Chapter Eight

Sahara

I sit cross-legged on my mattress with files in front of me and a pillow tucked behind my back. Mother has been less violent in the past two weeks, something that always happens after a severe lashing. Still, she expects these reports in her office by tomorrow morning. My fingers run over the meaningless papers, but slowly, they inch toward my back. I can feel the grooves of my scars pressing against my shirt. The most recent one has since healed, but it is far from invisible. It is long and jagged, running diagonal from left hip to right shoulder.

Every few moments, I glance out at the forest. It is nearly ten o'clock; the lights will be out soon, and hopefully, so will the Brute. I know better than to look for it, yet I can't stop myself. I've stared out my window every night for the past fourteen days. It hasn't made a reappearance, but somehow, I know it will come back.

Nielle's ballet music suddenly cuts off. Mother is in her room, lecturing about something or another. I've always respected Mother's parenting, but lately, I've been less impressed. Maybe it's because I know I am right about the white flash. Maybe it's because she didn't even give me a fair chance. All I know is that being an official seems less thrilling than it did upon first arriving to Weston. Police work is supposed to be about chasing criminals, not filling out paperwork.

"Go to sleep, Sahara," says Mother. Her pointed, manicured nails grip the doorframe as she leans into my room. "I expect those reports in my office by the morning."

"Yes Mother." But the reports aren't done, nor will they be by morning. I glare at them, as if doing so will make them disappear.

Nielle waves at me; I smile back. And then, I stare out the window. The electricity shuts off and the neighborhood grows quiet, and I have the perfect view of the forest.

Hour after hour of nothingness passes. I've spent the last two weeks staying up far later than usual, and the exhaustion is starting to catch up with me. Still, it's only fifteen minutes until midnight; and I am determined to stay up until at least one.

And then, I see it; at least, I think I do. The white flash appears for half a second, and then, it's gone. I throw myself out of bed and press my hands against the window, not caring if I smudge the glass. The flash is gone, and no matter how long I stare, it doesn't come back.

But it was there. I saw it. No matter what Mother tells me, I know that something is there. I roll my fingers over the window sill, debating my options. I obviously can't report the sighting to Mother...not again. And I can't call the police without Mother finding out. I can't do anything. The Brute—or whatever the white flash is—will forever be a mystery. It will be like those unsolved crimes I used to watch on the port. An unsolved crime that occurred right under my nose. Unless I solve it.

It's an insane idea. Ludicrous, really. If Mother got upset at my report, I can't imagine what she would do if I snuck out. Especially during curfew. Forget Mother, I could go to prison for sneaking out in the middle of the night, chasing after an elusive white flash in the forest. Nobody would believe my story of good intentions.

There's another flicker of movement, or maybe there isn't. Maybe I'm just so determined to see it that my mind conjures up the image. Either way, I suddenly know my decision. I can't let this thing escape. Chasing and arresting criminals is the main duty of an officer. If Mother isn't going to do anything about this mysterious white flash, I will.

I drop onto the floor and stretch under the bed. A thick steel box is pressed against the back wall, containing four guns and various Level One equipment. They are only to be used within the walls of my training academy; and until now, I have faithfully obeyed that rule. This is important though, and I can deal with the repercussions later. I silently place two guns and a pair of handcuffs onto the floor. I'm not sure how much resistance the criminal will attempt, but these should keep it in control.

I close the box and juggle the items between my fingers. This nightgown doesn't have any pockets, but there isn't enough time to change outfits. I've already wasted enough time. I slide the window open, pausing when it makes the slightest creek. I look over each shoulder to glance at Mother and then Nielle, but it's too dark to see them anyway. Then, I slowly crawl onto the ledge, balancing the weapons in my lap.

I move the handcuffs over one wrist, hold a stun gun between my teeth, and leave the murder weapon for my fist. The ledge is more than five feet from the ground, but I've dealt with worse in Level One training. I take a deep breath and push away from the window, hard enough that my knees buckle upon landing.

As soon as I maintain my footing, I ease the window shut. Goosebumps crawl up my arms, but I convince myself that it is only from the cold. I lean against the house for a long moment, breathing in through my nose and then out my mouth. It's a relaxation tactic I learned in Level One training, and luckily, it does the trick. The fact that I am sneaking into the forest after curfew and against Mother's beliefs does not matter right now. All that matters is the mysterious white flash and the criminal behind it.

