The Story of Max Cale
by pari106
pari106@hotmail.com
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html
**Disclaimer and rating found in chapter one.**
part 5
by pari106
After the first hour, Max began to feel silly. She looked silly, she imagined, all decked out in black, with a
ski mask, skulking around a rooftop. Watching the penthouse where she could be comfortably spending
her evening.
But no. She had to play vigilante and hunt would be assassins who didn't seem too keen with doing
assassin-type stuff on Max's timetable.
He/she/it was lurking around all the time. So why couldn't he/she/it lurk now, so Max could give it a good
beating?
Max just felt silly.
She sighed, and relaxed her guard just a little bit, allowing herself to simply enjoy the view from up here.
She loved rooftops. She loved any type of heights, actually. Which she supposed was an oddity,
considering her brother's fear of the same things.
As a kid, Max remembered constant treks out into the gardens behind the family estate. She'd climb each
tree, one right after the other, saving the tallest for last. Sometimes she'd race herself up each one,
speeding across the gardens in a blur, just to feel her heart pound and her blood rush. Just to see the
flowers and shrubs and the sidewalks shrink beneath her as she climbed higher and higher.
But those climbing excursions ended soon enough.
The game soon grew old, and Max told herself it lost its appeal because it was silly and unnecessary and
what did she need to be climbing up dirty, old trees for, anyhow? But, truly, the reason she'd quit was
because she simply grew tired of hiding her adventures from her parents, whom she'd learned to hide from
quite well.
Later, as an adult, Max grew to realize that it was concern, not displeasure, that made her parents shelter
her so much. They kept her away from the world because they were afraid for her, not because they were
ashamed of her. But, as a child, Max hadn't seen it that way. She'd felt it necessary to save her trips to the
garden for late in the night, or for whenever the Cales were away on vacation without her. She'd strip out
of her clothes so they wouldn't pick up any telltale snags or stains. And she never had to worry about
knicks and scrapes, because they always healed before she got back into the house.
But last minute strips and advanced healing properties aside, Max had known that she couldn't hide her
activities from her parents forever. And, at the time, she hadn't even considered the possibility that letting
them find out might have been a good thing. She was terrified they'd find out and that she'd see that sad,
scared look in their eyes that they always got when she did something "different".
So she stopped climbing trees in the garden. But she'd always remember those late night excursions. She
still missed them, even though she still told herself they were silly and unnecessary. What had been the big
deal, anyhow? Dirty, old trees. She could have fallen and hurt herself.
At least, that was what the Cales always used to say, even though they knew it was a lie. She could
probably fall off this building right now and not get hurt. Not that she'd ever test that theory.
She never tested anything. She never dared. She'd learned not to be daring, either by her parents' spoken
warnings or simply by the frightened demeanor she always sensed from them. That's why she stopped
climbing. It's why she learned how to sleep through the night – not just for a few hours, but through the
night. It's why she learned how sleep like a normal person, and react like a normal person, and ignore the
fact that she wasn't a normal person…
Because Max never tested anything. Including herself.
She let herself indulge, every now and then, in the little differences about her. Sometimes she'd prick up
her ears just to see how far away she could be from someone or something and still hear them. Whenever
she got a chance to go away with friends, in high school, she'd always chosen vacation spots with tall trees
or nearby mountains. She'd spent endless summers in the family cabin, out in the woods, running and
climbing and racing herself. But she never climbed too far. She never ran too fast. She never tested.
But she supposed she was testing herself now. She'd been testing herself for some time now, really. Ever
since she'd made Logan involve her in Eyes Only. Because for all her special abilities, Max had really led
a very sheltered life. She didn't have any experience with informant nets and midnight rendezvous and
guns. And surprise attacks on would-be assassins, she reminded herself with a sigh. But she wanted that
experience. She wanted to experience *something* to the extreme. She wanted to *do* something with
her gifts besides just let them rot like some dirty secret.
She knew her parents had sheltered her because of concern, not displeasure. And, even if they hadn't,
they'd passed on years ago. And Logan had never asked her to be anyone other than herself. He'd insisted
she could find other ways to express her differences than by involving herself in his affairs.
But that wasn't good enough for Max anymore. Because even if the Cales hadn't been ashamed of her,
Max had grown ashamed of herself. She'd mistook her parents' worries for disapproval. She's mistook
her school friends' assumptions that she was just like them as the belief that she *should be* just like them.
And it wasn't good enough just to express herself anymore. Max needed to prove herself. She needed to
prove her special abilities weren't just an okay thing, that they were helpful. That she could do something
helpful with them. Like she did with Eyes Only. She needed that. She enjoyed it – fighting side by side
with her brother, even if it was just over a computer screen or over a telephone line.
She needed to make a difference.
That was why she was up on that rooftop.
But, alas, she had had no experience with the sort of cloak and dagger world she was trying to make a
difference in.
That's why she didn't realize that she was not alone on that rooftop.
She didn't realize it, until suddenly there was a body pressed close behind her, an arm wrapped around her
arms, pinning them to her sides, and a hand pressed tightly over her mouth.
