The Origin (2 page)

No, he could never allow himself to look at that victim’s face as she lay dying in his arms, never feel the pity and the hatred course like searing water through his veins.
 
Emotions were a dangerous luxury, and even the tiniest amount could crumble his wall of restraint and self-preservation.

Had he known just how much emotions would come to rule his life, he might have opted to call in sick from work the next day.

* * * * *

“Thank you, young man. How are you doing today?” The elderly lady with hair like white cotton candy shuffled along as Daniel held the door open.

“Fine, ma’am.” Daniel hated this aspect of his job, the forced interaction with strangers. He was a security guard at Chase Bank, for crying out loud, not a door greeter at some trashy grocery store.

He sat back down on his stool – his
guard post
as his goofy manager often referred to it – and swept a critical eye across the long and narrow bank lobby, looking out for any suspicious characters, though they had not had any disturbances recently. At least not since the guy who had attempted a robbery and instead ended up eating the faux-marble floor a few minutes later, the bottom of Daniel’s boots squarely on his back. The poor guy had learned a very valuable lesson that Daniel hoped would fan out to other would-be marble floor eaters: that the Chase Bank on Frederick Douglass Boulevard was off-limits. Two incident-free months had passed since he first donned his blue sentry uniform; nobody dared step a toe out of line around the scowling Daniel
Cael
Johnson.

He was still scowling as he pondered his lunch choices from the café across the street – chicken salad or roast beef sandwich? – when a gust of cold air announced the arrival of yet another Chase client. The woman, who had her back to him, was tall and lithe with sable hair that hung in waves down to her shoulder blades. She wore dark jeans that hugged her curves tucked into black leather boots and a red leather jacket that cinched at the waist. As with all the women he initially saw from behind, he bet that her front would not be able to cash the check that her back had written.

She approached the information desk clerk and immediately Stephen
Sommers
, the bank manager, scurried out of his office to greet her. From the way he was acting, Daniel wondered if she was a Rockefeller or someone else made of money.

He watched as Stephen ushered the woman off to his office, her long legs and nice ass moving gracefully, her hair swaying to the same rhythm as her hips, and Daniel found himself mildly hypnotized.

Perhaps she was Stephen’s new girlfriend that he’d been bragging about? The woman appeared to be way out of Stephen’s league, but that had never stopped the short, slightly overweight man before. Stephen had confidence to spare and women responded favorably, surprisingly enough.

Daniel turned his attention back to the bank, keeping a close eye on a young man who approached a teller with a baseball cap. Three caps, one beanie, and one Stetson hat later, Stephen finally emerged from his office, and Daniel held his breath as the woman followed him out.

God, I seriously need a life
, he thought right before she moved into his view and his initial theory was completely and utterly debunked.

The woman turned out to be all three on Daniel’s Chick Checklist. Beautiful: check. Pretty smile: check. Nice rack: check, pending further investigation. What he saw of her breasts in her jacket weren’t particularly big or voluptuous but they seemed the right size for her thin frame. And for Daniel, who had no cause to be picky as he hadn’t touched a pair in years, they were perfect. Breasts were breasts, after all.

As she walked towards the exit, he couldn’t help but notice the way she carried herself, so graceful and almost regal in her posture. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was a dancer or perhaps a runway model.

“Excuse me…”

He blinked twice, not realizing that she was looking directly at him. “Yeah?” He cleared his throat, recovering his wits. “May I help you, ma’am?”

She walked over and said in a soft, husky voice, “Have we met?”

He searched her face, but found nothing familiar in her delicate features. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you…” Her eyes lit up. “Daniel Johnson from
Westmoore
High?”

He regarded the woman through narrowed eyes, with all of his earlier fantasies dying at the mention of his alma mater. If she knew him from
Westmoore
, then she had undoubtedly heard of the rumors that had circulated about him in his senior year.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’m Olivia King,” she said with a warm smile, reaching for his hand and giving it a firm shake. “We went to high school together.”

“Oh. Ah, great.” He extricated his hand from her grasp, hoping he hadn’t squeezed it too hard from anxiety, though he guessed she would have screamed in agony if he had.

She cocked her head and regarded him with interest. “You haven’t changed much since high school, I see.” She looked at him for a long moment, before saying, “Would you like to go out to dinner?”

He avoided looking at the soft swell of her lips. He had spent years evading the past and now that it had found him, he wasn’t about to invite it to his doorstep, attractive though it were. “Thanks, but no.”

Olivia blinked up at him with her astonishing violet eyes and a small smile formed on her lips. “Déjà vu. You turned me down in high school too.”

Daniel’s eyebrow shot up. “I did?” He couldn’t imagine turning down a date with someone so attractive and sure of herself, unless, of course, she had been a troll back then. That or she had asked
after
the accident, in which case, he would have said no even if she’d been a supermodel.

“I’ll tell you about it over dinner,” she said in a confident tone that left him no room to negotiate. She handed him a round-edged calling card with her full name and phone number. “So it’s a date then. Meet me at Sunday Sushi tonight at seven thirty.” The self-assurance in her husky voice was intoxicating and he found himself nodding along.

This is crazy
, he thought as he watched her walk through the glass doors with a parting wave. He couldn’t figure out how she had managed to talk him into a date; women had tried but had been unsuccessful, as he had hung up his dating cap during his junior year in college. But somehow, this olive-skinned woman had managed to persuade him to don it once more.

Just this one time. I just want to know what she has to say.

He shook his head in grudging admiration as he examined her card. Though it said “ballet dancer” on it, judging from the way she had just fast-talked him, Daniel decided that Olivia Mei King definitely had a future in used car sales.