I try to keep that thought in mind as I slink to the back of our house. I crouch lower and cling to the shadow, getting to the line of trees as quickly as possible. Parts of my nightgown glow, and I realize someone may look out their window and mistake me for the white-flash criminal. I dip lower, trying to walk with cautious feet and silent movements.

When I reach the forest, the knot in my stomach grows tighter. The white flash was here, right where I am now standing. For all I know, it could still be nearby, watching my every step with an animalistic prowess. I cling to a rough tree trunk and scoot the opposite side. My breath fans out in a steamy, frozen mist. It's much darker than I originally imagined. The trees form in a black canopy, blocking out any light from the stars or moon. I am lost in the darkness, cold and alone.

I swallow my fear. If this beast can manage the forest, so shall I. After all, I am the one with the weapons; I am the one with six months of training. I begin walking again, and I don't stop until I catch sight of an elongated river, no more than five feet wide. Either side of the water is surrounded by flat dirt: no trees, no foliage.

I inch forward, moving through the trees as they grow more and more sparse. When they end, I don't go any farther. I may have the upper hand with two loaded guns and handcuffs, but it's better to be safe than dead. Plus, if there's even a chance that my opponent is a Brute, his super-human strength will rip me to shreds before I even lift my gun.

The next hour is agony. I stand behind a tree with my gun raised in the direction of the river. It is too dark to see anything more than the reflection of the moon upon the water. It is as I stare at the stagnant river that I finally see the criminal. Its white clothing reflects brighter than the moon, glowing in the dark water. I suck in my breath and press tighter against the tree. Blood rushes through my body, and suddenly, I feel the need to run. But I don't. I keep staring until the white flash grows close enough to inspect. It appears to be a woman, which is somehow disappointing. She walks along the water's edge with arms hung loosely at her side. She never looks in my direction, but rather the sky and then the water. Her footsteps are slow, casual with a bored stance, rather than a dangerous one.

My heart pulses harder. For a split second, I feel triumph sore through my veins. I was right. The white flash is a law-breaking criminal; and I am going to catch her, not Mother. I may even tell the police that Mother ignored my initial report. However, my soaring pride plummets faster than it rose. This woman does not seem to be doing anything illegal; other than sneaking out, of course. She's not breaking any more laws than I am. What's worse, Level One officers don't have the power to legally arrest. If anyone finds out I was here, I'll be in just as much trouble as she.

The gun falters in my grip. I try to tighten my fingers, but somehow, the gun slips from my hand and onto the rocky floor. It is a quiet, almost indiscernible noise, but it is loud enough. The criminal's head snaps up and locks on my now-exposed position. Her face grows pale, her eyes wide. Between the slackened jaws and stiffened body, I have never seen a woman look so terrified. She is young, probably just another bored, defiant teenager, looking for a way to rebel.

For a moment, I consider waving. I consider telling her that we can both pretend we never saw each other. Maybe, we'll work out this strange meeting and become friends. But then, I realize something I should have earlier. I have never seen this woman in the weeks I have been here. Mother and I have visited each house multiple times, met and studied each inhabitant of the Weston area. This woman doesn't belong to any of the homes in the subdivision.

That's when several things come to my attention at once. Strangely broad shoulders. Square jaw. Towering height. Flat chest. It doesn't look like a woman at all. I shake my head, forcing the thoughts away. I know what a Brute looks like, and this is not it. Brutes have fangs and claws and far longer bodies than the thing before me. It can't be a Brute...but it can't be a woman either.

"Put your hands where I can see them," I demand, trying to regain composure. I quickly snatch my dropped weapon from the ground and aim it at the white flash's head. I'm not authorized to make an arrest; but at this point, I'm not sure what else to do.

The creature doesn't move, nor even blink. However, it also doesn't look aggressive. I take two purposeful steps forward, and then four more until I am only feet away from the beast. This is when I am supposed to list the criminal's rights and take out the handcuffs. But I don't even know what the criminal is. Parts of it seem womanly, but other parts are undeniably brutish. It almost looks like a strange combination of Brute and woman, which somehow makes the creature even more terrifying.

"If you are a woman, speak." I press my gun against its skull.

Its eyes flicker toward the distant housing, but it remains silent.

"Don't try to run. I'm not afraid to shoot." Even as I say this, I wonder if it's the truth. I've never shot anything but cut-out targets. Shooting a living creature, even a criminal, seems evil.

