Three weeks later

The bubbling of the water fountain, the distant traffic in the slowly waking town and the hum of the refrigerator filled the early morning quiet. Enjoying the cool of the day, the cats scuttled up and down, prancing and crab style hopping, their acrobatic playful movements making Breanna smile. In the silence of the predawn, she felt at peace.

Curled in a large armchair, she rested her chin on her palm. The hot, freshly brewed coffee steamed next to her on an old mahogany side table as she mulled over her life. She wanted her old life back, meaning she had to think about her past. Not something that brought whoops of joy. Since getting out of her sister's madhouse, she experienced things that helped her grow. She was happy to have lived through those experiences. It was the past few years that she wanted to forget. It had her wanting to only see the beauty in life. Experience the good, and for some reason, she had a hard time trying to realise why it was she couldn't move past the disaster and grasp who she was and what life had to offer.

Sighing absently, she reached for her coffee. A full-length mirror on the wall near the archway reflected her staring back.

Chocolate brown hair framing an oval-shaped face dusted her shoulders. The button nose and full lips sat below the haunted chocolate brown eyes. A slight tan brought a healthy hue to her otherwise pale face. Her athletic build held a healthier weight and had rounded out in places that once were skeleton and skin. Rubbing her aching forehead, she sipped at the steaming brew. She had drunk too much wine last night … again. Reality revealed that her problem was more profound than the experimentation endured. She didn't know herself because life had been dictated; Darcia had never allowed her to make any choices or to have her own space. When it came to what life had to offer, she didn't know how to reach out and take it. She had catered to Darcia's needs and whims for most of her life. Breanna had never had someone to show her how to reach out, touch and experience. All that supernaturally came from inside. Yet, she still felt stifled, contained and locked away. That part of her needed to find life. If it was the part of her that nobody wanted, then the world was missing out. It was the part of her that saw everything beautiful and touching everything with the heart. The hidden, fragile piece was easily bruised, damaged, and only began to heal in recent years.

Sipping her coffee and breathed in the salty smell of the nearby ocean. She froze.

She lifted her head and took in the surrounding area, her sensitive hearing heightened. Cocking her head, she waited. It came again. Sliding off the chair, she padded in the direction of the dining room.

Breanna took in the shadows. She knew she was alone. The spacious passages of her hacienda style home didn't have plants to hide behind. The lounge and open plan kitchen only had the essentials, no hiding places either. Large double wooden doors to the rooms in the passageway facing the courtyard remained closed. The click of a lock opening and closing would have been heard by her enhanced hearing. A shuffling sound and a soft grunt came from the dining room. She stepped through the door, freezing as she rounded the corner. A shape was sliding through the window, grunting as it hit the floor with a soft thud. No. Correction, as he hit the floor.

Slowly reaching for the baseball bat leaning against the nearby wall, she slid her fingers around the handle. Panic sat in her chest. Her breathing was coming hard and fast as the shadow reached up with one hand and pulled the window closed, latching it. Running feet could be heard on the pavement outside, while inside, the sound of a rasping gasp for breath and shallow panting could be heard. Inhaling deeply, she released it as his head turned in her direction.

"Are you going to hit me or throw the cup at me?" his words came out of the shadow.

She grasped her coffee cup in one and the other the baseball bat.

"What do you want here?" she asked, putting her coffee cup carefully on the gleaming circular wooden dining table.

"A hiding place," he whispered, "I'm sure you heard the many pairs of feet out there."

"Did you steal something? Kill someone?" she understood the need to hide and steal a little peace in the hectic life. It didn't mean she would become a hostage or victim.

"No, I didn't kill someone, but one of those guys did, and I saw it," he said, reaching into his pocket, "right about the time I took an item from their … establishment."

She realised he talked about the plot of some movies and books she enjoyed. Not prepared to accept his explanation as gospel, she stared at him, wanting proof. Weighing the bat in both hands, she swung it up in her practised hand as she took a step toward him. He froze doing … whatever he was doing.

"Whoa," he stammered, his hands raising, holding something she couldn't make out.

"Start talking," she said, her voice holding steel she hardly recognised but was glad it was there, "start talking, or I start swinging."

He stared at this beautiful, feisty woman wielding a bat like a pro baseball player. How was he supposed to talk when he had a bullet wound leaking blood onto her floor.

"I will tell you anything I'm able to, but I need help before the blood running down my side soaks into the floor." He watched her face go from doubt to caution to a frown to the realisation that he wasn't joking, all within a minute. How did someone feel so much so quickly?

"You've been shot?"

"By the running feet," he waved a blood-smeared hand toward the window.

