arbitrate (daynight) (9 page)

As I slam the cat into the mirror, the falling pieces clang out a musical masterpiece. A single chunk of glass remains hanging, showcasing the smirk on my face. I pry the heavy cat from the broken shards and send it flying through the glass shower door.

The statue lies at the bottom of a mound of glass. I roughly yank it out cutting my hand in the process. My blood drips, cascading down the mountain of debris like a river of death pooling at the bottom in a sea of woe born of my grief.

Ignoring the blood and pain, I loosely wrap my hand with a towel and then purposefully march into the kitchen. There’s more hatred to unleash, despair to release, anguish to expel.

I target the glass paneled cabinet doors. They’re always collecting dust.

The marble cat helps me beat the crap out of them.

Onward to the living room. I swing and bash and crack until the TV’s beyond fixing.

Crash. Glass coffee table explodes.

Clunk. Sofa table’s in pieces.

I’m looking for my next victim when the front door opens.

My visitor looks at me like I’m a crazy man. I’d plead insanity, but that’d be as big a lie as
he
told me.

“Ethan?” Alexa says tentatively. “What’s going on?”

Perhaps a little levity can lighten the situation. “Well, you’ve met Jax, right? Tall, blond, and annoying as hell? Ring any bells?”
 

She steps in and smirks. “Are you saying he came and trashed your place and then handed you the instrument of destruction before vanishing?”

“Might as well have. How’d you know I was back?”

“Uh. You texted me in the middle of the night. I didn’t get it until a bit ago and came right away. Looks like I got here a little late to help…avoid…the Jaxnado.”

Alexa gets me. Maybe I should just give up on Kira and focus on what’s right in front of me. But that’d mean giving up my son. I can’t do that.

I’m so screwed. I slump down against the wall and bury my head in my knees. Alexa manages to weave her way through the debris and sits down next to me. She puts a comforting hand on my shoulder but stays silent. How did I get to this place? I never used to lose my temper, and, yet, I just destroyed my entire apartment. I agreed to take a seat on the Ten which means I’m working aside a bunch of mass murderers. My Cleaving, to who I thought was “the one” just got dissolved, and yet we still have to raise our child together. Why was I able to keep my cool when Kira was with Blake but then completely lose it when I saw her with Jax? Even after my father confirmed that they were never actually
together
together? Long before I learned Jax was my brother, he was my only friend. The betrayal cuts deep.

The tears start to flow, and soon my chest is heaving up and down and horrible sobs escape my throat. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to move forward. This wasn’t part of my plan. I was supposed to be reunited with Kira after graduating and see my son born. We were supposed to live as happily ever after as anyone could hope to do with the insane proximity of the SCI.

Instead, I thought she was dead. And then…Alexa. I didn’t plan to ever be with anyone after Kira—much less within weeks of her “death.” But Alexa and I bonded over our losses. My heart had been shattered, but Alexa helped repair it. I care about her. Perhaps I could grow to love her—if I could fix myself. Unfortunately, I’m broken. Kira and Jax broke me. Worse—I let them.

The thing is—I don’t want to stay broken. I need to be whole. My son deserves to have a father who isn’t a train wreck; cold and heartless like Brad Darcton; or willing to use his son to push his agenda, like Samson Christo.

Screw the SCI. Screw the Arbiters. Even though I
can’t
be—my shackles are tight—I
want
to be free. Free to be a good father to my son. Free to love whoever I want to love, even if they’re not going to love me back. And free to decide for myself what is right and what is wrong. And if there’s one thing that I know to be wrong—it’s what the SCI has going down at the Clean Slate Complexes. I shudder when I think of the scene that Eli showed in that meeting. All those months working with them, and I never knew. I thought the CSCs were about blood screens for those with DNT not about killing off those who don’t have it to build a mega army on Thera.

The only person’s actions I can control are my own. I can’t force Kira to love me. Can’t force the Arbiters out of the Ten’s meetings or Jax out of my house. Can’t force the SCI to make good on their false promises to truly help the downtrodden. I need to be a better person, someone who is worthy of being loved and trusted. The kitty-wielding psychopath is not me. And while it may take more time to clean up my act than it will to clean up my apartment, I need to get the job done.
 

Can I do it though?
I’m still so angry.

Get over it.
Easier said than done.

The new and improved Ethan Darcton won’t be built in a day.

Alexa finally speaks as the tears dry from my eyes. “So, I take it your trip to Thera didn’t go so well.”

I turn to her and plant a chaste kiss on her lips. “Understatement of the century. But I think I can get past it.”

Gads, I hope like hell I actually can.

I knock on the
door of Uncle Victor’s office at the Los Angeles Clean Slate Complex.

He looks surprised to see me.—as he should be. We didn’t have an appointment scheduled. “Ethan. Come in. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

I wait until the door is closed, and I’m seated in the plush chair in front of his desk. “May I speak freely?”

He sits up straight and adjusts the SCI-logoed scarf in the pocket of his black suit. “Of course. Of course.”

Alexa’s always joking about how she thinks Victor looks like an aged Ken doll. It would be a serious blow to the toy industry to see their icon grow up to be a mass murderer. I narrow my eyes. “Have you been informed about last night’s meeting of the Ten?”

Victor looks bewildered. “I just got into the office so I can’t say that I have.”

“Let me cut to the chase, Uncle Victor. I’m low on sleep and even lower on patience. I know everything. The Arbiter Council showed up at our meeting and gave quite the show. They’re a little
unhappy
with what has been happening with the Clean Slate Complexes, and because of that we are now subject to continual Arbiter oversight.”

I watch as Victor clenches his teeth and fists. “I see. Thank you for the heads up.”

“May I ask why, as a member of the Ten who has worked with you here on-site, I was not informed of the true purposes behind the CSCs?”
 

The door behind me swings open. “He’s not even here anymore and he’s still driving me insane. I don’t care if he’s technically family. He is a major pain in my…” Aunt Violet’s words trail off as she notices my presence. She’s clearly frazzled by both the person she kicked out and by the sight of me.

“What family member’s here?” I ask her.
 

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with, Ethan. Given our ‘calling’ here, we get all kinds of freeloaders who show up.” She presses her bright-red lipstick stained lips into a solid line.

“Violet, dear. Ethan has come to tell us about a recent development back home. The Arbiter Council appeared at a meeting of the Ten. They’re concerned about the increases in traffic and plan to personally oversee things from here on out.”

“And Ethan was sent to deliver this message?” she asks.

Victor’s cell phone rings, and I chuckle at his Star Trek ring tone. He looks at the caller ID and decides to take the call. “Yes?”

After a long pause, he says, “So I have heard…from
Ethan
. In fact, he’s sitting right here.”

He narrows his eyes as he listens. “Is that so? Interesting.”

“I agree. That could very well be effective.”

“For how long?”

“I will do that.”

He hangs up the phone and looks at me. “Your Uncle Henry asks you to stop by when you are free.” Then he stands up and whispers something into Violet’s ear.

She nods. “Ethan, it was nice to see you. If you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.”

Once she is out the door Victor returns to his desk chair, leans back, and folds his arms across his chest.

“I’m a little confused, Ethan. Henry mentioned that the meeting you spoke of happened less than eight hours ago and that you were taken from the meeting by Arbiters. Yet here you sit in my office. Care to explain how you escaped from their clutches and traveled here so quickly?”

I sigh as I realize my error. I should have waited longer to show up. He’s right. It would have been a stretch to get through the nearest portal and up to LA without the complication of the Arbiters taking me. But with it? Impossible. I obviously can’t let on that I have Arbiter blood, so I improvise.

“Henry’s correct. The Arbiters took me to Heart to give me a bit of a lecture. I may have threatened Jax Christo’s life. He’s an Arbiter. I pointed a gun at his head. They weren’t too pleased with me. After reaming me for that, they chastised me for working with
you
and then dropped me off in LA so that I could spread the love, so to speak.”

Victor’s expression cools. “You mean to say that you pointed a gun at your
best friend
since childhood? I find it
unlikely
that you didn’t know about Jackson’s status as an Arbiter.”

