Chapter 8
Still seething from Emmett sucker-punching Edward, Bella simply nods when Alice informs her that Edward would be out for a couple of days. The information annoys her though. She wants to see him, talk to him.
"Also, ma'am?" Alice says, her voice catching.
Bella, arms crossed and watching Jacob and Emmett shoot targets, grunts for Alice to continue.
"I'm pretty sure Colonel Cullen told Captain Masen about the Kill-Switch."
Bella's heart rate increases as she fights her desire to react. She bites the inside of her lip. The Kill-Switch is not discussed until just before a team leader's first mission in the field. She cannot fathom why Colonel Cullen would reveal it this early. If Edward knows he may have to kill the team, she thinks, he's less likely to actually care about them.
"Thank you, Alice," Bella finally says.
Alice heads toward Jacob, who fires an array of weapons at various moving targets with Emmett.
"Alice?" Bella calls, stopping Alice in her tracks.
"Ma'am?"
Bella wants to ask how Edward behaved when he left. Did he express anything about the team? About the Kill Switch? She recognizes it's an unprofessional desire however, and she thinks better of it.
"Never mind. Thank you."
Alice smiles and joins Jacob at his side.
An overwhelming sensation of grief fills Bella as she stands alone, watching Emmet and Jacob shoot. The first few days with a new team leader, before they know what she is, tend to be so positive. It reminds her of before, when she was fully human, and though she just met Edward she desperately wants to be human with him. And she can't.
She checks the digital clock on the wall behind her. There's enough time to change before sundown. Exiting the Pen, she activates her radio, implanted below her ear.
"Team. Shoot until you're bored."
"You leaving again?" Emmett's voice cracks across the device sounding like he's inside her skull.
"Fuck off, Emmett." She has no desire to deal with him.
She heads down the hall to the housing wing and enters her barrack. Each barrack is assigned to an individual and surprising spacious for underground dwellings and consist of a sizable living area, kitchen, bedroom, and secondary room. The only aspect that differentiates a barrack from a house is the noticeable lack of windows.
This has been Bella's home for over sixty years and is decorated with the aesthetic of someone raised during the Depression-era, accented with modern technology. On peach-colored walls hang large, abstract oil paintings and ornamental sconces beside a large, curved television. A floral-patterned couch sits in the center of the living area atop a beige plush carpet. The young appearance of Bella stands in stark contrast to her surroundings.
She moves into her bedroom and changes out of the black training clothes into dark khakis and royal blue shirt, modified to allow her wings' growth. She leaves the oleander necklace on her nightstand.
Maybe I should redecorate, she thinks to herself, walking through the living space into the kitchen. Maybe Alice would be interested in helping. Without looking in the refrigerator, she pulls a bottle of a dirty-red liquid from the refrigerator and takes a swig. She checks the time before returning the bottle to the fridge and leaving.
In the lobby, she runs into Colonel Cullen.
"Heading out again tonight, Agent Eliz?" The Colonel's voice is cold and dispassionate.
"Yes sir." Bella's dour attitude gives her little incentive to speak with her superior officer, something he seems willing to oblige. They stand silent until the elevator door opens.
"Go ahead," Colonel Cullen says, motioning Bella into the small chamber.
"Thank you, sir." Bella enters the elevator, nodding to the Colonel as the doors close. Though she knows how he views her and the rest of the team, the 'creatures' as he consistently refers to them, Colonel Cullen has always exercised polite mannerisms towards Bella. While she typically appreciates his gestures, tonight they patronizing.
Rolls of clouds hide the setting sun, making the world darker than Bella expected. She walks across the dry grass, awaiting the wrenching tightness to fill her stomach. It comes just before she reaches the tree line. She doubles-over as she rushes into the brush. The familiar ache covers her face as it deforms, the piercing sharpness lengthening her tongue. Her wings appear above her shoulder blades, first looking like infant hands before morphing into their bat-like structure. Several thousand nights and the transformation never gets easier.
As soon as the she senses the process is complete she bounds into the air, repeatedly flapping her wings to gain altitude. The wind rushes past her, the frustration that fills her seeming to fall away the higher she climbs. She reaches the lowest clouds, disappearing for a moment before swooping back into view and soaring just below the sheet of gray vapor.
She aimlessly glides, occasionally pumping her wings to stay near the clouds. She ignores the ground, wanting to focus simply on the sky. Eventually, a gnarled smile crosses her face as she thinks of Edward.
Far below lies a thick forest marked by six small clearings, each with a one-story home. Bella immediately recognizes the area as where Lilim-assigned humans lived. She drops down to improve her view, futilely searching for Edward's Mustang.
Surprised by its absence, she turns and climbs in altitude again. She follows the road winding between the trees, heading back in the direction of the facility.
Where is he? she thinks. Though her flight allows her to move quickly, she figures Edward would have already made it home.
The trees dissipate below as a small stretch of buildings appear. A grocery store, a gas station. It's an area developed only to support the few residents in the vast area. Behind the small post office, tucked away from the road, she sees Edward's car parked in front of the dive bar, Olympic.
