Chapter One: The Awakening

Dallas Winston smelled lemon. The odor was strong and pungent, and he was sure it was some kind of disinfectant. He struggled to open his eyes. They felt so heavy…

Footsteps. Someone laid a cool hand on his forehead. "His fever's broken," she announced. "His swelling's gone down too."

Fever? Swelling? Dally didn't remember being sick. He struggled, but the cool hand gently restrained him. "Dallas?" the woman asked. "Are you awake? Can you answer me?"

"Ye-yes," Dallas croaked. His throat was dry. Jesus, what he wouldn't give for a Pepsi. He tried forcing his eyes open again. It felt like there were weights on his eyelids, and like someone was sitting on his chest.

The woman put a glass to his lips. He opened his mouth and swallowed greedily, hoping for Pepsi. It was just water, but he drank it anyway. He didn't think he'd ever been this thirsty.

He hadn't realized it until now, but he couldn't really feel the rest of his body. There were pricking sensations in his arms, and he attempted to flex his fingers.

A little at a time, he told himself. First the eyes.

When he managed to pry his eyes open, the woman was gone and a dark-haired doctor was standing in front of him.

"Glad to have you back, Dallas," he said.

Dallas realized with a jolt it was the same doctor who had treated him after the burning house.

His heart dropped. The burning house. Johnny. Johnny dead. Johnny gone forever. And him…he had gotten shot by the police. But he wasn't dead.

At least he didn't think so. He had never pictured Hell as looking like Tulsa General Hospital.

"What happened?" Dallas demanded. He was still thirsty. And hungry.

"You were shot by the Tulsa police approximately one week ago," the doctor began.

"I know. I was there for that part," Dallas said acidly. "I meant what happened after that?"

"You had an allergic reaction," the doctor said matter-of-factly. "You were brought here and we gave you antihistamines, but you slipped into a coma. You're incredibly lucky you woke up." He paused. "We were unable to get in contact with your mother—"

"Screw that," Dallas scoffed. "She doesn't care. What I want to know is, allergic reaction to what? The bullets?"

"The tranquilizers."

"What tranquilizers?" Dallas demanded, nonplussed. "Those bastards shot me!"

"With tranquilizers," the doctor said calmly.

"I heard the damn gunshots!" Dallas was shouting now.

The doctor shrugged. "I don't know anything about that. But you're cured, and once we determine you're stable, we can discharge you."

He left the room before Dallas could say anything else.

Dallas exhaled angrily, like a bull. Stable, his foot. He was leaving immediately. He swung his legs out of bed and realized he was wearing a hospital gown.

"Hey!" he yelled. When no one responded, he shouted again, "Hey!"

A nurse entered, cocking an eyebrow. "I see you're awake."

"Where are my clothes?" Dallas demanded, ignoring the statement.

The nurse ordered him back into bed. "Not until Doctor Freeman determines you're stable."

Another nurse stuck her head into the room. "Dallas has a visitor."

The first nurse looked at Dallas. Dally nodded, figuring it was Darry or Two-Bit.

Instead, a strange man entered the room. "Who the hell are you?" Dallas demanded.

The man gave him a tight smile. "Your new stepfather."

Dallas didn't believe for one moment this man had married his mother. For one thing, his mother was too much of a bitch for a smart guy—at least, smart enough to know how to con the nurses—like him to fall for her.

For another, he wasn't white. He was most likely Indian judging by his accent, his skin mahogany and his black hair slicked back. His arms and legs were slim, and his hands almost delicate, but his middle billowed out in a generous potbelly.

For another, he was way too rich. His shoes were leather, and his coat looked like it was made out of soft, lush wool. A gold watch glinted on his left wrist and his beard was trimmed too neatly for him to have done it himself. You couldn't trim your own sideburns like that without breaking your neck.

Dallas was immediately intrigued. "Oh," he said casually, playing along. "She told me about you."

"Your stepfather's been in to see you every day," the first nurse said, giving Dally the evil eye. "You ought to respect him more."

"And you ought to be making me a sandwich. Leave us alone, would ya, babe?" Dallas said, leering at the nurse.

The nurse rolled her eyes and walked out. As soon as she was out of earshot, Dallas said, "So. Every day, huh?"

"Yes," the man replied calmly. "I apologize for your hospitalization. Of course, I will take care of the bill."

Dallas raised an eyebrow. "What're you apologizing for? The police shot me."

The man scratched his chin, making a sandpapery sound. "Well," he said. "If it hadn't been for me, they would have shot you full of bullets."

Dallas frowned in confusion. Who exactly was he dealing with here? "So…you paid them off or something?" he said slowly.

"Yes," the man said. "You're quick."

Dallas didn't like the way the man was looking at him. It was an appraising look. The way someone might look at a racehorse they were considering buying. He clenched his teeth. "Why would you pay the police to keep me alive?" he demanded.

"Because," the man said, giving him a brief smile. "I need to hire someone for a very specific job. And I needed someone with nothing to lose. Someone resilient, skilled at fighting. The Tulsa police were, ah, most easily persuaded to give me a recommendation," the man smirked.

I bet they were, Dallas thought. I bet they were real eager to throw me under the bus and take the tidy sum you promised them.

"They said it was only a matter of time before a wild card like you found himself under police fire. They promised me when this happened, you would be turned over to me."

Dallas glowered. "I don't suppose I get any say in this?" he growled.

"You do," the man said. "If you don't want to come with me and do a great service for my country, all I have to do is give my word to the Tulsa police, and they'll shoot you again. For real this time."

The man mopped his brow with a silk handkerchief. He seemed to be waiting for a response. When Dallas didn't say anything, he prompted him. "Well? What do you say?"

Dallas' mind reeled. He was supposed to be dead…but he was being recruited? For what country? India? Why the hell would he want to go to godforsaken India?

He should be dead by now. He was supposed to be dead, like Johnny. Johnny should be alive and here in the hospital just waking up, not him.

He couldn't do this. All he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep forever, and wake up and see Johnny again.

The man must have seen the hesitation on his face, because he said, "I can see this is all a bit much. I'll be back tomorrow. Sleep on it," he said, his voice taking on a semblance of kindness for the first time.

He turned on his heel and walked out briskly.

Dallas sank back in the bed. He groaned inwardly. This was a fine mess he was in. Maybe it was all a nightmare. Maybe it was the final hallucinations of a dying man…that had to be it. Because nothing else made sense.

He tried to sleep. He realized, long after the man was gone, that he had forgotten to ask if anyone else knew he wasn't actually dead.

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