MY EYELIDS SLOWLY LIFT. MY brain goes from knocked out to gradual conscious alertness. My head hurts. But not like I’ve-been-hit hurt, more like drug hurt.
I’m sitting on a metal chair with my wrists zip-tied behind me and to the chair.
I run my tongue around my mouth, work up a little bit of saliva, and swallow. I’m thirsty. How long have I been here?
I look around. Dark. Dusty. Empty metal shelves. A counter. An old cash register. I’m inside the deserted convenience store.
I crane my neck, look at the watch on my left wrist, and read 10:46 in the faint Indiglo. I’ve been out a little over an hour.
My heart kicks in with delayed nerves, fear, anxiety. I resist my natural urge to call out Help! and instead close my eyes, center myself, and concentrate on calm breaths.
It does me no good to be freaked right now. To resist the restraint. I need to channel balance, wisdom, stability, and alertness.
I tune in to my hearing and make out . . . silence. Whoever brought me in here is gone now.
I turn my head as far to the right as I can . . . and then the left. More dark, dust, and empty metal shelves. The only light in the place comes from one single bulb hanging above the counter and register.
In that second I see them, lined up on the counter: a Taser, zip ties, a tranq gun, my bokken, the knife I stabbed Marji with, and something I’ve never used—a baseball bat.
The others—they’d been beaten with a bat.
Every muscle in my body tightens. Are they going to torture me with these things?
I yank at the zip ties . . . and cringe. I yank some more—God, they hurt—and the slickness tells me I’ve cut my skin.
How long are they going to make me stay here tied to this chair? I could topple it over, but what good will that do? Then I’d be down on the dirty floor waiting for whoever is supposed to come.
I throw my body weight up, hoping to hop the chair, but the weight of it teeters me right back down.
My curfew is at one a.m. Maybe Victor will realize I’m not home and come out looking for me. But then, how would he find me? I didn’t tell him where I was going. How would I explain this? Dad . . . I don’t even know where to start.
I tug at my wrists, gritting against the slivering pain, and feel my left zip tie give way just a little. My nostrils flare on a scent of new blood. I wish I knew how to pop my thumb out of joint and slide my hand free. I try and grit my teeth even more. Ow!
The back door opens then, sending in a shot of fresh winter air and a quick flash of moonlight, and spiking my pulse.
“I’ve got her,” someone says. “The one who has been beating up all those innocent people.”
The door closes and I straighten. There’s no way I’ll show fear.
Catalina walks from the back door, looks straight at me, and grins. Grins. I narrow my eyes and I give her a quick once-over. She’s dressed exactly like me. No deviation at all.
The person behind her steps into view and—
“Lane?” Dr. Issa says.
I feel my eyes go wide as I look from Catalina to Dr. Issa. What the . . . ?
He shakes his head. “Wait a minute. You?”
Catalina nods over to the counter. “Lane had all those things on her when I found her.”
“You’re a liar.” I finally find my voice.
Catalina honestly looks offended. “Oh, I think we all know who the real liar here is.” She looks over to Dr. Issa. “She doesn’t get what we’re doing. All we wanted to do was bring the drug dealers to justice, and she took off on her own. Beating innocent people. I’ve been following her for a while. I knew she had to be stopped. But I didn’t want to call the cops until I could talk about it with you, M.”
Dr. Issa just stares at me.
I don’t speak. I don’t think I can. Dr. Issa is M?
Dr. Issa?
“Michael.” I use his name for the first time ever. “She is lying to you. Can’t you see that? How long have you known me? How long have you known her? Do you really think me capable of beating innocent people?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t understand. How are you even involved?”
“Because it’s me. I started all this. Your website is my fan club.”
“You’re saying you’re the Masked Savior?”
“Yes, but I don’t touch innocent people. Ever.”
“Well, we didn’t either,” Catalina interrupts, “until you came along.”
I don’t take my eyes off Dr. Issa, “Michael, she is lying to you. She’s the one branching out on her own and copycatting me.”
“Drug dealers,” Dr. Issa clarifies. “Those are the only people I wanted to target.” He paces away. “This has all spiraled out of control. I should’ve never gotten other people involved.”
Catalina slowly moves toward the counter, and I watch her as I say to Dr. Issa, “Why did you start all this?”
“Because I wanted to avenge my mother’s death. I wanted to tackle the drug problem that the cops can’t seem to get a handle on. Then I met a few other like-minded people, and when the Masked Savior, you, popped onto the scene, it all seemed to make sense. Vigilante justice. Christ! But now . . .”
“Avenge your mother’s death? I thought she died of cancer.”
“No,” Dr. Issa croaks, grabbing his head. “No. No. No. She overdosed. Our father wanted us to tell everyone it was cancer.”
My heart breaks. “Michael, I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, you guys are driving me nuts,” Catalina spits.
Dr. Issa brings his confused eyes to hers. “You? You’re the one who’s been doing all those horrible things?”
Catalina rolls her eyes. “Don’t take it personal. At first I was completely down with the vigilante thing and cleaning the streets of drugs. But then I realized there are also hookers and homeless people. . . . That’s a lot to clean up.”
Dr. Issa points at me. “Why is Lane tied up?” he demands. “What are you going to do to her?” He takes a panicked step forward. “Catalina, untie her. Now.”
She snorts, “Yeah, like that’s going to happen. See the thing is, I’m ready to take over this whole operation.” She picks the Taser up and shoots.
“No!” I scream.
Dr. Issa drops to the dirty floor.
“Stop it!” I holler at her.
She presses the trigger again, and Dr. Issa arches off the ground with a howl.
I tug at my restraints. “Stop it!”
She drops the Taser, grabs the knife, and stalks over to him. “Ever since I saw what you did to that woman, I can’t stop thinking about it.”
My heart stops. “Catalina. No. Please. What are you doing? Stop!”
She rolls Dr. Issa onto his back and raises the knife high above her head. “I’ve never actually killed anybody.”
“Doonn’t . . . ,” Dr. Issa slurs right as Catalina plunges the knife straight down into his chest.