"Oh my gosh," she moved quickly toward the light switch, "I need to see what is going on."

"Don't turn on the light," he said quickly, "you only do that around 6 am."

She froze, carefully turning toward him, "How do you know that?"

"I'm..." he stammered, cleared his throat and tried again, "my line of work demands I know …. certain details."

"Your line of work?" Sarcasm rode each word as she lent on the bat and thrust a hip out in the opposite direction, "does your line of work get you shot?"

"Preferably not, but sometimes it cannot be avoided," trying to move without the blood starting to run faster, he grunted, inhaling and exhaling painfully.

"What are you doing?" she said, observing him.

"You need to turn on your lamp in the front room," he hissed, "any deviation from the normal routine, and they will know where I am."

"What?" she frowned down at him.

"Please," he had gasped, having never begged before but willing to make this the first time, "switch on the lamp."

"This is so totally screwed up," she muttered, moving away, bat in tow. "I read this stuff in books, watch it in movies, avoid it like the plague," she continued to mutter as she left the room. The man's gaze followed her. He couldn't help chuckling at her attitude and total disregard that he may cause any harm.

"Okay, the damn light is on," she said as a way of announcing herself at the doorway. "Can you stand, or must I pull your conscience body into a covert basement I may or may not have?"

Chuckling at her over-exaggeration of the scene, he pulled his knees underneath him, slowly pushing into a crouch.

"Don't forget," she muttered, "I have a bat, and I'm not scared to use it."

"I haven't forgotten," the words hissed through his clenched teeth as he stood. "Which way is your bathroom? I assume that is the next light that goes on."

"This way," she sighed, moving toward the side of the house with very few windows, "you can use this room. My bathroom light doesn't always go on, so don't throw a hissy fit."

Moving down the passage after a woman who looked identical to the woman who had tortured him with genetic procedures over the last few months. They were physically alike in looks, stature and a little in build, except her eyes. There was no insanity in her eyes. The depths of these chocolate brown eyes held clarity, emotion, tenacity and determination. Especially when she thought she might be under attack. Her slim, swaying hips disappeared through a doorway. He entered a spacious room, a double bed against the house side wall, chest of drawers near a small, solitary window facing a colourful garden. The smell of fresh wood told of the new addition of a built-in cupboard in the other corner. Sudden light brought his attention to another door on the right, where she shuffled around. A door opening came to his aching, sensitive hearing. Moving slowly forward, he stopped in the doorway. Shower, bath, toilet, hand wash basin and, thank heavens, a stool just inside the door. Carefully easing himself onto the hard wooden surface.

"Right," she huffed, turning toward him, "let's get this off," she indicated his shirt, "so I can see what is going on underneath."

Slowly he let her pull his jacket and shirt off. She stood in front of him. Slightly taller than his sitting form. Looking up into beautiful, chocolate brown eyes and matching shoulder-length hair drifting down to dust her chin.

She stood frozen in place, her eyes fixed on his broad shoulders and bare chest. Glancing down, he found the centre of her focus. A chain held two items. A heart-shaped locket containing a picture of his younger sister. His reminder why he was doing this, and a rectangular-shaped pendant. It was an Asian styled design of twisting gold intertwined with a fish arching at the bottom. He was supposed to check in with Darcia at her underground genetics laboratory using this device.

He was looking up at a pale face as she straightened her shoulders, bringing her frame to its full height, making her look down on him slightly. She swallowed hard, cleared her throat and breathed in deeply.

"W..w.w.where did you get that?" she whispered, "and don't tell me you picked it up somewhere?"

"Darcia," he whispered.

She paled even further, her shocked gasp the only other reaction to the one word that could destroy his life and end all the years of investigation and hard work.

"I'm not Darcia," she spat, stepping away from him, "why would you think I'm Darcia?"

"I don't," he spoke softly, "you asked me where I got it," he grunted as pain lanced through his shoulder, "Darcia gave this to me."

"If you were not wounded, I would kick your butt to the curb," she muttered, looking at the wound, "it looks like the bullet is out, but it left a mess behind. It'll take a bit without a hospital to get this cleaned and stitched."

"Use alcohol to clean it," he muttered, "then do what you have to."

Her eyes met his. She seemed to find what she was looking for before disappearing into the other room.

Something didn't tie up. If this was Breanna, he understood she should have shot or disabled him. Instead, she was tending his wound? The information fed to him by Darcia indicated Breanna had become volatile, requiring injections, retraining and meds. Apparently, Breanna was supposed to be on the verge of exposing the programme's existence. The intel indicated she needed to be contained.