* * * * *

The time was six o’clock when Daniel got off work as the other guard to relieve him had called in due to a family emergency. Any other day, Daniel would have been more than happy to cover since his Fridays were not that exciting, at least, not in the traditional sense. But this particular Friday was different as he, Mr. Absolutely No Social Life, actually had a date. And that required a shower, or at the very least, a second swipe of deodorant.

He was still thumbing the raised lettering of Olivia’s calling card in his pocket when he heard someone yelling, “Stop! Help!” A woman across the busy road was waving frantically, pointing to a man running down the street.

Daniel sprung into action. He launched himself into traffic, sidestepping and jumping over moving cars like an artful form of dodge ball. When he reached the sidewalk, he all but disappeared, becoming nearly invisible to the naked eye as he gave swift chase. He wove through the crowd of pedestrians with finesse, as if time slowed for everyone but him. It had taken years of practice, but Daniel had finally mastered the art of not crashing into objects when he exercised tremendous speed.

The few people who tried running after the purse-snatcher gave up soon after, not having the stamina to maintain the chase. But Daniel’s cardiovascular endurance was not that of a normal human being’s. Nothing about him could be considered normal; he doubted he could even be called a
homo sapiens
anymore.

Seven seconds elapsed before Daniel caught up with the thief in a narrow alley. The man was pulling himself up on the bottom rung of an open fire escape when Daniel grabbed hold of his jacket and pulled him down onto the pavement, much gentler than he wanted so as not to break the guy’s back, and he fell with a loud grunt.

“Shit! That hurts man!” He glared at Daniel, who grabbed the small purse from his hands before he could protest.
 
“I think I have brain trauma. I’m
gonna
sue you for all you’re worth, you son of a bitch.”

“You’re not going to have much luck there. Sorry, bud,” Daniel said (for there was just no money in the crime-busting business), and with a shrug, sprinted off towards the purse’s owner. He regretted leaving a criminal free, but he was fresh out of the zip ties that were always kept in his pockets. This guy lucked out; he would live to steal another day.

Once he’d returned the hideous orange crocodile-skin purse, the grateful owner looked up at Daniel with teary eyes. “Thank you. You’re my hero,” she said so theatrically, she might as well have completed the performance with a swoon.

Daniel shook his head, fighting the urge to snicker. “No, I’m really not,” was all he said before he turned the corner and ran back to his apartment at a speed that a bystander would only perceive as a small rush of air.

As soon as he was behind his apartment door, he tore off his clothes and jumped into the shower, cursing a little when the tenants upstairs flushed their toilet. He might be an incredibly fast healer, but he still felt pain from scalding water.

After the shower, as he reached for his electric razor, he found himself wondering why the hell he was trying to impress someone he had no desire to date anyway. He was just going to hear her story, nothing else; he had no plans of seeing her beyond tonight. Leaving the razor in its charger, he dropped the towel on the floor and headed to the bedroom. Originally, he had thought of wearing slacks and a nice sweater, but decided against it. He didn’t want her getting the idea that he gave a flying hoot. Instead, he reached for his well-worn jeans, which lay crumpled on the floor, and pulled out a black AC/DC t-shirt. He pulled on a grey hooded sweatshirt and finished the look with his favorite green military jacket. He didn’t need the mirror to know that he looked like crap, and it was just as well. Maybe Olivia would lose interest if he arrived to dinner looking homeless.

At a leisurely pace, he pulled on his worn black boots, scuffed from years of pounding pavement and catching bad guys, ran a hand through his short brown hair, and declared himself ready.

Olivia sat at the bar of Sunday Sushi, angled on the stool for optimal view of the entrance. She smiled to herself, remembering the surge of excitement she’d felt upon seeing Daniel Johnson in the bank that morning. In that moment, standing in front of the six-foot-something man with the broad shoulders of a football player, she had felt all of sixteen again. Before he had transformed into a recluse in high school, he had once been one of the most popular boys at school and she, along with all of her friends, had had a major crush on him. Even after the homecoming game accident, long after everyone else had written him off as a nutcase, Olivia had still found him fascinating and beautiful. Seeing him again at the bank after all these years, she had felt relieved to see that time hadn’t marred any of his appeal. In fact, he was more attractive now, having lost all of the immaturity and uncertainty that came with youth.

As she raised the wine glass to her lips, she saw Daniel enter the establishment with cool confidence and her heart skipped a beat. He was dressed casually, and along with his five o’clock shadow, looked every bit the surly, sexy guy from her memories. She stood up slowly, her legs sweeping over the stool and onto the floor in one graceful movement. Wearing her favorite little black dress from
Herve
Leroux
with the sheer netting above the chest (her “
Maneater
Dress” as her friend Cheyenne had called it) and black heels, she knew she wasn’t looking too shabby herself. Her long hair was gathered in a low ponytail with a few loose wisps at the front, and she wore only enough makeup to look effortless and elegant.

“Hi,” she greeted as she approached him. The bewildered look on his face confirmed how she felt, as his mouth hung agape and his eyes roved over her entire body like she was fireworks on the Fourth of July. “You look good yourself,” she added without hint of embarrassment or annoyance at being lewdly ogled. This was New York after all, where being leered at was a daily affair.

Daniel swallowed, his grey eyes meeting hers suddenly. “Sorry,” he said, a blush creeping over his collar. She noticed that his skin was fairer than his high school self when he was frequently out in the sun, but the small freckles were thankfully still there. “I’m rusty at this.”