Rogue Alliance

THIRTY-SEVEN



The diner was bustling with people who’d had another hard Monday at work and wanted to forget it over a plate of meat and anything slathered in gravy. The hum of conversation and the clanging sounds of a busy kitchen kept everyone’s attention within earshot. It was the perfect place for Shyla and Brennan to blend in.

It had only been hours since she’d made the arrest, but it was a small town and the news would surely get around fast. If she had hoped to stay under the radar before, now she knew that she would be under scrutiny as all eyes and ears learned the facts and digested the rumors. Her job on the force, the arrest, and any other information that journalists managed to dig up would lead to one thing: her past. The horrors of her childhood were sure to raise their ugly head. It made the decision to stay in Redding that much harder.

She chose a booth toward the back by the window so she could see the front door. When Brennan walked in, his carriage was stiff, as if he sensed that he would be challenged. A vision of the way he’d torn into the hit man’s throat and drained the life away in only moments whipped through her mind. It suddenly occurred to her that she should be terrified of him. Yet, she wasn’t.

Sitting back against the vinyl seat, she stared and waited until his eyes found hers. When they did, the air between them hummed. He crossed the room in deliberate strides, their gaze never faltering and slid into the seat across from her.

“Hello, Shyla.”

“Thanks for coming, Brennan.”

They were being so civilized. The waitress approached.

“What can I get you two to drink?” she asked, and Shyla had to suppress a laugh as she watched the young woman size up Brennan’s good looks. He seemed oblivious to her appreciation.

“I’ll have a coke, please,” he said.

“I’ll take an iced tea.”

As the waitress walked away, Brennan folded his hands on the table and gave her a pointed expression.

“I see that you’re wearing a turtleneck today. And the make-up helps, but it’s clear you still have a wicked shiner. ”

“Yeah, well, it’s what I get for lying to a psychopath. But that guy is right where he should be now; sitting in a cell.”

“You and I both know he’ll be out in a week.”

“Yeah, well…sometimes it takes a while to meet an objective. I’m patient. That’s not why I asked you to meet me, though.”

Brennan sat back and cocked his head.

“Okay, so why did you?”

“I quit my job.”

Only a small flicker of surprise lit in his eyes.

“You quit or you were fired?”

“I quit,” she said, suppressing a smile, “when they tried to put me on suspension and take me off the case.”

“And?”

“You don’t think I could just walk away, do you?”

“No, I don’t suppose so, although I do think it would be a good idea.”

“Well, as much as you and probably a few others would like that, I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to continue with the case on my own time, with my own rules. Victor’s going down one way or another.”

The waitress brought their drinks and Brennan waited until they were alone again. “So why are you telling me this?” he asked, “I’m on the wrong side of this matter. I’m with the bad guys, remember?”

“Exactly.”

The insinuation was thick and hung in the air like fetid, rotting meat. He shook his head and looked out the window.

“No,” he said.

“No? Just like that?”

He looked at her, the expression on his features bland and unreadable. “Listen, Shyla, I know where you’re going with this, but you’re barking up the wrong tree. I can’t help you here.”

He leaned forward and lowered his voice.

“I’m a genetically altered mutant. I have freakish cravings that sometimes end with murder. I make Victor’s dealings look like cake. You should be arresting me, not hinting at making an alliance with me. Don’t you get it? Victor bailed me out, and he’s my only friend. I can’t - and I won’t - turn my back on him.”

Shyla narrowed her gaze.

“Not even if I say that I could put you behind bars if you didn’t? I mean, I did witness you kill that man. It wouldn’t take much to bring in a K-9 team and find the body. I could put you away for a long time; far longer than your time at the institute.”

It felt horrible to throw the threat at him like that, especially when she essentially owed him her life. Why didn’t she have the same sense of loyalty that Brennan exhibited?

If Brennan was hurt or worried about her hint of betrayal, he didn’t show it.

“You had your chance,” he said, “how would it look if the authorities knew that you were there and did nothing? You’d be dragged through the whole investigation, your integrity would be questioned, and your past would cloud the whole thing. Next thing you know, all the focus is off Victor and you’re in the spotlight. There goes your opportunity to seek vengeance. I don’t think you’re going to take that chance. You might have resigned, but you won’t risk your badge or the case.”

He was brashly calling her bluff and it pissed her off. She wanted to change the subject.

“Do you remember anything at all from your past, from your life before the institute?” she asked.

The sudden shift in topic threw him off. He blinked and looked startled.

“Uh…no, nothing…well…I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean, you don’t think so?”

“I…I’ve had a few dreams,” he said, looking uncomfortable, “they’re probably nothing but…”

“But what?”

He stared out the window, his eyes glossing over as if seeing the visions of the dream in his mind.

“Well,” he continued, “it’s just one dream really, but I’ve had it a few times over the past couple of weeks. In them, I’m washing a car in the front of a house in the driveway. I think it’s my house, at least that’s the sense I get. I have my shirt off and the sun is out, beating down on my back. I’m sweaty and happy but I don’t know why, I just have a feeling like something really great is about to happen.

“Then this woman shouts at me. I look up and see my mother peering down at me from the second storey window, but I can’t see her face because the sun is directly behind her. All I can make out is her musical voice and a pretty smile. The rest is blurry and washed out.”

Shyla had learned a bit about amnesia and how memories could slowly return to the victims over time, while working on a case in her earlier years on the force.

“You think it’s a memory?” she asked.

When he looked at her, the pain and longing in his eyes were so vivid, it nearly broke her heart.

“Yeah, maybe…I don’t know. I want it to be. I wish I could see her face, though. I wish I could remember more, but it seems the harder I try to grasp on to any fleeting sensation of my past, the farther away it drifts. It’s so frustrating.”

“You know,” Shyla said, leaning forward, “with a little digging, we could probably find them, find out who you are. I could help you. We could help each other.”

Brennan’s jaw clenched.

“I don’t know,” he said, “maybe I don’t want to start bringing up things that are long ago forgotten. Besides, I’m not the same anymore. I’m not anyone that a parent would want to know.”

“That’s not true at all, Brennan. I’m sure that, whoever your parents are, they would want to know what became of their son. I seriously doubt they wouldn’t want to find you, to know you. Besides, you want to know. You need to know. Even if it’s just for closure.”

It looked like he was tempted to believe her proposal of hope, but he shook it off. “No. I can’t go there. Not now. I’ve got a new future. I can’t waste time on the past.”

His body language suddenly stiffened and his tone suggested that he was closing off. He was done with the conversation.

“And neither can you, Shyla. We both need to look forward and move on. Go back to LA. Forget about Victor. It’s a battle that you just can’t win.”

Shyla shoved her tea to the side.

“It’s not about winning, Brennan. It’s about doing what’s right, about not giving up. I have all sorts of skeletons in my closet that I’d rather not face, but, unlike you, I’m not going to hide from them under my blankets like a scared little child in the dark. I did that for too many years as a young girl and I hated my own cowardice every single time that I did. That was the worst part of the violation - not the part where the bad guy got what he wanted, but the part where I handed over my pride and soul to the fear. F*ck that! You might be able live your life like that, but I can’t.”

She stood up and threw a five dollar bill on the table.

“Thanks for meeting with me Brennan. At least now we both know where the other firmly stands. I’ll be seeing you around.”

With that she spun on her heel and marched out the diner.