He knew this woman to be Breanna, but she was not close to Darcia's description. She behaved rationally, compassionately and cognitively. She thought for herself, was balanced and in no way was she exposing anyone anytime soon. Perhaps the information was the problem. The thought brought a frisson of pain slicing through his head. How long since he had received an injection? Glancing at his watch, he frowned, only nine hours. That wasn't right. He should not be feeling any effects yet. What was going on?

Breanna returned with medical supplies, alcohol and the necessary implements to stitch him up. Carefully she began to work, and he watched. Her hands worked steadily. Her eyes still held clarity. Why did Darcia want Breanna returned? What did she want to do to Breanna? Before he fulfilled that part of his directive, he needed to uncover the truth.

Thankfully the wound was clean and stitched. Somewhere in the time of cleaning and moving the mystery man to the bed, he had fainted. A blessing in a way. The repair work to the wound would have gotten her a field promotion if they were in a war movie or the local doctor's position if she was in a western. That's how she felt, as though she was in a story. It didn't feel like any of this was real, except the necklace that still lay against his chest. Where was Darcia that she was able to give it to him? Did she want to know? She collected the used cotton swabs, gauze, needle and thread and moved to the bathroom. Memories ran freely as she worked. She had run from that life, literally doing everything she could not be as she was before. She helped people who wanted to get away and start anew.

Why was someone from her twin's sick, messed up life now lying on the bed in her house?

She didn't want any part of this. She didn't want to be pulled back into something as depraved as Darcia's work. But how could she turn away a man who would have bled to death by the end of the night? How could she ignore someone's need even though she knew she should?

The answer came freely, "I'm not my sister," she muttered with a heavy sigh as she washed her hands. Disposing of the medical waste as best she could, she returned to the bedroom. The sense that this was the quiet before the storm rippled through her.

"Looks like I'm working from home today," she said quietly.

She stopped next to the bed and checked on the wound one last time. Reaching for the bed covers, she froze. Tilting her head, listening as a familiar high pitched sound rose on the air. Pulling the covers up over the muscular legs, trim hips and waist to the broad, lightly dusted, muscled chest, following the sound to the necklace lying against his chest. His breathing was shallow and panting from when she had left his side until now.

Was Darcia up to her old tricks? Carefully turning the necklace over, she drew in a tight breath. Hooking the chain, she pulled it from his neck. A tiny needle could be seen protruding from the back of the Asian design, and a homing device blinked back at her from the middle of the fish.

"Still the same," she murmured, dropping the necklace into a nearby glass of water. The high pitched noise stopped immediately. Seconds later, the water fizzed a light purple colour before clearing. Breanna waited a moment longer, recording the event but nothing else happened. Turning to the stranger in the bed placed her hand on his chest and counted. Reaching ten before his chest move in a natural movement, breathing deeply and releasing evenly, his lungs working correctly. She waited until his breathing became steady and his peaceful expression.

"Now you have a chance," she whispered as he groaned, stretched, coughed, rolled onto his uninjured side and fell into a deep sleep.

"Still controlling people Darcia," she sighed, turning from the bed to find her forgotten cup of coffee and let the world know she would be working from home today.

14h00 – the same day

Breanna had been checking on the mystery man in her spare bedroom when the text from Valencia came through. She wondered if the current events had one connection. Darcia. Similarities stopped at their identical appearance. They had always been fire and ice.

"Are you sure about what you heard?" Breanna sighed, rubbing her forehead between her brows. Mounting tension from her static position while conducting remote meetings, miscellaneous accomplishments for the office and a few errands around her home did not stop the foreboding feeling clenching her stomach.

"Breanna, I was standing a foot away," Valencia said, stepping off the patio and pushing her feet into the soft beach sand. "Apparently, there is a phantom going around at night with abilities."

"A Phantom. Sounds like something out of a comic book. Exactly what kind of abilities?" Breanna asked, mirroring Valencia's actions with her feet.

"No one knows," Valencia shook her head, "all I know is the person in danger simply walks away unharmed."

"You think this is Darcia?" Breanna asked, watching the sand sift between her toes.

"What is Darcia?" Valencia frowned at Breanna.

"All of this," Breanna waved her hands generally while watching the crashing waves. "The new refugees arriving one after another, the man coming through the window, the phantom just suddenly appearing after almost two months of silence."

The women looked at each other, sighing in unison, "I don't know what to think," Valencia said. "We have been doing this for almost three years, Bre we have never encountered anomalies like this."`

"I know," Breanna nodded, "I was surprised when Clio contacted me regarding the newbies simply walking up to her in the marketplace."

"That was totally abnormal and too easy," Valencia agreed, "until those three you have risked your life to get them to safety."