Max's eyes grew wide, and she began to struggle.
Then she heard a voice in her ear, could feel her attacker's warm breath against her cheek through her
mask. It was a male voice, low and firm; just as the body pressed against hers was a man's – hard and fit.
A sliver of adrenaline rushed through Max, making her shudder.
"I hate to have to do this," her attacker said. "But you leave me no choice."
Max struggled anew. But her attacker was unbelievably strong.
With a movement, his arm was suddenly around her neck, choking her. And the next thing Max saw was
darkness creeping up on her vision as she slowly lost consciousness.
**** ****
Zack remained there, crouched on the rooftop, keeping Syl in his chokehold until he felt the fight slowly
die out of her and she fell unconscious.
Then he gently scooped her up in his arms, with a sigh.
He'd meant what he said – he hated to have to do it this way. But she really hadn't left him any choice. If
he hadn't been sure, before, that settling down had made Syl sloppy, he was sure now. He hadn't even
tried to sneak up on her, but she'd been totally oblivious to his arrival on the roof. If he had been the
enemy, she'd be dead by now.
"I'm doing this for you, little sister," he told her, rising.
Then he stopped.
There was something…different. About Syl. Was that…
Lilacs?
Since when did Syl smell like lilacs? Did she change her shampoo, or something? It really was kind of…
Zack suddenly shook his head, snapping himself to with an irritated frown.
What the hell was he doing noticing Syl's shampoo smells, anyhow? What the hell did it matter? She was
his fucking sister, for crying out loud.
He'd spent way too much time in Seattle, himself.
Then Zack sensed movement out of the corner of his eye.
He looked over at the penthouse Syl had been watching, and saw a tall, muscular, black man enter the main
room. Zack didn't know who he was, but whoever he was, he was looking for something. He seemed to be
calling out to someone. Then he went into the other room. Then to another. Then he started to look
worried.
Zack looked down at the pack on Syl's back, then back to the man in the penthouse.
Yep, he was definitely looking for something. He couldn't find it, and he was not happy.
Zack through Syl over his shoulder and made for the nearest exit off the roof.
"This is where you and I leave," he told her.
He took the fire escape down a handful of floors, then jumped to the pavement.
A few moments later, he was behind the wheel of the van he'd…borrowed. And Syl was resting in the
back as Zack drove like hell to get out of town.
Or so he thought.
He had no idea that the woman he'd just kidnapped was Max Cale, not his sister, Syl.
Because his sister, Syl, had just left for Wyoming.
by pari106
pari106@hotmail.com
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html
**Disclaimer and rating found in chapter one.**
part 5
by pari106
After the first hour, Max began to feel silly. She looked silly, she imagined, all decked out in black, with a
ski mask, skulking around a rooftop. Watching the penthouse where she could be comfortably spending
her evening.
But no. She had to play vigilante and hunt would be assassins who didn't seem too keen with doing
assassin-type stuff on Max's timetable.
He/she/it was lurking around all the time. So why couldn't he/she/it lurk now, so Max could give it a good
beating?
Max just felt silly.
She sighed, and relaxed her guard just a little bit, allowing herself to simply enjoy the view from up here.
She loved rooftops. She loved any type of heights, actually. Which she supposed was an oddity,
considering her brother's fear of the same things.
As a kid, Max remembered constant treks out into the gardens behind the family estate. She'd climb each
tree, one right after the other, saving the tallest for last. Sometimes she'd race herself up each one,
speeding across the gardens in a blur, just to feel her heart pound and her blood rush. Just to see the
flowers and shrubs and the sidewalks shrink beneath her as she climbed higher and higher.
But those climbing excursions ended soon enough.
The game soon grew old, and Max told herself it lost its appeal because it was silly and unnecessary and
what did she need to be climbing up dirty, old trees for, anyhow? But, truly, the reason she'd quit was
because she simply grew tired of hiding her adventures from her parents, whom she'd learned to hide from
quite well.
Later, as an adult, Max grew to realize that it was concern, not displeasure, that made her parents shelter
her so much. They kept her away from the world because they were afraid for her, not because they were
ashamed of her. But, as a child, Max hadn't seen it that way. She'd felt it necessary to save her trips to the
garden for late in the night, or for whenever the Cales were away on vacation without her. She'd strip out
of her clothes so they wouldn't pick up any telltale snags or stains. And she never had to worry about
knicks and scrapes, because they always healed before she got back into the house.
But last minute strips and advanced healing properties aside, Max had known that she couldn't hide her
activities from her parents forever. And, at the time, she hadn't even considered the possibility that letting
them find out might have been a good thing. She was terrified they'd find out and that she'd see that sad,
scared look in their eyes that they always got when she did something "different".
So she stopped climbing trees in the garden. But she'd always remember those late night excursions. She
still missed them, even though she still told herself they were silly and unnecessary. What had been the big
deal, anyhow? Dirty, old trees. She could have fallen and hurt herself.
