"Danielle McMinn," Bryce reported. "We're not sure how she died yet, but Officer Hendricks and I managed to confirm that the scar was on her arm."

"Did you all ever manage to figure out if that one guy was your fourteenth victim or not?"

Bryce nodded and told him it was Joaquin Hernandez. "We finally had confirmation that Hernandez had the mark on his arm, which made it evident that he was the fourteenth."

The chief thanked him but stopped Bryce once again and told him that the case was officially reopened by the commissioner, but was still to be conducted as it was before, in secret and kept secret. Bryce thanked him and seemed to sprint out of the office to tell his coworkers the news.

12:57 PM.

Kenmore, Washington Nick hadn't slept well since his training began, though he thought he would have slept better considering how exhausted he was each evening. All the physical toll did to him was kept him from finding a comfortable position to sleep in with all of the bruises and other aches and pains. The training exercises continued to run through his head while he fought to sleep as well.

His fatigue garnered a few comments from some of his cla.s.smates and instructors and in each case he provided a reasonable lie. He sat alone in Mizuno's cla.s.sroom with the vain hope that he might catch some shuteye for the rest of the lunch period. Mizuno had left him there to go and socialize with the other teachers to continue the ruse that he was indeed a regular member of the Inglemoor High School faculty.

Since Nick began training after his return to Washington State, he'd practiced creating and firing dozens of different firearms from pistols and derringers to shotguns and sniper rifles. He practiced for three hours each day before Mizuno put him through basic hand-to-hand combat training as well as everything from knife throwing to hotwiring various models of cars. Mizuno even taught him how to convert a basic calculator into a bomb that would detonate if the equal sign was pressed, though Mizuno required the help of Ke Kitayama, the innovator of Mizuno's team. But the worst part of the grueling training course was that if Nick was ever tired, hurt, or fatigued, Mizuno never relented. Everything Mizuno did was supposedly to benefit Nick, though Nick only felt it was hara.s.sment and unjustified abuse.

The cla.s.sroom door swung open and Mizuno took a seat next to Nick before the door closed. "You need to get more sleep."

"I know," he muttered, "I've tried."

"Have you taken anything?"

"No."

"Good." Mizuno reclined in his seat slightly and told him that pills make people dependant. "But try slowing your breathing rate and drink a cup of chamomile tea before you head to bed tonight. How are your cla.s.ses going?"

"Fine."

"Just fine?"

"Why are you even asking me?" Nick snapped. He glared at Mizuno and asked, "If you can learn whatever you want about me in the blink of an eye, why do you waste the time to ask me?"

Mizuno looked away from him and admitted that he could easily do that. "I only ask you because one-way conversations are not very entertaining. Besides, if we talk it establishes trust between us and it helps you formulate your own thoughts and ideas, some of which I might not come to on my own."

"Then this is all about your grand project?"

Mizuno told him to open his eyes before he left Nick there and headed for his desk.

The first bell rang and just before the first students arrived, Mizuno told Nick that he'd be training with Strom after cla.s.s. "I need to be with the remainder of the group today, so you'll be working with him."

Nick didn't reply as his fellow students arrived. Amy joined him and asked how he was doing. "My friend Teresa told me you fell asleep in cla.s.s today."

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep in any of his cla.s.ses or even that he shared a cla.s.s with one of Amy's friends. Nick rubbed his eyes and told her that his job was getting to him. "I got the homecoming tickets though," he told her.

Her eyes lit up and she thanked him. "This is going to be so much fun Nick! Where do you think we should go for dinner then?"

Cla.s.s with Amy was the highlight of Nick's day. It was in her company that he finally managed to relax, since Mizuno rarely called on him. Nick spent the hour holding his girlfriend's hand, fingers laced, and they chatted quietly amongst themselves whenever their instructor was not lecturing.

The relief ended though and he soon after had to face the rigid exercises Strom had planned for him. Nick felt a familiar knot in his gut unsettle him as he prepared for his afternoon.

Amy stopped him as they readied to leave and asked Nick, "Do you want to come over and meet my mom tonight? I know you're busy with your job and everything, but I'd love it if you would stop by."

Nick didn't know how long he'd be training for, but he wanted to at the very least make her happy, so he agreed. "I'd love to."