Curiosity getting the best of her and she descends into the darkness behind the bar. Despite the secrecy surrounding her existence, this is a familiar area. Her rare appearances in the area result in a sort of urban legend among the locals that sets her at ease.
Landing quietly, she crouches and covers herself with her wings. She moves quickly from the trees to a window behind the bar, shrouded in shadows. Creeping her head out from between the top of the wings, she peers inside.
Edward sits alone, nursing an orange beer at the bar. The place is poorly lit, hiding the random decorations and inconsistent seats and tables sporadically crammed in the room. The light highlighting a dartboard in the corner flickers. Overweight and unkempt, Royce stands with his back to Edward, watching a basketball game being shown on an old CRT with a distorted picture.
Over the past forty-eight hours, every expectation Edward had for this new assignment had been shattered. A unique opportunity, leading a covert team of highly skilled fighters is the delivered promise, but his duty, and the Kill Switch, weighs heavily on him. The fantastic revelation of the team's nature does little to alleviate the isolation he now feels.
The loneliness is not an unfamiliar sensation. After his parents' death, Edward developed a strength and motivation in standing out apart from the rest. But even with that, he craves the social interaction the Army gives him. A team. A family. People living for each other.
People, Edward thinks. The Colonel sure doesn't see the team as people. And they aren't people. People can't do what they do. They're special the way police canines are special. And I'm their handler.
Fuck me.
He downs the last half of his beer.
"'Scuse me." Irritation builds in Edward is the bartender remains focused on the game. He wants to at least talk to someone and have that person speak back. "Excuse me."
Nothing.
He moves around the bar, carrying the empty glass. Scowling and tense, he stands to the bartender's periphery.
Catching Edward's intimidating glare, the bartender immediately begins nodding apologetically. Strands of his stringy, black hair fall into his face. He takes the glass from Edward's hand and then points to a faded sign against the back wall: "Yes, asshole. The bartender is deaf."
"Sorry," Edward says, feeling immensely worse.
The bartender smiles, exposing his missing teeth, as he hands back the refilled beer.
"Thanks," Edward says, realizing his lips are being read. "What's your name?"
"Royce," the bartender sheepishly replies.
"Royce, I'm Edward. You'll see me a lot."
Royce grins and refocuses on the game.
Returning to his seat down the bar, Edward focuses on the beer's citrusy taste as he attempts to ignore the irony. The first person outside Lilim he meets is deaf. Even if he was authorized to discuss his position, who he is, the amazing creatures he has seen, there's no one to listen.
He pulls out his reprogrammed phone, the arrow on its GPS pointing in the direction of his new home. Though curious about the house, Edward finds himself more interested in drinking alone in a crappy bar than doing nothing at a new home. He exits out of the screen and opens his contacts.
The barren list depresses him. What use to be filled with those he's served with and distant relatives now consists of six numbers: Agent Adele, Agent Eliz, Agent Greifs, Agent Vejo, Colonel Cullen, Lilim. Each of the team members' contact information includes the human name the team members use internally.
Wish I bothered to memorize phone numbers, he thinks. He thinks back to his previous assignment and realizes that he wasn't that close with the other soldiers. Working and hanging out with them occasionally was plenty, but relating with them at any more than a superficial level was difficult. A pit grows in his stomach. Now he has no one except for his team of monsters.
Specialist Jacob Black. Edward's thumb hovers over the name. He's a kid, Edward thinks, in his twenties. Relatable. Approachable.
Edward wants to press the name and call. To talk to someone about himself, the team, the weather, anything. He can't though. Despite the obvious informality of the team, Edward is still an officer. A Captain calling a Specialist is widely inappropriate. The same would apply if he calls Alice.
He could call Colonel Cullen. Carlisle. A human, at least. But Edward finds something about the Colonel off-putting.
First Lieutenant Bella Swan. Of the few acquaintances he's made since his arrival, Bella is the best option. Beautiful and mysterious, Edward can't deny his attraction to her. But she's on his team and a female. The perception of impropriety is be dicey but there's no one else.
Professional distance. The words return to Edward's mind. She's not human. As much as he wants to get to know her, know his team, he doesn't know if he should. She kicked his ass. Emmett damn near killed him. What else could they do?
He pockets the phone and finishes his beer. The deaf Royce is completely enamored in the game.
Fuck professional distance, he thinks. I can't lead that way. I won't lead the team, whatever they are, that way. Soldiers will die for a leader they care about, and they care if they think the leader cares.
He pulls a couple of twenties from his wallet and leaves them behind as he exits the bar into the night. He'll take a couple of days to readjust and then treat his team as people. Even Emmett. Especially Bella. If his only job is to hold the leash, he would make them never want to pull it. And if they did he would do his job.
Before getting in his car he brings up the GPS on his phone, the red arrow appearing to point him home. He looks up at the rolling dark clouds blotting out the moon and stars and takes in the cool, serene isolation of his new position. High above, he glimpses something that looks like a bat soaring.
A smile crosses his face. Edward thinks only of Bella as he drives away.