Disclaimer: Janet Evanovich is creator and owner of Stephanie Plum and it's universe. I'm just playing and promise to put everything back they way I found it.
Note: Sorry this took forever. And I'm not even sure I won't scrap it, but hey, at least it's something.
Chapter 14A series of soft taps on the door gave him warning enough that when the other person entered the room they didn't have a gun trained on them. Dom's eyes were blank and unemotional as he stood, half in the room. Quinn sighed and motioned him in.
"She's asleep," he said softly. Dom stepped the rest of the way in, closing the door quietly behind him and moved silently across the cabin to take a seat in the chair. Even in the near darkness Quinn saw the tension in his friend, the storming emotions: anger, confusion, hurt, sadness. He also saw the way Dom's eyes fixed on Haley, watched the lines of stress soften. It was very telling.
"Is she okay?" Dom's voice was quiet.
"No. But I think she will be."
"She's scared of me." The tiniest hint of sadness in the words let Quinn know just what was going on then.
"No. She's scared of herself. She's scared that she's totally lost it."
"You didn't see the look in her eyes, Q. She didn't look at you like some stranger."
"She punched me," Quinn reminded him. Dom smiled at that.
"Yeah. But she's done that before."
"Once. One lousy time in fourth grade--"
"Wasn't it the same eye, too?"
"Shut up. It was your fault anyway."
"Yeah," Dom grinned. "It was."
"When do we get to port?" Quinn asked, opting for a quick change of subject.
"A couple more hours. Stephanie woke up, by the way. Right before Haley."
Quinn glanced at the door sharply. "How did that go? I haven't heard any gunshots..." Dom chuckled.
"The jury's still out on that one. She hasn't gotten the whole story yet. Still thinks she's Serena, but I guess she took Charles's death okay."
"He didn't tell her the whole of it then." No need to clarify which 'he' was in question. There was a running speculation on whether Ranger was ever going to let Stephanie out of his sight again. Dom just shrugged, his gaze sliding back to Haley. He had to admit he wouldn't blame his uncle for never leaving Stephanie's side again, he was having similar ideas about Haley. Too bad that if either one of them got back to normal they'd have conniption fits.
As if sensing the look, Haley stirred a shudder wracking her body. He took a step forward out of sheer reflex before he could remind himself of the situation and forced his body to remain still as Quinn smoothed her hair and whispered reassurances. He couldn't be jealous though; the pain in his best friend's eyes matched his own. He waiting until she was still, once again slipping into a dreamless sleep, before he dared to speak. "The Secret?"
"She remembers, most of it anyway. Twisted so that you weren't present or someone else played your parts," Quinn said, turning his troubled face to look at his best friend. His lips were tight as if just saying the words made him uncomfortable. Dom closed his eyes, trying to calm the emotions tearing through him.
"He'll pay, Dom," Quinn's voice was tight, controlled, the words heavy with the promise of vengeance. Masters had meddled in the Secret. Daily life, everyday identities, were one thing; but to interfere in that? Quinn looked to his best friend's exhausted eyes, and down at Haley's sleeping form. Master's would beg for death, he swore to himself. The punishment would be equal to the crime.
After that there was silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts as time slipped by. The quiet finally came to an end when Bobby peered in to announce they were landing, sending everyone on board into a whirl of activity.
I turned my head slowly, raising a languid hand to shield my eyes from the glare of the midday Caribbean sun as I took a long, lingering look at the girl next to me. We were basking on the sun-drenched terrace beside the glittering Olympic-size pool amid various classical statues and exotic flowers. Below us the island was bustling with life; open-air bazaars and the harbor overflowing with pleasure yachts and commercial vessels. But here in our secluded area of paradise, only the occasional echoes drifted by to remind us of life beyond our tranquil sanctuary.
I had been here for two months, or maybe three. It didn't really matter to me- time, I mean. What mattered was the feeling boiling up inside me as I watched the girl next to me, watched reflected lights from the pool play against her skin, watched her chest rise and fall with her even breathing. And I wished it would stop. I wished she would stop breathing. Stop moving. Stop living. Hatred boiled up inside of me, an emotion I don't think I had ever truly felt before. I had vague, shadowy memories of my life before. There were scenes of action, of passion, of terror, of laughter. They slipped through my dreams, crept into my thoughts sometimes. They told me of hatred. A man in a bunny suit, a boxer, an ex-husband and a slut he slept with. In my old life I had hated them all, I supposed. But that remnant was nothing compared to the anger and resentment the sight of the person next to me incurred. Even know the palms of my hands literally itched with the urge to strike her.
I was here to recover the rest of those shadows, to gather them up and reform myself into who I was: Stephanie Plum, lingerie buyer cum bounty hunter, from Trenton New Jersey. There were several people anxious to see my improvement, my return to health. Ranger, Tank, Lester, the others, men who had rescued me from a twisted scientist, who had saved me. At least in their eyes.
I liked these men, even loved them. They were all good guys. I would not disappoint them for the world, so I tried very hard to regain myself and to remember more, to submit to whatever the doctors ordered. There was only a slight problem, one I dared not mention to any of them, or any of the doctors either. I didn't like what I was remembering. None of it. I didn't like who I was remembering being, what I remembered doing, or where I remembered living.
