Regenesis (Book 1): Impact (67 page)

---*---

4:18
PM

Seattle,
Washington

Lauren
sat on one of the four cots away from Strom and faced the entryway. They hardly
spoke two words to one another since Nick left earlier that morning. All she
did was sit with her head in her hands, gaze off dispassionately, and
occasionally let out a nearly inaudible sigh. She cried too. Strom on the other
hand kept to himself and read all day. In fact, he’d read through
The Great
Gatsby
,
Selected Poems of T.S. Eliot
,
Save Me the Waltz
,
Tender
is the Night
, and was partly through a collection of Ernest Hemingway’s
short stories. He’d offered Lauren a pick out of his humble library, but she
simply refused and continued to sit quietly at the end of her cot.

He
stopped at
The End of Something
, dog-eared the page, and set the book
aside. “You need to do something,” he started, “You’re distracting, to say the
least.”

“Just
leave me alone.”

Strom
struggled to prop himself up and eventually sat at the edge of his cot. The pain
nearly made him cry out, but he managed, choked back the knowledge that he
wasn’t helping himself at all and set himself at the end of the bed. He took a
breath and said, “You miss them, right?”

“What?”

“Your
parents,” he repeated, “You–”

“Don’t
you talk to me about them,” she snapped. “I don’t want to hear a damn word out
of you.”

Her
words echoed for a brief second and left an uncomfortable silence. Lauren
looked away, but Strom didn’t budge.

He
looked at the ground between his cot and the next and asked what her parents
did for work.

“I
said I don’t want to talk about it,” she reiterated.

Strom
waited a moment before he told her both his mother and father worked as bakers.
“At least, that’s what they did when I was young. I don’t even know if they’re
alive anymore,” he admitted.

Lauren
shut her eyes and told him to stop talking. “I don’t want any advice or
sympathy or condolences from you.”

“Because
of who I am?”

“Yes.”

Strom
nodded and looked over to his small pile of books, most of which he’d read before
he sustained his injuries. He gave Nick a small list of materials he hoped Nick
would get for him on his way home, most of which comprised Hemingway,
Fitzgerald, Salinger, and some odds and ends. He even told Nick to take his
Maserati GranTurismo to school or wherever he needed to go, but quickly
realized Nick didn’t know how to drive stick very well and that the vehicle
would only attract attention.

Nick
and Lauren left each evening to get food and occasionally entertainment (which
was always a novel for Strom, seeing as both Nick and Lauren would sit quietly
and keep to themselves). In fact, whenever Nick left she would accompany him,
with the exceptions being his schooling or if he left to see his girlfriend.
Strom guessed she would have left on her own had she not feared the possibility
of Dalton attacking her. He guessed that since he could hardly sit up, couldn’t
stand or walk, or even raise his arms fully that Lauren felt fine being cooped
up somewhere with him, seeing as if Strom tried anything she would be able to
stop him. He never tried anything and never would; all he’d done since she
became apprised of his identity was eat, sleep, and read.

“Who
do you think I am?” he suddenly asked her. “You’re dead set that you know who I
am, so I’d just like to know what it is that I am.”

“You’re
a killer for starters,” she murmured.

“So
are soldiers,” he muttered. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Soldiers
fight for their country.”

“I
fight for myself and that’s all.” He struggled to adjust his glasses and added,
“Soldiers have an enemy they try to keep in their sights; I only kill those I’m
paid to kill. If either of us is considered–”

“You
can’t honestly believe that you’re justified do you?” she stopped him and
leered at him. “You fight for yourself, right? You’re nothing more than a
selfish prick.”

He
looked at her and admitted that he wasn’t a saint. “I don’t enjoy what I do,
you know.”

“Then
why do you kill people if you dislike it?”

“Why
does anyone work a job they hate?” He waited for a response which never came
and finally answered it himself, “It’s because it pays well.”

“Then
you’re greedy.”

“So
what? Loads of people are and–”

“They
don’t kill others.”

“Some
of them do.”

“We
aren’t talking about them,” she spat, “We’re talking about why you’re the monster
that you are.”

Her
words hung in the air a moment before Strom slowly repeated them. “You know
what? The guy who killed your mom and dad–”

“I
don’t–”

“Listen
to me!” he barked. “I don’t give a shit if you don’t like me or if you’ll ever
like me, but you will at the very least act cordially toward me. I’m still
human and I know that what you’re going through is painful and all I’m trying
to do is help, but you’re acting like a stuck up bitch who thinks she’s too
good for me. For all I know you are a better person than I am, I mean, it
wouldn’t take much, but out of all the so-called ‘evil’ I’ve done you’re
spitting on the one good thing I’m trying to do to help you. Now I’m sorry your
mother and father were killed, I am; but unless you talk to someone about it
you’re unlikely to ever get through it.” Strom struggled to lie back down and
pick up his book, but he managed on his own. He opened it back up to
The End
of Something
and added, “I don’t even care if you don’t want to talk to me,
just talk about it with someone. Someone like Nick…” He unfolded the small
corner of his book and mentioned that Nick knew what she was going through and
could benefit from talking to her as well.

---*---

4:47
PM

Seattle,
Washington

Drake
sat with Hiromi at what Drake’s father called a ‘hole in the wall’ restaurant.
It was probably accurate, but Drake loved the food and he knew his girlfriend
would appreciate it as well. The small Japanese bar and grill was home to
comfort foods of the aforementioned nation and offered a delicious selection of
relatively cheap meals, (not that Drake was in anyway a cheapskate). He wanted
to take his girlfriend to one of his favorite places in Seattle, right at the
heart of the International District.

