A Changed Man (Altered Book 1) Read online

  Slade was worried they had lost all leads. His men finally got a trace on the number Remington had used to call Rick. It was a payphone outside some seedy liquor store in the Denver area. When they went to check out the place it turned out to be a bust. The owner of the store had a camera on every corner of the building but when the team inquired about them they found out that the guy was too cheap to buy real cameras. They were all dummies, just put out to deter the drunken bums from pissing on the side of the building or the occasional drug deal in the parking lot. The two inside cameras worked but neither one of them were pointed at the door, which made them useless. The phone booth was a mangled mess and the owner had no idea how it got that way. Slade had an idea though.

  Slade entered The Den and checked in at the main guards desk. "A team brought in a new recruit last night, where is he?"

  A rather paunchy man stood up quickly from behind the desk when he saw who was asking; his wrinkled shirt and stained trousers telling Slade that it was time for some fresh blood around here, these guards were getting too comfortable. "Uh, yes sir. Corridor D room 12." He said, trying to straighten his shirt."

  Slade looked the man up and down then leaned over the desk. "Oh it's too late for that. Is this how you're supposed to show up for work? Freddy is it?" He said poking Freddy’s nametag hard against his chest. "Do I pay you so little that you can not afford a washing machine, or an iron for that matter?"

  Freddy started to visibly sweat and he looked like he was about to shit his pants. "Uh yes sir. I mean, no sir! You do! You do pay me enough! I'm sorry Mr. Smith. It won't happen again."

  Slade stood up straight pulling down his own suit jacket. There went the good mood he was in. "You better see that it doesn't. As a matter fact you better be clean and pressed by the time I come back through here or you won't be getting paid at all anymore. Is that clear Freddy?"

  "Yes sir, Mr. Smith. Consider it done."

  If only these idiots knew what fired meant in this operation. Not getting paid would be the least of their worries. They would never be seen again. This isn’t the kind of job you could just quit or be fired from. Slade made his way toward corridor D.

  Rick was woken up by a mans extremely loud snoring. He sat up and was quickly reminded where he was. He looked up to the bed where Dillon was still asleep. That wasn't a man snoring, that was her. Rick wondered how in the hell someone so small could put out what sounded like a bear in hibernation.

  "Mr. Davis, you're awake."

  Rick looked toward the door and stood up. "Who are you?" He asked.

  "My name is Mr. Smith. My colleagues and I created this place. What do you think? Did you sleep well?" He asked with a smirk looking behind Rick and noticing the blanket and pillow on the hard floor.

  "Why am I here?" Rick asked.

  "Well to put it simply, I'd like some information about a friend of yours."

  Rick knew for sure now, this was all about Remington. "What kind of information? You could have just called me, I'm in the book."

  "Yes, well. I wanted to ask you face-to-face. That way I could tell if you are lying. Has Remington Cross contacted you lately?"

  "You know he has. You guys are the ones who tapped my phone right?" Rick was starting to put it all together now. "What do you want with him?"

  "He has something of mine. Something very special, and since it's now inside of him, he belongs to me."

  "Is that so?" Rick asked tilting his head at Slade like he was looking at some sort of circus freak. "Well, You've wasted your time, I don't know where he is." Rick could honestly say that. He and Remington didn't discuss any details. All Rick knew was that there were people watching him and he wasn't sure why at the time so he played along, and when Remington called, Rick knew immediately his phone had been tapped and so did Remington.

  "You talked to him, do you have any idea where he could be? It would be in your best interest to help me Mr. Davis. I can be very temperamental when I don't get my way."

  "You and every two year old." Rick said with a shit-eating grin.

  Slade’s eyes narrowed and Rick could almost hear the blood boiling in the mans veins. "Look, I'm sure you listened to the entire conversation; over and over again probably. So you should know he didn't tell me where he was, we just shot the shit."

  "How descriptive." Slade said wrinkling his nose like he could actually smell shit. "Well if you have no information for me then, I suppose I can put you on the list for operations this week."

  "Or you could just let me go. I'm sure I could find Remington on the outside. Lead you right to him."

  "Yes, if only I believed you. Don't worry Mr. Davis, after what I have planned for you, you will be begging to be on my good side."