Stephanie was a loser. She had no taste, no class, no money, no family, no husband, no life. She was pudgy. She shot people. And if the apartment I kept having dreams about were true, she lived in a slum. With a rodent. My stomach was twisting itself in knots just mentally going through it all. I began to feel vaguely nauseous.
And worst of all, I didn't understand why anyone wanted her back. And since they so obviously felt I was not up to par, what must I be? I tried so hard to make everyone happy and still I caught the looks when they thought I wasn't looking. The almost-hidden sadness in Ranger. The worried look from Tank. Bobby's lips thinning as he tried not to scowl. It sent a fresh stab of anger through me, directed squarely at my sole companion: my sister Alia, or my cousin Haley, depending on which of my lives you cared to go by.
Alia had been an indulged child, forever half lost in a world of her own imagination. Haley was… very much the same, but she was not lost or confused. She had taken up her old life, her old roles with alarming ease. She did not elicit sadness in the merry men. Life was sickeningly easy for her, in either world. She did not have to choose between such polarity. She wasn't a disappointment. It seemed like she was somehow both Alia and Haley, and she was not disappointing anyone. I hated her for it.
Next to me, the unknowing recipient of all my frustration, anger, and hatred let out a sigh. "All right," she said in a relaxed and sleepy voice, "you're staring. What's up?"
A corner of my mouth tilted upward. If only you knew. "Nothing. Just wondering if you'd had enough sun yet. We should go see about dinner."
Haley sat up and looked at me, her actions much more efficient than her drowsy voice would have implied, and her blue eyes so similar to mine were just a little suspicious. "You look upset. You weren't thinking about dinner."
"I am not impressed with the chef's performance lately," I said shortly, sitting up and reaching for my towel.
"Try again. You love Jean-Luc's food." I opted to ignore her and continued gathering my lotions and oils together. A few beats of silence passed before she spoke again, her voice tight with anger. "Fine. Whatever. You've been a bitch to me for the last two weeks, so go ahead, be one. But quit blaming me because your fantasy bubble got busted and you don't like what the real world is showing you. Get over yourself."
I froze, suntan oil in hand, staring at the pool and I barely heard the terrace doors slamming behind her. And there on that warm sunny spot, in the balmy sea breeze, I was suddenly chilled. I remembered the small glimpses of Stephanie's mother, all of her asking me why I wasn't married or settled, or her expounding helpful household tips. The guy the others had told me was named Morelli, saying something about curtains and cookie jars, wanting me to stay home… another man, this one the ex-husband, yelling and demanding to know why I wasn't at home, taking care of the house…
Stephanie couldn't possibly have been what they wanted from what I remembered, but I could. I was. I knew without thought how to be a hostess, how to manage a staff, a million ways to get stains out of clothing, how to prepare various gourmet meals…
I wasn't sure how I got there, but I found myself standing in front of the full-length mirror in my room, staring at my hair. I kept it straightened and deep-conditioned, using all the miracles of modern technology to tame my natural curls. Charles didn't like curly hair- too wild, too chaotic. I had agreed fully… at least, I was pretty sure I had. I couldn't really remember. That happened a lot, not remembering; especially about decisions or choices.
I looked across the room to wardrobe with it's doors standing ajar revealing the array of sundresses, skirts, sarongs… they were all colors and styles Charles would have liked on me. He and I had always had such similar tastes it had been easy. Hadn't it? Hadn't we?
I stepped away from the mirror to sink into the bed and I stared blankly up at the ceiling. I had to think, but I didn't know about what. Something important. Something very important had to be decided, and soon, but I wasn't entirely sure what it was or how to make the decision.
I wasn't happy, I knew that much, and I hadn't really been happy since… since we left Goldwater… but no, I was going to be truthful, and I hadn't really been happy there either. Content maybe, but hadn't I always wanted something more? The Jet Set. Batman.
Perhaps before the island then? But it was all very hazy, my life before, and my life as Stephanie hadn't been very joyful either from what I recalled… My eyelids felt heavy and I began to drift. Maybe my dreams would tell me something. They hadn't let me down so far.
"That's impossible. These don't exist yet," Ash shook his head, staring in disbelief at the computer screen.
"Tell me about it. But here they be," Dante replied. "Real, genuine and working."
"Fuck. Just when I think this can't get any freakier."
"You getting the Twilight Zone vibe too, huh?" Dante sat back, rubbing his eyes as if to erase what he'd been staring at.
"I was going to go with Matrix. Look at this shit," Ash's voice was strained as he took control of the keyboard and began scrolling through the documents. "This was just the kick-off. Think where they could have taken this…"
"I'd rather not, man. I'd really fucking rather not," his partner snapped. "We got to clean this mess up, you realize that? We call anybody, they're gonna take those girls and stick them in some Area 51 bullshit…" Ash shuddered.
"Don't think the Boss or Dom would go for that one."
"Quinn either, man. Which means we get to do this by our lonesomes."