"Yeah, some of those were close shaves. Then there is the safe house," Breanna said, returning to the coolness and sinking onto a lounger. "How many times have you heard Clio saying she has to watch out for everyone?" leaning her head on the high back, "now there are no attacks. None against anyone, anywhere."

"It won't be true for much longer," Valencia cleared her throat, sinking onto a nearby chair, "I overheard a thought outside the bar today. It sounded like a plan to do something. I'm not sure if the target is a person or the house itself. I don't know more than that, so don't ask. It was as though someone was going through details quickly."

"Damn," Breanna closed her eyes, "did you notify Clio?"

"Not my first day Bre. I sent the founding group an alert immediately," Valencia said, "using the code we all decided on. Does anyone else know about me?"

"Know about you?" Breanna frowned at her friend, "oh, do they know about your ability to hide your abilities?" Breanna shook her head, "just the usual, Clio, Jesse, Reilly, you and me."

"Just as well," Valencia sighed, "can you imagine what would happen if someone else got their hands on that information."

"You will need to come clean, but until the moment of doing so, it can only spell trouble," Breanna sighed, "you would have a hard time being around anyone."

"True," Valencia nodded, "but there is something else going on as well, with my abilities. I can sense internal sensations. Not emotions but something ... more."

"Since when?" Breanna looked into the troubled eyes of a young woman who had lived through hell and come out on the other side fighting.

"A few weeks. It started as a flash in the pan. Since drinks with The Gonzales at the bar, it's in full working order. You at the moment," she said cocking her head to the side, "feel undecided about your new arrival. The tension in your body is about to go nuclear, and the headache from getting drunk is still lingering in the back of your head, making you a little irritable."

"Wow," Breanna huffed as she stared at Valencia, "accurate to the letter."

"Scary stuff," Valencia nodded, "I don't know where it came from or why, but it is here."

"Then you better practise and get to know it well," Breanna sighed, "do you know the trigger?"

"Not a clue," Valencia said, looking down at her buzzing phone, "damn, I need to get to the store quickly."

"See you later," Breanna stood hugging Valencia before watching her leave using the beach to get back to the business district of their town.

"What are you up to, Darcia?" Breanna wandered. A storm was brewing; she could sense it. Would they be ready when it broke?

18h00 - the same day

Sitting in the dimly lit living room, soft music drifting on the air, a glass of wine in hand, Breanna eased her aching feet into the foot spa, sighing. Oh yes, pure heaven after her busy day. It was good to sit and rest her sore feet in her foot spa while sipping at wine and the smell of cooking food drifting from the kitchen. A shuffling noise from the passage brought her head up, meeting the golden stare of the six-foot-two muscular man.

"You shouldn't be up," she said quietly, watching him move into the room, looking around, "why don't you go back to bed. I'll bring you something to eat."

"Thanks, but I've been on that bed all day," he pointed at her glass of wine, "can I have one?"

"Help yourself," she indicated a nearby table holding several glasses and two wine bottles.

"Expecting company?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Nope, I just like to have glasses and wine on hand after a busy day," she sighed. "Dinner will be ready in a little bit."

"It smells good," he slowly eased into a chair, "you stitched me up well. I noticed there is hardly a mark on me."

"Hmmm," she glanced at him, "I removed the device blocking your enhancement."

"What enhancement?" he sipped his wine while frowning at her.

"You don't know what was done to you," she laid her head back on the cushions closing her eyes, "she does it to everyone. You don't need the shots she gives you. You don't need anything she has to offer. It's just her way of keeping you on a leash."

"You would know this how?" a penetrating stare drilling into her.

"You've been in the Darcia's Madhouse. You must have heard the whispers and rumours. Apparently, I was the first she experimented on in that way. I suppose I was the first to break the leash," keeping her voice soft, her expression blank, and her eyes expressionless.

"What did she do to you?" he asked, wincing.

"More than you can ever dream of," a smile played across her lips, "more than you will want to know."

"I've told you all I know," he watched her intensely, "why won't you tell me?"

A chuckle slipped through slightly parted lips, "You haven't told me anything. Not even your name."

He observed her as though for the first time. A clear head and thoughts that were his own brought perspective; it no longer was the battle for control raging in his mind. What devise did she mean? Remembering he needed to check-in, his hand went to his chest. The necklace was gone and Tina's locket.

"Where is the necklace?" he asked, looking down.

"I deactivated it," she said, removing her feet and wrapping them in a towel, "you don't need it. The locket I put in your shoes. I didn't open it."

"I'm supposed to check in with the rectangular piece," he glared at her, unusual fury burning in his blood, "how am I supposed to give a mission status?"

