| Subject: chapter 11 |
Author:
s.b.
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Date Posted: Thursday, October 07, 12:58:03am
In reply to:
s.b.
's message, "The Progeny of Four" on Sunday, September 19, 09:33:38pm
After the door shut Nikita sat up and looked around the room again. Now that the man in black had gone her bravado quickly faded. What was this place she was in? Frowning she stood and surveyed the room more carefully. The walls were padded. The door was locked. Everything was in white. Was this one of those hospitals where they put crazy people?
Spinning around she searched for and saw the photo that the man had given her earlier. Nikita grabbed it up off the floor and stared at it. He had said that it was a picture of her funeral. But how could she be dead if she was still alive?
Backing into a corner Nikita slid down and sat huddled. The last clear memory she had was of being in her cell. A prison guard had appeared and ordered her to follow him. The guard had taken her to the infirmary where a doctor had been waiting for her. After that her memory grew fuzzy. The next thing she knew she had woken up here.
The man in black had said that she wasn’t in prison anymore. “The world thinks you’re dead. Suicide. This is your funeral.” Staring at the photo in her hand Nikita began to fit the bizarre pieces together. Whoever these people were they had taken her of and brought her here, to wherever this place was. The man said that they would train her here for two years…
Nikita gazed up again at the ceiling and around the room. Whoever they were her gut was telling her that they were watching her at that moment. She didn’t see the camera but she could feel them watching. She wondered if the man in black was watching her too. How many others were there?
Angrily Nikita stood and glared defiantly about. “I know you’re watching me!” she shouted, her hands clenched at her sides. When nothing happened, she swore and stomped off to the table where she had been lying earlier. She climbed up on the table and sat with her knees drawn up to her chest and folded her arms across them. “You could at least bring me a jacket!” she shouted again. “Its f—kin cold in here!”
**
A small smile formed upon Madeline’s lips as she listened and watched Nikita. The girl was afraid, that she could easily tell. But she was also a fighter. Madeline liked that.
Operations pressed his lips into a thin line. He didn’t care for profanity, especially when it came from someone of the female gender. It grated on his nerves. He reached over and terminated the video feed and dismissed the girl completely from his mind. He didn’t want to think about her or about Michael and why they had to put up with these unusual circumstances in the first place in order to ensure Michael’s loyalty. “Where are we on the Letva profile?” he asked, effectively letting Madeline know that he’d had enough of their newest recruit for the day. He wanted to move on to more important matters.
**
Nikita looked up as the door to the room opened again. She waited with bated breath to see who would enter. Would it be the man in black again? It turned out to be a doctor, and when Nikita looked again she realized with a start that it wasn’t just any doctor, it was the same one she’d seen at the prison!
Nikita’s mouth dropped open. She was about to speak when a second person entered the room. This one was dressed in all black too like the earlier man had been. He stood to the side of the door like a guard as the doctor approached Nikita.
Nikita glared at him. “Don’t touch me,” she growled, slapping his hands away.
“If you want to live,” he warned in a low voice, “you’d best not fight. This isn’t the prison anymore, Nikita. They’ll kill you here if you don’t obey.”
Nikita looked at him with distrusting eyes. Her eyes strayed over to the beefy looking man guarding the door and she noted that he wore a holster with a gun clearly displayed.
“Where am I?” she asked, as the doctor pulled out a stethoscope and motioned for her to sit up straight. He shook his head at her question, indicating that he couldn’t answer her.
A few minutes later, after he had completed checking her blood pressure and listened to her breathing, he pulled out a syringe from his coat pocket. Nikita drew back in panic.
“No!” She lashed out, kicking him in the chest as hard as she could, then flipped over backwards onto the other side of the table. “Stay away from me!”
The doctor groaned and was slow to get up from the floor. The guard who had been standing by the door sprang forward, pulling his gun out in one smooth motion.
Nikita looked around to try and find something, anything, to protect herself with. But there was nothing. Turning back to the guard she stared him down, realizing that she was probably facing her death. But death, she decided, was a better choice than staying alive and letting these people, whoever they were, take further control of her life.