"Still, it's awesome," Ash insisted. "Real nanotech. And it works, Dan. Look at this," his fingers flew over the keys as he called up various windows filled with schematics, plans, programming languages. "They built in… it can adjust, Dan."
Dante's head shot up and his eyes focused on the screen. "What?"
"Check it," Ash scrolled up. "This is that analysis you ran… look, the chip has memory capabilities. It learns…"
"Fuck. Ash, listen to yourself," Dante said, turning to his partner. His eyes were blank in the cold light of the computer lab. "It learns," he repeated slowly, to let the impact sink into Ash's excited thought patterns. Dante watched as comprehension slowly dawned, watched the animation drain from his friend's face.
"Shit." A long silence followed, neither one feeling any more elaboration was necessary. Slowly Ash stood and walked back to his own work station to stare at the screen.
"So, what happens if we take out the chip?" the words were said cautiously as if Dante were unsure of whether or not to risk voicing it.
"We need to run some diagnostics… analyze exactly what it's affecting, see if it's permanently altered anything," Ash forced himself to say the last possibility and refused to elaborate on it even in his own mind. It wasn't the girls he was scared for now. They were the just the guinea pigs, the rough drafts. No, the fear beginning to surface in his mind was that they weren't alone. How far had Deering gotten? You can make the perfect housewife, maybe the perfect servants… what about perfect soldiers? Perfect assassins? Perfect spies? The possibilities were endless he realized with a sickening jolt.
Enough. This was a game, a computer game with high stakes, he reminded himself as he focused his mind back on the computer. Finish going through the records, analyze the code. All the answers would be there. They had to be- programs didn't write themselves.
"Call in everyone else, Dan. I want every line, every scrap of data off these files."
"Ahead of you, bro," Dante smirked gesturing to the cell phone already at his ear.
Haley slammed the door behind her, and stalked toward the door without once taking in her surroundings. She almost screamed when she heard someone clear their throat close behind her and spun to face the culprit, prepared to unleash the tirade she had kept from her cousin on the unlucky person's head. The hulking Neanderthals had too much stealth for their own damned good…
She tilted her head up to meet his dark eyes and took a quick step back, lowering her gaze to the floor, her shoulders falling slightly in an attitude of submission. "Good afternoon, Tank. Sorry I didn't see you," she offered apologetically, risking a quick glance back up at him.
Tank sighed, his face falling from amused to a concerned frown. "No you aren't. You were about to rip me a new one for sneaking up on you." She gasped, shocked, and her blue eyes were startled as they met his.
"I-I'm sorry you thought that. Only I just had… words… with Stephanie." And I'd never raise my voice to a man. The words were unsaid, and yet Tank could have sworn he heard them.
He looked sadly down at the girl in front of him and gently laid his hand on her shoulder. She'd be in tears thinking she'd made him mad if he didn't. Her eyes brightened at the gesture, her lips turned up a little, and the worry was gone as if it had never been there. He took a moment to search those bright blue eyes, so happy and eager to please. And after a moment he looked away, shaking his head a little to clear it. "Words with Stephanie? You mean a fight?"
Haley bit her lip and shifted her weight a little. "Well, not really. She's just been so mean and cold lately. To everyone," she added hastily, looking up at him for approval he supposed before she continued. "I only wanted her to stop it. She's making everyone so unhappy, hurting feelings… she's being inconsiderate," the last word were spoken with revulsion.
Tank cleared his throat and glanced out to the terrace. He was relieved to see that Stephanie was already gone. He really didn't want to deal with both of them at once. "Stephanie is going through a lot. She's having a hard time adjusting and remembering." He spoke seriously, hoping Haley would understand just how difficult it must be.
"I did it," she said dismissively. Tank shook his head. He had his doubts about that.
"You're different, Haley. You weren't-" he stopped, unsure of how to phrase it. She hadn't been made into something completely against her own nature? The processes hadn't worked on her? Tank looked again at the girl in front of him, so close and somehow so far. "You deal with things differently. Give Stephanie time."
Haley nodded dutifully, and swept a stay curl out of her eyes. "All right. Do you know what's for dinner? She said she wants to supervise Jean-Luc."
He blinked at the change of subject and shrugged. "It's his night off anyway. I think Bobby's on kitchen detail." She scrunched her nose at this news.
"All right. I better go tell him what to fix her or she won't eat again."
Tank nodded and didn't offer a comment. Stephanie's finicky tastes were still new and a little too weird for him to deal with after her formerly legendary appetite. Fortunately he was spared yet another tallying of the unsettling changes by the sudden electronic jangle of the Indiana Jones theme song. He paused long enough to check the number before he flipped it open. "Talk… I'll get Bobby…. We'll be there in ten."
Ranger had barely settled into the Jeep when a chorus of electronic 'music' began to play. He glanced at his companions, who were all reaching for their own phones as he flipped his open. "Yo… Just landed… We'll be there in fifteen."
He shifted the vehicle into gear and nearly flew out of the parking lot. Island traffic was a bitch this time of day, he reminded himself bitterly as he swerved around an errant goat.