"Great! What time do you think you'll be able to stop by?"

He told her he wasn't sure, but that it would have to be close to eight.

"Oh, alright."

Nick saw the slight disappointment in her eyes and asked what was wrong.

"Nothing," she lied. "I just thought it would be nice to have dinner with you, but I guess we can do that some other time."

"I would love to Amy, I really would. But later this week or next week will work better for me, okay?" He parted ways with her and headed for his motorcycle in the student parking lot.

Nick drove back to the hotel he called home so he could leave his belongings in the room he rented out and carpool with Strom to the abandoned department store building Mizuno rented out for their training purposes. He managed to get a parking s.p.a.ce next to Strom's jet black two-thousand-nine Maserati GranTurismo. He'd only been in it twice, but knew Strom kept it exceptionally clean to the point of never allowing any food or drink in it.

He headed into the hotel, stopped to tell the receptionist that he wanted the room for another week, and made his way to his room. Strom's bags were in the doorway and he was reclined on Nick's bed with a paperback copy of The Sun Also Rises.

"What happened to The Catcher in the Rye?"

"I finished it," Strom told him as he turned a page, "And now I'm reading this."

"Is it any good?"

"I don't know, I'm only a few pages into it," Strom admitted. "There are millions of people who would vouch for the novel though, seeing how Hemingway was one of the greatest authors this nation ever produced."

Nick had never read any of his work, so he tried to change the subject, "Are we going to leave soon?"

"After this chapter."

"How long is it?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," Nick said. "I-I want to be back early so I can see my girlfriend."

Strom stopped reading for a moment to glance over at Nick. "You're still with her?" Nick said he was, and Strom returned to his book. "Mizuno doesn't like her you know."

"What?"

"He doesn't like the fact that you're with her," he repeated. "He thinks she's holding you back."

Nick glared and asked what he thought.

Strom said he didn't care. "Sometimes people need to be with someone, and then there are people like Mizuno and I who can exist without anyone."

"So you've never loved anyone?"

Strom looked at him and asked, "Do you love your little gal pal?" Nick wasn't sure. "No. I haven't ever found a woman that I've wanted to have more than a couple of drinks with." Strom stopped talking and changed the subject, "Do you hate him?"

"Who?"

"Keep up Nick, I'm talking about Mizuno."

Nick thought to say yes, but he said he wasn't sure. "He irritates me a lot, but..."

Strom returned to his reading briefly before he admitted that he hated Mizuno once as well. "When I was younger, younger and arrogant, I accepted a job to take a man out who later turned out to be Mizuno, and things didn't end up as I planned." Strom dog-eared his place in the novel and set the book aside. "I didn't want to tell you this, but I might as well. Basically, I set everything up in London, plotted out the entire situation, and once Mizuno was within my sights I fired. But I missed and killed a seven year old girl." He ma.s.saged the bridge of his nose where his gla.s.ses rested and said, "Her name was Katie Washburn, she had red hair, freckles, and a few of her front teeth were missing when she died. I didn't know who she was then, but..." he sighed and let him know that the event caused him to examine what he was doing with his life.

"So why don't you hate Mizuno then?" Nick asked.

"It was my fault that little girl died. I shouldn't have taken such a risky shot and I should have figured out who it was that I was paid to kill. If I'd known it was him I wouldn't have even bothered taking the job."

"But why don't you hate him?"

Strom adjusted his gla.s.ses and continued, "About an hour after I failed to kill him, I found myself at the end of his gun. He explained who Katie Washburn was, who he was, and that he wouldn't kill me so long as I stopped taking jobs to hunt him down. He also told me that I needed to dig into who hired me, as a majority of my employers were drug lords and human traffickers as well as some other crimes I didn't want involvement in." Strom grabbed his book and got off the bed and walked toward the door. "Time pa.s.sed, I accepted my faults in Katie Washburn's death, and eventually Mizuno contacted me for a job, which I accepted. And here we are."

He grabbed his bag off the floor and told Nick that they needed to leave and quietly walked out the door.

4:18 PM.

Both.e.l.l, Washington "What's wrong?" Jordan asked Rachel.