The guard had a menacing look up on his face. Instead of shooting her he lifted his arm back as if to strike her across the face. Nikita steeled herself, instinct making her shut her eyes. She’d been through enough beatings in her life that anticipating that first blow was almost second nature for her. Memories flashed in her mind of Billy, her mom’s last boyfriend before Nikita got kicked out. He used to beat her mom almost daily and if Nikita tried to interfere, he would turn around and beat her too. A pang of regret pierced through Nikita. She wished she could see her mother once more. She’d ask her, why? Why had she put up with Billy and all the others who had been like him? Why had she kicked her own daughter out into the streets while choosing to remain with someone who beat the crap out of her?
Nikita felt the shadow of the guard fall across her. She heard his intake of breath, the low growl he made as he prepared to strike. She turned her face away and waited. In the next second pain exploded through her head accompanied by a blinding light flash of light. Nikita flew backward with the impact and fell onto the floor. Her left ear was ringing. S—t, maybe it was both ears. Groaning she shook her head to clear it and opened her eyes to look up at the guard who towered over her. Her vision was blurred and she tasted blood.
“Is that the best you can do?” she taunted, and slowly raised herself up, fighting against the feel of bile rising in her throat. She forced a smile to her lips. “You hit like a girl.”
The guard leered, a gleam in his eyes as he took a step toward her.
“Sakim, no!” The doctor had risen to his feet. At the same time the door behind him opened and Nikita saw someone else entering into the room. She blinked to get her vision clearer but she could tell he too wore black. What was it with the people here and black, she wondered?
“Oh look,” she said, laughing. “Your friend’s here to help you.”
Michael was livid. “Stand down!” he ordered. The guard, who by now had a grip on Nikita’s neck, reluctantly released her and stepped back. Michael was tempted to beat the man for raising his hand against Nikita. Though she wasn’t an operative yet she was still considered a recruit, and recruits, like operatives, were hard to come by.
“Leave us,” Michael ordered, and he included the doctor in this command. Both men headed toward the door. Michael gave the guard known as Sakim a warning look. Sakim was a very capable operative; the problem was that he enjoyed his work too much. Michael would recommend to Madeline that the man be put in the abeyance pool.
When the two men had exited Michael turned his gaze to Nikita. She stood watching him, defiance in her eyes. Blood trickled from her lower lip. He walked over and slowly reached into his jacket and withdrew a handkerchief which he handed to her. Nikita turned her head the other way, refusing to take it.
Michael took a step closer and, still moving slowly, reached up and gently wiped her mouth. He could feel the tension in her body. When she turned her eyes back to him Michael saw hatred and anger reflected within. He lowered his hand but did not move back. “Are you alright?” he asked.
Nikita could only stare back at him. She wanted to yell at him that she was not alright, that nothing in her life for as long as she could remember was alright. She wanted to hit him and vent the fear and pain she felt, but at the same time she found that she wanted to confide in this man also. There was something about him, maybe it was the quiet way he spoke or the gentleness with which he had wiped her lip. But then she quickly reminded herself that he was one of *them*, and that his gentleness was only a ploy. He could be just as deadly as the other man who had been in here.
“What do you care?” she asked, hating the fact that her voice trembled.
Michael stared at her for several long seconds then slowly raised his hand and tucked a strand of her hair back behind her ears, a far away look in his eyes, as if he were remembering another time. He lowered his hand then and took a step back. “Are you hungry?” he asked, and turned toward the door.
Now that he mentioned it Nikita realized that she was starving. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. But she didn’t want to give into this man either and let him know that she was.
“You can either come with me and I’ll get you something warm to wear and food, or you can stay here for the night,” Michael said.
Nikita considered her options briefly, then followed him towards the door. She’d take the warm clothes and food then figure out what to do next. “I don’t like black,” she said, as he held the door open for her.
“Good.” Michael replied. “That’s what color I'm giving you.”
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