The creature stares at me for another moment, the silence eating at my brain. There are no twisted fangs or claws, but in the growing quiet, my stomach begins to twist. This is no woman.

I am still gawking at the creature when it suddenly bounds forward, knocking the gun from my hand and shoving against my chest. I let out a half-scream and fall to the ground. My brain rattles for a moment, and by the time I come to my senses, the Brute's footsteps are disappearing into the forest—toward the sleeping neighborhood.

I fling to my feet and start running after the creature. If it reaches the neighborhood, who knows what kind of damage it will cause. I am halfway into the forest when I realize I dropped my main gun when I fell. The only lethal weapon I brought is at the river, and there's no time to go back. Any sort of plan I had before leaving my room is long gone. For now, I pretend to be back at the Level One training, back when we practiced running and shooting simultaneously. Of course, we weren't attempting it over an inclined forest. Nor were we aiming for a living creature.

I fire off the first stun bullet, flinching at the clicking sound it produces. The bullet misses and lands somewhere within the trees. I pound my feet harder against the dirt, knowing I'm losing time. I only have another minute to shoot. Any more and we'll be too close to civilization. I fire again. And again. Both misses. I curse at myself and slow to a stop, realizing I won't hit it while I'm moving. I pinch one eye shut and aim. The clicking sound resonates in the air. The creature falls before I even realize that I hit it. I gasp a few relieved breaths and start toward the beast. It's lying a good three yards away, unconscious and wide-eyed, facing the starless sky.

The stun-gun hasn't killed it, probably won't even leave a scar. The bullet will dissolve through its system within a few hours and the paralyzing effect will wear off in about the next ten minutes.

I wriggle the handcuffs from my wrist, but then pause. My first and foremost worry is the chance that this creature is, in fact, a Brute. If it is, there are probably thousands of male diseases clinging to its body. I don't even have protective gloves with me. I glance over its stiffened body, trying to gauge its strength through the darkness. It is riddled with muscles and a height advantage. I'd be a fool not to constrain it. I suck in a breath and clasp the handcuffs onto its wrists as quickly and as cautiously as possible.

Now what?

I stare at the Brute with the key pinched between my teeth. I am once again faced with limited options. The Brute is too heavy to drag all the way back home, but I'm afraid going to call the police will take too much time. If I tell Mother, she'll drag me down to the basement without a second thought.

The Brute twitches. Though it's hard to tell, it looks as though we're nearly out of the forest. If this thing wakes up and starts howling, the whole neighborhood will wake, and then I'll really be in trouble. I bend down and take it by the ankles, cringing at its naked flesh. My plan is quickly losing sanity, but I don't have time to question myself. I drag the heavy Brute down the hill, letting it smack against trees and rocks along the way. When we get to the river, I drop its body a few feet away and start washing my hands in the icy river.

For the next four and a half minutes, I go over every possibility I have. I can kill it, fetch Mother, or call the police. None of them seem particularly pleasing at the moment. I've always wanted to kill a Brute with my own hands, but watching its complacent face under the moonlight, I feel slightly disgusted by that desire.

At five minutes, the Brute wakes. It seems groggy at first, moving slowly and groaning beneath its breath. But then, it jolts upward with wide eyes. It looks from its handcuffs to me to its handcuffs again.

I wait for its face to boil with rage or for it to snarl and try to attack. But it doesn't. Instead, its bottom lip turns slightly downward and its eyes grow twice their original size. For a moment, it looks as though the thing is going to cry. It's just a Brute, a worthless, vicious creature that will kill me the second it has a chance. Yet, I've never seen anything more heartbreakingly innocent.

"Please."

I flinch backwards, shocked by the sound. Brutes aren't supposed to talk. They're supposed to growl and hiss, not speak. Only humans talk. But this Brute speaks flawlessly. Its voice is abnormally deep, but otherwise human.

I'm not even sure what the thing said. I'd been too distracted by the simple fact that it talked at all.

It isn't until the Brute repeats itself that I comprehend its statement. "Please."

"What?" I ask, scooting backwards. I am showing weakness, giving it the upper hand by recoiling. But I can't help myself.

"Please," says the Brute, its eyes growing even wider. "God. Please don't kill me."

Brutes don't talk, and they definitely don't plead. But this one does. And this one doesn't look monstrous or evil. It looks painfully, beautifully human.