At least, that was what the Cales always used to say, even though they knew it was a lie. She could
probably fall off this building right now and not get hurt. Not that she'd ever test that theory.
She never tested anything. She never dared. She'd learned not to be daring, either by her parents' spoken
warnings or simply by the frightened demeanor she always sensed from them. That's why she stopped
climbing. It's why she learned how to sleep through the night – not just for a few hours, but through the
night. It's why she learned how sleep like a normal person, and react like a normal person, and ignore the
fact that she wasn't a normal person…
Because Max never tested anything. Including herself.
She let herself indulge, every now and then, in the little differences about her. Sometimes she'd prick up
her ears just to see how far away she could be from someone or something and still hear them. Whenever
she got a chance to go away with friends, in high school, she'd always chosen vacation spots with tall trees
or nearby mountains. She'd spent endless summers in the family cabin, out in the woods, running and
climbing and racing herself. But she never climbed too far. She never ran too fast. She never tested.
But she supposed she was testing herself now. She'd been testing herself for some time now, really. Ever
since she'd made Logan involve her in Eyes Only. Because for all her special abilities, Max had really led
a very sheltered life. She didn't have any experience with informant nets and midnight rendezvous and
guns. And surprise attacks on would-be assassins, she reminded herself with a sigh. But she wanted that
experience. She wanted to experience *something* to the extreme. She wanted to *do* something with
her gifts besides just let them rot like some dirty secret.
She knew her parents had sheltered her because of concern, not displeasure. And, even if they hadn't,
they'd passed on years ago. And Logan had never asked her to be anyone other than herself. He'd insisted
she could find other ways to express her differences than by involving herself in his affairs.
But that wasn't good enough for Max anymore. Because even if the Cales hadn't been ashamed of her,
Max had grown ashamed of herself. She'd mistook her parents' worries for disapproval. She's mistook
her school friends' assumptions that she was just like them as the belief that she *should be* just like them.
And it wasn't good enough just to express herself anymore. Max needed to prove herself. She needed to
prove her special abilities weren't just an okay thing, that they were helpful. That she could do something
helpful with them. Like she did with Eyes Only. She needed that. She enjoyed it – fighting side by side
with her brother, even if it was just over a computer screen or over a telephone line.
She needed to make a difference.
That was why she was up on that rooftop.
But, alas, she had had no experience with the sort of cloak and dagger world she was trying to make a
difference in.
That's why she didn't realize that she was not alone on that rooftop.
She didn't realize it, until suddenly there was a body pressed close behind her, an arm wrapped around her
arms, pinning them to her sides, and a hand pressed tightly over her mouth.
Max's eyes grew wide, and she began to struggle.
Then she heard a voice in her ear, could feel her attacker's warm breath against her cheek through her
mask. It was a male voice, low and firm; just as the body pressed against hers was a man's – hard and fit.
A sliver of adrenaline rushed through Max, making her shudder.
"I hate to have to do this," her attacker said. "But you leave me no choice."
Max struggled anew. But her attacker was unbelievably strong.
With a movement, his arm was suddenly around her neck, choking her. And the next thing Max saw was
darkness creeping up on her vision as she slowly lost consciousness.
**** ****
Zack remained there, crouched on the rooftop, keeping Syl in his chokehold until he felt the fight slowly
die out of her and she fell unconscious.
Then he gently scooped her up in his arms, with a sigh.
He'd meant what he said – he hated to have to do it this way. But she really hadn't left him any choice. If
he hadn't been sure, before, that settling down had made Syl sloppy, he was sure now. He hadn't even
tried to sneak up on her, but she'd been totally oblivious to his arrival on the roof. If he had been the
enemy, she'd be dead by now.
"I'm doing this for you, little sister," he told her, rising.
Then he stopped.
There was something…different. About Syl. Was that…
Lilacs?
Since when did Syl smell like lilacs? Did she change her shampoo, or something? It really was kind of…
Zack suddenly shook his head, snapping himself to with an irritated frown.
What the hell was he doing noticing Syl's shampoo smells, anyhow? What the hell did it matter? She was
his fucking sister, for crying out loud.
He'd spent way too much time in Seattle, himself.
Then Zack sensed movement out of the corner of his eye.
He looked over at the penthouse Syl had been watching, and saw a tall, muscular, black man enter the main
room. Zack didn't know who he was, but whoever he was, he was looking for something. He seemed to be
calling out to someone. Then he went into the other room. Then to another. Then he started to look
worried.
Zack looked down at the pack on Syl's back, then back to the man in the penthouse.
Yep, he was definitely looking for something. He couldn't find it, and he was not happy.
Zack through Syl over his shoulder and made for the nearest exit off the roof.
"This is where you and I leave," he told her.
He took the fire escape down a handful of floors, then jumped to the pavement.
A few moments later, he was behind the wheel of the van he'd…borrowed. And Syl was resting in the
back as Zack drove like hell to get out of town.
Or so he thought.
He had no idea that the woman he'd just kidnapped was Max Cale, not his sister, Syl.
Because his sister, Syl, had just left for Wyoming.