The next morning, Oliver opened his eyes slowly. He sat up, and rubbed his eyes. He remembered what happened earlier, though he had no idea if it happened this very day, or the day before, or even longer ago. All he knew for a fact is that a high school bully had somehow got out of the institution, and is now after him. He could only hope that Aline is save, and that the hospital's security has taken him in custody. Suddenly he relised he had used his own powers again. Like that time with that other girl, it seemed to have worked perfectly well, for this woman wasn't at all lying on the floor next to the bed, either in a coma or dead. Out of this, Oliver could draw only one conclusion: his powers are emotionally controlled. They work best unders certain circumstances. Now that he knows that much, he knows exactly where to begin when he practices on using them.
He looked around. Apart from the bed he was lying on, there was a table with a mirror and some make-up equipment. He also spotted a closet, of which the door was wide open, revealing one or two dresses. There was another closet with open drawers as well, but all the clothes that could be found in there were a female's. In other words, this woman he ended up with lives by herself. She couldn't be that bad a lady either if she let him sleep on her bed. He decided to get out of bed and look for this woman. She seemed to have respected his privacy too by letting him sleep with his clothes on, she only took off his shoes. Onces he relised that, he decided to look for them before leaving the room. That wasn't much of an easy task as he thought at first. This woman had put his shoes with hers, and she seemed to own some protective boots like he wore himself, making it hard for him to distinguish his shoes from hers. Of all people, he ended up at a tomboy. He sighed at that thought, upon which he relised his throat was very dry. Once he had found his shoes, he put them on, left the room and looked for something to drink.
It didn't take him that long to find the kitchen. At the same time, he found the woman who took care of him. She was having breakfast. When she heard him coming, she turned to look at him.
"You're awake." she sounded nearly happy, "I was wondering when you'll get up!"
Oliver wished he could say something, but given the state of his throat, he'd rather not try to talk.
The woman seemed to notice he wanted to say something, but for some reason he didn't, so she asked: "Do you understand me at all?"
Oliver, though feeling slightly offended, nodded and motionned that he needed a drink.
"Knock yourself out." she said, after which she pointed to the fridge. As Oliver went to get something, she continued: "I was afraid you wouldn't understand me. I mean, you made me send a message in a language I don't know, and I even got a reply in that same language."
Oliver looked back to her. She slipped a piece of paper over the table, and added: "How did you do that anyway? And how did you even get into the network in the first place?"
Since Oliver didn't drink anything yet, he didn't answer any of those questions. He looked at the piece of paper. Everything that was on the paper was handwritten. Whatever she recieved in her head obviously can't be printed, therefor she had to write it down. He read.
Dear sir, madam
First of all, our staff wishes to express our gratitude because you helped us...
The letter went on like that for a while. Oliver skipped most bits, until he reached the bit that he wished he wouldn't have to read.
That man had killed a doctor, and a twenty-year-old coma patient. But thanks to you, he wasn't able to...
Oliver had read enough. He reread that sentence though, even read to the end of the lettre, giving some kind of an explanation that would suggest he may have misunderstood what he just read. But he didn't misunderstand. Whoever send this didn't mention the name of the girl, but since Jonas was keeping himself busy with only one coma patient, there couldn't be any other that the sender would have meant. Oliver began shaking. His grip on the paper tightened every second.
The woman seemed to have noticed, for she got up and laid her hand on his shoulder: "What's wrong?"
At this moment, Oliver didn't want to be touched at all, even if it was a comforting gesture. He hit her hand away, breathing heavily. She immediatly took a step back, after which he tryed for the front door. He made it as far as the door that lead out of the kitchen, but for some reason, he didn't have the energy to go any further. He fell down to his knees, bended over, leaning on his two arms. If he were hydrated enough, he'd have cried. Last time Aline died, he was there to exchange somebody else's live for hers. But now... he can't go to her, he doesn't have anything to give her, and bringing her back after her official demise will do her more bad than it will do her good. There's nothing he can do now. The very person he tried to protect from one danger, died by the hands of another. By now, many have died because of him. That idea didn't make him feel any better.
The woman, meanwhile, relised that the message gave him bad news. The fact that he reacted the way he did wasn't much different from how she reacted when she lost a loved one. She approached him nonetheless.
"So it was bad news after all." she started as she got closer.
Oliver merely turned to look at her. Even if his throat wasn't dry now, he felt like he can't talk anymore. It's like Aline's death took his voice away. As if not expecting him to say anything, the woman continued: "If it's any concelation, I've lost both my mother and grandmother when I was young."
Oliver didn't bother to listen to any more of the things she was about to say. She continued eitherway: "Did you lose someone because of some guy with horn-rimmed glasses?"
There's that again. He met a guy with funny glasses, shortly after that he met someone who mentionned "horn-rimmed glasses", who was with someone as special as he is, and now he's with someone who mentionned the same thing. This can't be coincidence.
"Well, you don't have that scar on your neck, so I don't think he has tempered with you yet." the woman continued.
The sound of that surprised Oliver. He turned to look at her again. Once he had his eyes set on her, she showed him. He recognised that scar. That girl, from whom he took the ability to change into a fighting machine, she had that same scar.
"That guy made me what I am now. And I guess by now you know what that is." she added.
Oliver had an idea about that. He even had a joke at the ready to tell when he wakes up, but now he doesn't feel like even thinking it.
"You want to get back at him too?" she asked him.
Oliver didn't particulary hold a grudge against that guy, but if he said no he'd have to explain everything to her, which he couldn't.
"But if you're gonna fight him," the woman continued, "you should seriously work out more!"
Oliver tried to get up. This gesture alone made the woman relise that she's doing a good enough job on comforting him.
"I've been in the army before, so if you'd like, I could help you built up some stamina.
Though silently, Oliver agreed. He didn't know where else to go, but knew that if he'd meet with Jonas one of these days, or even meet that other guy in New York again, he'd best be prepared for the worst. Oliver nodded, after which the woman smiled, though slightly, as if she's not used to smiling herself.
"Everyone in town knows me as Samantha." the woman said, "But you can call me Hana. What's your name?"
Oliver looked for his wallet. When he found it, he took it out and showed Hana his I.D.
"Oliver." Hana read, "Very well. You want some breakfast?"
Though he didn't feel much for eating right now, he did so anyway, having no idea what to expect from here on in.
There's not one story in the world that talks about a hero, without the mention of a villain. A nemesis, if you will. Somebody that is the exact opposite, and yet in so many ways similar to the hero. Even if one does not want to know the other, their meeting is innevidable. And the encounter of both will decide the future of either their loved or hated ones, or even the entire world.
THE END