He has to stop what's about to happen, but the forest erupts into flames and a tree falls, pinning him to the ground. His ribs crack and pierce his lungs. Pain drives him mad, but still he reaches for Toby. "Don't go. You're not safe."
A man in black seizes the boy and takes him away.
Toby screams as Drake pulls on a power he doesn't have anymore. He can't move the tree. Can't heal himself. Can't breathe. He will die, and so will Toby.
***
Drake jerked awake, unsure of where he was, or why. The jail smelled of vomit and body odor, and his cot had seen better days. He hadn't been forced to share a cell with anyone... yet—a small but cherished blessing, given the look of the other detainees.
A guard with a shabby goatee and too much gut shoved a cafeteria tray into his cell. "Breakfast."
The food, if it could be called that, smelled like day-old garbage, but Drake shoved it into his mouth without thinking. He needed his strength—what little he had—and couldn't waste any chance for nourishment. His sorrows had made him mopey and lethargic. Now, people needed him, and he had to get his shit together.
The guard flicked on a television that faced the cells and left.
Drake would have preferred silence. A Law & Order rerun played in the background as he thought about his options, which pretty much amounted to nothing. He had no money, no lawyer, no chance in hell of getting out of this mess.
He snapped back to attention when Law & Order disappeared, and a newscaster in a smart blue suit appeared with the words "Breaking News" on the television.
She held a microphone to her face and gestured to the scene behind her—a fenced-off area heavily guarded by military personnel. "The CDC has set up a quarantine zone in the middle of the city to investigate a rash of disturbing behavior in youth everywhere. They have refused all requests for comments, and in a formal statement, denied any connection between the outbreak and a new street drug known as "Blue Power," which has many worried about distressing side effects, including death and unusual abilities. Though the CDC denies the connection, our sources confirmed that any known user of the drug is being held in quarantine. Could this be the start of chemical warfare? Many people are asking that very question."
Toby. That has to be where they're keeping him. Drake recognized the area, but had no idea how to break in and save the boy with so many armed guards, not to mention the fact that the Center for Disease Control had jumped into the fray. In fact, he needed rescuing himself.
Drake's shoulders slumped and his head fell into his hands. He'd officially hit rock bottom, and saw no hope of climbing out of the hole he'd thrown himself into. In that moment, he would have given anything to go back in time and change his path. He'd have stayed with Sam, powers or no. He'd have been there for her and their baby. He wouldn't have been such a coward and made her face all of it alone.
He wouldn't have run away.
Mr. Goatee came back and pulled out his keys. "You have a visitor."
Sam? No, couldn't be. How would she even know he was here? But then, how would anyone know he was here? Maybe Sam had found him somehow, after their connection. Maybe she could save him from himself once and for all, and he could be the man she needed.
Drake followed the guard to a small interrogation room. Reluctant hope surged when the door opened, then burst when the tall man sitting at the table stood and smiled. "Mr. Davis, it's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."
The man nodded, and Mr. Goatee left, which was highly unusual given Drake's status as a supposed psycho killer.
Dressed in a high-priced pinstripe suit, with dark hair and striking blue eyes, the man had an air about him, as if expecting obedience in all things. He gestured with a manicured hand. "Please, sit. We have much to discuss."
Drake couldn't imagine what the man wanted, but he sat, curiosity overcoming his disappointment at not seeing Sam. "Are you my lawyer?"
"Not your lawyer, per se, but I am here to help. I think we can do much for each other, if you're willing to engage in a symbiotic relationship, so to speak."
What the hell is this guy talking about? Something about the way the man moved—the graceful and fluid motion, the air of authority—tickled the back of Drake's mind. Also, the eyes.... Where have I seen those before? "Who are you?"
The man smiled coldly, devoid of all emotion. "The question isn't who am I, but who are you? Do you know how you came to be what you are?"
A veiled threat tinted the man's words, but it didn't scare Drake. It only made him more cautious. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, let's not play coy with each other. We have a history, even if we've never met in person. Do you not recognize me?" He closed his eyes and stayed so still he might have fallen asleep.