"You're not," she said quietly, "I'm betting this was a mission to see if the latest technological experiment worked on one of her creations."

"What?" he asked, confused.

"First we eat," he watched her move toward the kitchen, "then we can talk … one experiment to another."

Standing, he followed, noting how everything was louder and brighter. He could smell the ocean, and he felt hungrier. On cue, his stomach growled loudly. The kitchen was an airy space, large, wide and long. The archway was flanked by wooden counters that ran the length of the walls, giving ample space for an oven and fridge. Appliances dotted areas on the countertops. A large wooden rectangular table sat in the middle of the room, giving a cosy feeling with enough space to walk around. The table held two place settings. Bright red placemats lay opposite each other. A circular cutlery holder sat in the middle while a side plate, glass, and main plates were arranged in each eating space.

"Have a seat," her soft voice filled the silence.

He looked at her, then back at the table. Why did he feel like this was a test?

"You can sit at the table," Breanna repeated, "I'm not going to bite."

Moving forward, he took the seat on the opposite side, waiting for her to join him.

Breanna watched him eat ravenously, gauging he had not eaten in a few days. Silence accompanied the meal and the washing of dishes. He seemed distant. Deep in faraway thoughts. Finally, sinking onto a chair in the living room, Breanna used the remote to click on a sitcom channel but kept the volume low.

"What do you want to know?" she spoke softly, but he heard them.

"What did she do to you?" he asked.

"Everything," Breanna said again, careful to answer the question without giving anything away. She continued to stare at the flat screen, "the question should be, what didn't she do?"

"Do you have abilities that need monitoring?"

"No. Darcia enhances your natural abilities. Makes you believe you cannot control them without the help given via the necklace you miraculously obtained during some event you don't remember."

"I heard about those events and suspected they ran parallel. I was injured in a training exercise and got sick simultaneously. That's what I was told. When I came around, I already had the necklace. No one seems to be able to tell me more other than if I took it off, I would get sick again."

"So predictable. Whatever was told you regarding your necklace never happened," Breanna muttered, "by the way, I disabled the three other bugs that were in your clothing. Oh, those are not your pants."

"Bugs? Pants?" he gave her a long look.

"She really did a number on you. Did you sleep with her?"

"What?" frowning before clearing his throat, "no, I didn't, but others have."

"To their detriment," finally she looked at him, "she promised you responsibility, position, command."

"All three," he frowned, "what of it?"

"Did you take any one of the offerings?" she waited.

"No," he shook his head.

"Everyone has their price to allow … things to be done to them. Something tells me that isn't why you allowed her to have her way," she whispered. "Apparently, for me, it was freedom from my ever-present, suffocating family. I was an idiot to believe her."

"Why does she do it?" he asked.

"The experiments on her human volunteers?" the question met with a nod.

"She brings in a lot of people," concern and anger riding his words, "some I can tell they aren't military of any kind."

"She needs volunteers," Breanna sighed. "What better way to extend your career than to have others volunteer to have their bodies, minds, lives and careers destroyed … all for your glory and fame."

"Are you serious?" his incredulous expression showed his alarm and disgust.

Nodding, she looked back at the screen, "What were you? Military? Black Ops? Special forces?"

"Covert Ops," he muttered.

"She's branching out. What are your abilities? Your natural abilities."

"Ummm," he cleared his throat, "varied, I had a mix of training … why?"

"That is training. What can you do naturally? That is what she starts with," she stared at the TV screen, "… you're unpredictable."

"What are you? A therapist?" he frowned at her.

"No," she chuckled, "sorry, just trying to see where you fit into her world domination plans."

"World domination?" he huffed, shaking his head. "What do you know of her plans?"

"We'll chat in the morning," she spoke quietly, turning toward the TV watching the sitcom, which drew a few chuckles from both of them.

Exactly an hour and a half later, her guest rose, muttered a goodnight and moved down the passageway toward his room. Breanna waited until she heard the door closing and the light switch clicking off before clearing away the wine bottles and glasses and putting out the standard entertainment, puzzles, books and games.

Stacking the dishwasher, she couldn't help thinking over the information that had come back from Clio and Valencia earlier in the day. Setting the dishwasher for a cycle setting the alarm, house security and checking the windows and doors, Breanna turned off the lights. Moving toward the staircase leading to the upper level of the house and her bedroom, she paused before changing direction and stopping in front of her guest's door. Carefully opening it, Breanna allowed her abilities to work, taking in the form lying on the bed. Quietly moving to the side of the bed, she watched him sleep before leaving once more. Shaking her head at her trust issues, she climbed the stairs to find her bed, hoping sleep would be easy and her actions today did not end in the death sentence she had been avoiding.