  Rick grabbed the bars and put his face right up to them. "I don't beg asshole."

  "We'll see Mr. Davis, we'll see. I'll have someone around to fetch you in the next couple of days. Try and get some rest, although I don't see how that will be possible, sleeping in this room." He nodded toward Dillon who was still sawing logs. Her snoring seemed to have kept her oblivious of their conversation.

  Rick watched the man retreat back down the hall. What the hell was he going to do? He had to get out of here before they came back for him. Rick walked over to the bed and laid a hand on Dillon’s shoulder. "Hey, wake up." Dillon turned over facing away from him and put the pillow over her head.

  "Dillon, wake up. We have a problem."

  "What?" She whined, rolling back over to face him. "What is it?"

  "I just had a visitor, said his name was Mr. Smith. Sound familiar?"

  Dillon sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Yes! That’s the prick that came after my operation; he looked at me like I was his shiny new toy. What did he want?"

  "Information about a friend of mine. Said if I didn't cooperate he was sending someone back for me in a couple of days. I'm guessing to do the same thing to me they did to you and to everyone else in here. We need to find a way out before that happens. I think they had him. I’m not sure if he was in this facility, but if he was and he got away, that means this place isn't impenetrable. If Rem got out, we may have a chance."

  Remington was exiting the bathroom when he heard Jackie’s car pull up the driveway. In the couple hours she was gone he was able to get a few things done. He opened the door just as Jackie was reaching for the doorknob.

  "Whoa!" She said startled. She looked up at him. "Wow!"

  "Wow?" he said looking at her curiously.

  "You shaved."

  "Oh, yeah. You bought me a razor, figured I should put it to good use." He smiled.

  Jackie wanted to wipe her bottom lip with her index finger in case she was drooling, but with bags in both hands it wasn't possible. Holy mother of god he was gorgeous. He had shallow dimples that she didn't notice before with the thick dark scruff covering them. His black hair had already grown out enough to cover what was left of the light pink scarring that seemed to be fading further by the hour. He was barefoot and had on the light blue jeans she had bought him and a black t-shirt. His biceps were straining the thin fabric.

  "Earth to Jackie." He said grinning.

  "Huh? What?" She snapped her eyes away from his chest long enough to look him in the eye.

  "I said, let me take your bags."

  "OH! Here." She said handing them over to him. "I got the new knobs."

  "I see that." He said looking through the bags, "and a shit load of nails. Are we building something?"

  "I wanted to talk to you about that. I was hoping maybe we could do some experimenting. With your powers."

  Jackie wasn't sure how he was going to react to that. Would he get pissed and think she was just someone else who wanted to use him? Or would he agree because he wanted to learn his own limitations, if any.

  "I think that’s a good idea." He said pulling out the boxes of nails. "Why three different sizes?"

  "Thought maybe we could start small, work our way up."

  "Okay. When should we
start?" He asked.

  "How about you eat first. I brought you some food from the diner. Maybe it will help you from losing so much energy." She pulled the take out box from its bag and set it on the table. "Are you sure you're ok with this? I mean, you don't have to do this if you don't want to, I just thought it may help to know exactly what you can do. Plus, we're home, safe, and I can aid you if you need it. Plus, there’s plenty of food for refueling. If you don't want to, it's okay, I completely understand." Jackie was just rambling now, not sure who she was trying to convince, Remington or herself.

  "Jack, stop. It's okay. I want to do this. I think it’s a good idea, and you’re right. This is the safest place to see what I can do."

  Jackie let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Okay." She went to the kitchen and poured an iced tea and brought it back to the table, setting it in front of Remington. She looked around the room; it was spotless. Everything was, the kitchen, dining room, and living room. He dusted, swept and mopped. Everything seemed to shine.

  "Thanks." He said and gave her a wink.

  "You cleaned?" She asked. "Remington, you don't have to clean my house. You've already cooked for me, carried me to bed and to tell you the truth, just having you here makes me feel safe." There it was again, that damn blush trying its best to creep up her face. She couldn't believe she just said that last part out loud.

