino was like turning on everyone; every SID agent knew that she had ratted him out. Someone even went so far as to put a fake rat in her desk drawer.
It was that action that pushed her to stand up on her desk and make a complete fool of herself. She used a few unsavory words and threw the plastic rat clear across the office and dared anyone to fuck with her again, which prompted Malek to call her in for the first of several counseling sessions. Sherry tried to explain herself, but Malek wouldn't hear it. She threw around words like teamwork, cooperation, and teasing to make Sherry's abuse seem less than it was. Sherry had said her yes ma'ams and promised she would be a team player. That entailed putting on a happy face and ignoring the whispers, which Sherry was getting really tired of.
By the time she reached her apartment, Sherry couldn't feel her toes and regretting skipping the train. Thinking about the past was never cathartic for her; it just conjured up dark feelings like murk at the bottom of a lake. Unsurprisingly, the elevator in her building was still 'under repair', so she hiked up to the fifth floor and finally shuffled into her apartment shortly before ten. Luckily, she had soup in the freezer, so she put it into a pot to thaw.
There was a bottle of wine in the door of the refrigerator, so she poured herself a glass even though she wasn't a big drinker. She took a tentative sip and rolled her shoulders as the stress of the day began to weigh on her. Her feet were aching from her trek home, and she wished that she knew someone with a Jacuzzi so she could take a nice, long soak.
Once the soup was hot, she filled a bowl and brought it to her small kitchen table. She opened up the day's paper and skimmed the articles for anything of interest. She tried not to dwell on the sad affair that her life had become, as it would definitely make her cry. She barely tasted the soup, only registering the warmth that spread through her belly. By the time she was done eating, Sherry could hardly keep her eyes open.
She washed her bowl and spoon, and attempted another sip of wine before tipping it into the sink. As she was pouring the soup into a Tupperware, there was a light knock on her door. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and her eyes darted to the clock on the stove. It was almost eleven o'clock at night, much too late to have any visitors. She never had visitors at normal hours, either.
Sherry retrieved her .22 from the holster in her jacket and crept towards her door. She stood up on her tiptoes and peered through the peep hole. Whoever had been knocking had given up and was heading towards the stairs. She took him in; leather jacket, beanie, and a muscular build. She reached for the handle and yanked the door open in complete shock.
"Jake?" she exclaimed.