He and Rachel sat at a small table at the only Italian restaurant in Both.e.l.l they could get into while wearing jeans (though, to be honest, there were only a few Italian restaurants in Both.e.l.l to begin with). They were outside under an awning that did little to shade them from the sun on the scorching afternoon, though to their relief a pleasant breeze cooled them.

Rachel leaned against their table with a scowl on her face and her eyes on the cobblestone walkway beside them. Jordan thought that even if he was blind he would have known something concerned her.

"Rachel, what's on your mind?" he asked again.

She bluntly told him it was Vladimir.

"What are you talking about?"

Rachel let out a breath and confessed, "After you decided you had better things to do than go to the Seattle Art Museum with me, I invited Vladimir. I didn't tell you because I a.s.sumed you'd be p.i.s.sed."

Jordan frowned and said she was right. "Why the h.e.l.l'd you think it was okay to just do that?"

"Jordan," she stopped him, "You didn't want to go and I didn't want to go to Seattle alone."

"Then you call up one of your girlfriends or invite your aunt or something," he told her, "You don't invite some other guy to go with you behind my back."

"We only went to"

"That's not the point Rachel," he spat. "What possessed you to even think I'd be fine with that? I mean, I hate that guy."

"That's a bit harsh Jordan."

"I don't care."

They stopped then when their waiter brought them their drinks and a basket of bread. Their conversation didn't pick up once the waiter left though, as Rachel looked away from Jordan and he hardly wanted to say a word to her. The breeze didn't feel calming anymore, to either of them. It was cold, irritating, and would hardly stop to allow them a moment to warm up. Shadow poured over them as clouds blocked out the sun.

"What'd he do anyway?" Jordan asked her.

"What?"

"What did Vladimir do to irritate you?" he repeated.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does," he said. "What was it?"

"It's none of your business."

Jordan swore and told her it was. "What the h.e.l.l do you think this is all about Rachel? You go out with him behind my back and you don't think this has anything to do with me? Who do you think you are?"

Rachel rose from her seat, grabbed her things, and cussed him out while she left him alone at the table.

5:10 PM.

Kenmore, Washington Jessica, Michael, and their grandmother sat in the living room as Michael eagerly watched his favorite program, the five o'clock news. He was well aware of news stations that only ran new programs, but he had a preferred the local station that ran the news at five, seven, and ten o'clock...and if Michael was lucky enough he'd watch each of the three broadcasts.

Their grandmother tried her best to tune the news out while she quietly worked on solving puzzles in her Sudoku book. Jessica sat with her laptop open to a page on REFOIA while she helped her grandmother watch after her little brother.

Michael's eyes lit up suddenly. He looked at his big sister and said, "Here it is."

"What?"

"This is when it begins."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just a second now," he told her.

The commercial break ended and the station ran a story about Drake Winchester's release from the j.a.panese authorities as well as his innocence in the matter of his father's murder. One of the anchors, Fay Winthrop, began, "Although he was originally accused of his own father's murder, Drake Winchester has been acquitted and has even announced the advent of his own super power." Jessica looked up from her computer and paid attention to the news at the word of Drake's supposedly new ability. "Mister Winchester hasn't agreed to any interviews as of yet, but has released a short statement about his father's death, the fate of Winchester Enterprises, as well as a brief word on his power."

A photograph of Drake appeared onscreen while someone off-screen read the statement, "'With the tragic loss of my father and after my mistaken incarceration in j.a.pan, I am pleased to say I am no longer among the brief list of suspects in his murder. I do hope, with every fiber of my being, that the one responsible is found and brought to justice, but in the meantime I am well aware of the dire straits of Winchester Enterprises and the natural chaos that ensues when an event like this shakes the foundations of a ma.s.sive corporation. I want to ensure everyone that although my father left the company in my name, I have no intention to disrupt the structure of the company whatsoever. I do plan on becoming a part of it but not until I've had time to bury my father and move on. As for my ability, let me just briefly state that I have the ability to rust metals in a matter of seconds. As such I do not intend on donning a cape or cowl and I will not become an active hero by any sense of the term.'"

"And we wish Mister Winchester all the best as he and many others mourn the loss of Tony Winchester," Fay Winthrop finished. "In other news, a local community college has plans to aid the fight against breast cancer by donating a small percentage of the tuition money from students this coming quarter."