He
mentioned to her that he would often have dinner with his late father at
various places across the city, but the little bar and grill was always his
favorite. “I don’t know what it is about it,” he told her, “I just thought it
was really cool to sit here, eat Japanese food that wasn’t from a local
teriyaki place, and actually be surrounded by people who were invested in the
food and not the fact that it was a quick eat so they could get on with their
lives.”

She
giggled and told him the restaurant was pretty much exactly what he didn’t
think it was. “Most of these people probably live around here and just eat here
because it’s quick, Drake.”

He
smiled and said he knew. “I didn’t realize it when I was younger. Now it just
holds a lot of good memories.”

They
glanced through the small menus they were presented with at the beginning of
their evening and casually selected something before their waiter arrived.
Drake ordered chicken katsu and Hiromi selected prawn yakisoba. They opted out
of beverages in favor of the ice water they already had with them at the table.

“So
how’s school going?” he asked.

She
nodded and said everything was fine. “I like my classes and I’ve made some
friends, so I’m happy. How about you? How are your classes?”

He
shrugged and said they were fine.

They
sat quietly for a moment before he asked her what her family was like.

“My
father works for a law firm in Tokyo and my mother is what you would call a
stay at home mom,” she started. “My father’s a rather uptight person, partly
because of his job, but he still manages to make my mother and I laugh, so it’s
not as if he’s mean. My mother is really sweet and looks after everyone as best
she can; she really only wants to make people happy.”

Drake
told her they sounded nice. He looked away from her and swirled his drink a bit
before he set it down and watched the crystals slowly rotate in a clockwise
manner. Hiromi frowned and said she was sorry about his father’s death.

“do you think we should name him?>”

Drake
looked up and found himself in a small apartment in Japan. The couple he’d
grown vicariously close to sat together on a small sofa in their living room.
Yoshiko leaned back against her husband who wrapped his arms around her and
rested them on her womb.

He
blinked and saw Hiromi before him once again. All he could do was thank her for
her concern and look away.

---*---

7:43
PM

Seattle,
Washington

Nick
and Lauren walked through a small grocery store in the International District
of Seattle. They each carried their own hand basket, selected items they each
thought they would need and at times would wander away from each other, but
Nick and Lauren never let the other vanish from their sight.

The
hideout they stayed in didn’t have any appliances, so they were forced to only
buy items that could keep without the need to be frozen or refrigerated.
However they lacked a stove, oven, sink, and toaster, so anything that needed
to be cooked was also out of the question; as such a majority, if not all, of
what they purchased constituted snack food. (Lauren picked up some feminine
hygiene items that Nick tried his best to ignore).

As
they walked past the wine section, Lauren stopped and asked if Nick thought
Strom might like some wine. He was sure he wouldn’t mind some, but told her he
didn’t know what type of alcohol he might want. She examined the bottles,
didn’t find any of them to be greatly unique, selected one she favored, set it
in her basket, and walked on.

Nick
hurried along to catch up with her and asked if she drank a lot. She shook her
head, “No, not much. I did it more as a social thing, but…” she stopped and
claimed she didn’t care much for it.

“How
are we going to buy it? You mentioned you’re nineteen, right?”

She
nodded, “David made me a passport that said I was twenty-one before I left.”
They walked into an aisle filled with cookies, crackers, chips, and other
snacks before she asked what David was really like. “I’ve known him for a few
years,” she told him, “But he never mentioned any of this.”

Nick
cleared his throat and asked if the two of them dated, which she said they
never had, which then gave Nick a false sense of ease. He mentioned that David
spent a good deal of time with Melanie and Alisa, though he wasn’t certain if
he dated either of them.

Lauren
frowned, which Nick noticed and asked her if she was alright. She shook her
head and said it was nothing. “I just…I don’t know, I thought he was a nice
guy, but apparently I don’t really know him at all.”

Nick
felt a sudden sense of his error and tried to console her by saying that David
was a great guy, a valuable member of the group, and that he cared about her,
but nothing he said resonated with her. He apologized and admitted that he
didn’t know who he was either. She wiped a few tears from her eyes and asked if
he was ready to leave.

--          --          --

There
was only one bag and the bottle of wine wrapped in a thin paper sleeve between
them. Nick carried the bag while Lauren held the bottle by its neck in her
right hand. They hadn’t said two words since the store and were halfway home
before Nick realized that they needed to stop somewhere and order takeout
(which made up the rest of their lavish meal). He walked on her right side,
next to the oncoming traffic, and watched for cars. She stared despondently at
the sidewalk, quietly shifted past other pedestrians, and kept a rather loose
grip on the bottle.

“Where
do you want to go for dinner?” he asked her. She didn’t reply, so he tried
again, “What sounds good?”

She
told him she didn’t care and asked him to make a decision.

He
cleared his throat and tried to apologize for what he said about David, “I
really don’t know anything about him Lauren, but he seems like a good guy.”

She
slowly came to a stop next to him at a crosswalk and asked him to stay there
with her for a moment. “You know, when I…we, he and I, were still in Paris, I
heard rumors that he slept around with a lot of people, but I didn’t believe
it. He was really kind, strong, charming, and protective even. I thought I…”
she let out a breath, “I really thought he was perfect.”

Nick
scratched the back of his head and said David might still be that guy. “We
don’t really–”

“Nick,”
she stopped him, “What were your parents like?”