  "I told you, I want to earn my keep. Quit telling me how to show my gratitude and enjoy the benefits of having me as your houseguest. Now, what did you bring me?" He opened the container. "Yum!" He said picking up half of the giant sandwich and taking a huge bite.

  "Wow!" Jackie said laughing at him.

  "Two wow's in one day, I must be doing something right." He said with a full mouth.

  "Yeah, you're doing something right."

  Jordan Chase was sitting on the steps outside his small cabin deep in the woods, twirling the chain that held the dog tags he retrieved the night before through his fingers. It was time to get help. He knew where to go now, who he could trust. Whether or not they would agree to help him was a different story, but he had to try. "Rick R. Davis." He said to himself. Reading the name off the tags. "God help you."

  Jackie watched Remington finish off the sandwich and chips she had brought him then get up and throw the container in the trash. "Okay, how should we start?" He said opening up the box with the smallest nails.

  "I'm not sure, maybe just try and bend a few? See how it affects you." Jackie answered. She was getting a little nervous, she wanted to help him figure out what was going on with him, what he could do and how to learn to control it, but at the same time it scared her. No one should be able to do what he could. "Wait, Let me grab a roll of paper towels, just in case."

  "Okay, here goes nothing." Remington picked up a nail from the small pile on the table where he had emptied the box. He held it up to his face and concentrated. He started to feel the warm burn in his veins and his pulse speed up. The next thing he knew the nail he was holding had been bent completely in half.

  "Holy shit" Jackie whispered.

  Remington looked over at her. "What? It's just a nail, you've seen me bend bigger things."

  "Look at the pile on the table." She said, her eyes as big as saucers.

  Remington looked down to the pile of nails he had left on the table, every one of them sat bent in half the exact same way as the one he was still holding. There must have been fifty of them.

  "Whoa." He said looking back at her.

  "You're not bleeding, how do you feel? Are you tired? Anxious?"

  "No, I feel okay. I got the normal heart racing thing and a small amount of adrenaline, but nothing like before. Maybe because they’re so small." Remington opened up the box of the biggest nails, skipping the middle length ones all together, and dumped them out on the table as well. He picked one up and again tried to concentrate on just that one. He stared at it hard and blocked out everything else in the room. All the same feelings came back and he watched the big nail fold itself in half while still in his fingers. He looked down and all the other nails he had poured onto the table were still straight, untouched.

  "You’re bleeding." Jackie ripped off a paper towel and handed it to him.

  Remington wiped the couple drops of blood from his upper lip and just like that, it stopped. "That wasn't too bad." He said looking at Jackie. "It seems the harder I concentrate, the more of a toll it takes on me, but still nothing like before. I don't even feel tired yet." He faced the nails on the table again and without picking any of them up, he focused on them and watched as they all bent in half at the same time.

  "That’s amazing." Jackie said walking over to the table and picking up a handful of bent nails. "See if you can lift them."

  Remington returned his attention to the table; he focused all of his energy on the one hundred or more bent nails lying on the table. He could feel the blood moving through his body, could hear his heart beating in his ears. Every nail on the table lifted into the air and just hung there. "Are you seeing this?" He asked Jackie while still concentrating on the floating nails.

  "I see it." She said softly.

  Remington turned to face her with a surprised smile spread across his face when loud clinking noises filled the room, every nail fell from the air and hit the table, some falling on to the floor. "Oops." He looked like a kid that just saw superman for the first time. They both started laughing a bit nervously.

  "Okay, I think that’s enough for a while.” Jackie said. "You're still not bleeding, you should rest a bit. You feel ok?"

  "Yeah! I feel good! A little tired, but not like before."

  "Good, I'm going to go take a bath. Then later I'll make us a nice dinner and we can try again after you eat if you want to."

  Remington loved the way she was already telling him what to do. No one has ever cared enough about him to give him any kind of direction. She didn't come off bossy; he knew when she told him something it was because she cared. She seemed protective and being cared for was a wonderful feeling. "Sounds good." He said smiling at her.

  Jackie paused before walking down the hall. "Oh, and clean up this mess." She winked at him and headed toward the bathroom.

  "Yes Ma'am." Remington waited for Jackie to disappear out of sight and went into the kitchen and retrieved a large plastic bowl from one of the lower cabinets. