LAMONT FELT HIMSELF being half dragged, half shoved toward the open door of the police vehicle. He was close enough now to see a metal bench running the width of the interior. One of the officers went in first. The two men holding Lamont’s arms shoved him forward. He shook off their grip and stepped into the vehicle on his own. He slid onto the cold metal seat.
Lamont was no stranger to police. He’d dealt with them all the time. Sure, some of them were crooks, some were thugs, but most of them were okay—men you could work with, drink with, share tips with. But that was then. This was now. And these guys weren’t the talkative type. Lamont was in trouble and he knew it. Had he come back to life just to end up with a bullet in his head? There was only one way out. And he figured he had only about three seconds to make his move. He wasn’t sure that he could do it. It had been a long time.
As the officer to Lamont’s left slid further in to make room, another officer stepped into the box to bracket Lamont on the seat. Lamont closed his eyes. It was now or never. Then it happened. Just like he remembered.
The feeling was like the rise over the top of a roller coaster. A burst of energy shot through him and seemed to cause his organs to vibrate. There was a moment of near blackout and then a fluid sensation. He saw the officers panic and spin around, looking in every direction. They brought their rifles up. But there was nothing to shoot at. Lamont stepped outside the vehicle feeling a power that he hadn’t felt in more than a hundred years.
He was back.
He was alive.
He was invisible.