We’re cool. Everybody be cool. Just be calm.
They ignored me, which was perfect, except for Taylor, who started right in with how much she’d heard about me and how much she loved Anna and how much fun they’d been having. I countered with how much I needed a shower and took myself to the bathroom. By the time I got out, my head felt clearer and I had a plan. I’d attack the situation like I’d been trained to do in the Army. Gather intelligence. Create a strategy. Execute on it. I’d figure out what was happening to me, then go about reversing it.
Anna was at her desk when I stepped into her room. She spun in the swivel chair, sliding her cell phone into the pocket of her jacket. “Good look, little brother,” she said, tipping her chin to the pink towel around my waist. I’d been born two minutes after her and she loved to remind me that I came into this world in second place. “The girls in the apartment downstairs are having a party. Joy said she told you about it. You’re coming, right?”
“Yeah, sure. Is Wyatt going to be there?”
“I don’t think so.” She frowned, eyeing me more closely. “Gideon, you don’t look hurt at all. You look bigger.”
“Yeah?” I looked at myself. All I could really see was my stomach, so I patted it. “It’s all the PT I’ve been doing.” I’d always been athletic. Army life had just honed me up more.
“Did you do something wrong?”
It took me a second to realize what she meant. She thought the accident was a cover? “Anna, no. I didn’t.”
She didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds. We could always tell when the other was holding something back, which was one of the reasons I’d been gone so much over the past year. I hadn’t wanted to take any chances of dragging her down with me. Now was no different.
I rubbed a hand over my wet hair, which was already dry because it was a millimeter long. “Stop looking at me like that. It’s creepy.”
“You’re creepy.” She stood. “See you downstairs.”
“Wait. I need to call Mom.”
“I already told her you’re here. She went atomic.” She tossed me her phone and smiled. “Have fun.”
When she left, I pulled on jeans and sat at the desk. My first order of business was to get information. I fished some medical discharge papers out of my ruck and found the number for the Army physician overseeing my case. Because of the severity of my injuries, I had Dr. Katz’s mobile number. He answered right away.
“Private Blake, how are you feeling?” he asked.
“Good, sir. I’m good … maybe too good.”
“No such thing as ‘too good’ where health is concerned. Glad to hear it.” I heard him tapping on a keyboard in the background. “Looks like we’re seeing you in a week for some follow-up exams. What can I do for you, son?”
“Major, did you or any of the other doctors put a medical bracelet on me?”
“You have no known allergies or preexisting medical conditions. There’s no need for an ID bracelet.”
“Not an ID bracelet. A healing bracelet. On my left wrist?”
“I don’t have a record of that, Private. I don’t want to discourage you, Gideon, but a magnetic bracelet won’t go far considering the severity of your injuries. Is there anything else? How’s your pain tolerance?”
“Good, sir. Thank you. Nothing else.”
I hung up and flipped open Anna’s laptop. The apartment had fallen quiet except for a deep, pulsing bass thrumming from Joy’s party.
I typed one ridiculous search parameter after another.
Unexplainable rapid healing
Manipulating rage in others
Mystery metal bracelets
Just about everything turned up the same result: superhero websites.
That was enough intelligence gathering for me.
I shut the laptop, sat back, and laughed my ass off.
CHAPTER 9
College parties were a phenomenon I had yet to experience. Unlike my high-school buddies who’d spent the past months filling up Solo cups in parties across America, I’d spent them getting my head shaved, learning to low crawl, and polishing my shoes until I could see my face in them.
Those first few months in the Army were brutal, and not only because they were physically and mentally demanding. In Basic Training, a lot of guys were slackers who didn’t really want to be there and it felt like my sixth-grade sleepover all over again—a bunch of screw-offs giddy on their first night away from home. Until I got a little further along in the process and found guys more like me in RASP, I’d seriously wondered if I’d made the right choice.