I cock my head to the side. “
No one
knew. My parents spent
years
as friends and colleagues of Dr. Samson Christo and had no clue he was an Arbiter. Why would I have suspected anything about Jax? I spent my early childhood in isolation and the rest with Henry. It’s not like I had
any
exposure to Arbiters, or for that matter, knew all that much about them other than that they’re responsible for bringing over the Second Chancers.”

He turns his chair to stare at the door behind me. “Hmmmm. We will see.”

I hear the footsteps. As I turn to see who has barged in this time, a needle is stuck into my neck.
 

Everything grows hazy.

Something is placed over my head and tied around my neck.

I’m helpless to fight. Unable to move my limbs.

Victor is barking orders but the words don’t register.

Hands grab my arms and legs, and I’m lifted, carried for a short distance.

Dumped onto a carpeted surface.

I hear the click of a car trunk.

And then we’re moving.

CHAPTER SIX

Blake

Joshua is the master of disguises.
We’re at a seedy hotel a few blocks from the Clean Slate Complex Clinic. He’s transforming me into a carbon copy of the doctor on the night shift at the clinic. My son’s kidnapper is currently there recuperating post-surgery on his hand.
 

Dr. Parker takes his twenty-minute break in his car every night at precisely 12:40 AM so that he can talk to his girlfriend before she goes to sleep. Apparently he needs the privacy that the dark parking lot affords for their particular kind of video chats. He also has a cup of coffee with two sugars and one cream—which tonight will be laced with a sleep aid. At precisely 1:00 AM, I will enter the clinic as Dr. Parker, have a discussion with my “patient,” and then let the nurse know that I need to return to my car to get my phone, which I accidentally left out there on break. Eventually the nurse will come looking and find Dr. Parker sound asleep in his car.

“Where’d you learn how to do this?” I ask Joshua. I’m looking in the mirror and don’t even recognize myself. Brown contacts cover my green eyes. My dark hair has been colored blond with silver streaks, parted, combed, and styled with gel. Stage makeup has been used to add a few years of wear to my face. A thin bulletproof vest adds some “weight” around my chest and belly. With Dr. Parker’s white coat and scrubs on, I surely look the part.

Joshua shrugs. “I took a night class a while back. Comes in handy.” He returns to his “work” while humming and singing one of his tunes. His foot is tapping to the beat.
“Tick tock. Tick tock. Patient’s got to see the doc. Got injured while on the clock. Line of work’s quite the crock. He’s in a messy biz. Time for an early re-tire-ment…”

He stops singing abruptly and taps on his watch. His disguise is as convincing as mine. He looks like a bum who has been on a multi-week drinking binge. “I’ve got to run. Must have gotten food poisoning. I think I need to see a nurse.” He clutches his stomach and winks at me. His plan is to keep the nurse distracted and do a little augmentation to Dr. Parker’s coffee. “Don’t be late, Doc.”
 

“I won’t. I’m looking forward to my foray into the medical field.”

At 12:58 AM, I approach Dr. Parker’s car. I pull out a pair of gloves and put them on. If the doc’s not out cold yet, I’m going to have to help get him there. Thankfully, he’s sound asleep. Didn’t even have time to get himself appropriate after his video chat with his girlfriend. I’m anticipating an awkward reunion with his nurse a little later on. I open the door to his car with a key we’d stolen from him (poor guy had to pick up a new one from the dealership) and borrow his ID card.

I enter the clinic and head straight for my patient’s door, passing the examination room where Joshua’s putting on quite the show. Why couldn’t Joshua be my brother? I’d trade him for Ethan in a heartbeat. As my cousin, he’s still family, and it feels good to have family that I can rely on.

My patient’s in a private room, and I have to swipe the doc’s ID card to get in. The man’s sleeping soundly. I pull out a small bottle and put a drop of liquid into the corner of each eye that will dilate his eyes and blur his vision. Then I push the button on his morphine machine to give him a boost. Even though I’m in disguise, I don’t want him to be able to have a “clear recollection” of events. Plus, I figure he’s going to need a little extra pain medication.

I pull restraints from my pockets and tie his hands and feet to the bed rails. Then I sit next to his bandaged hand and press into the wound—not hard enough that he’ll have to head back into surgery but definitely enough to wake him.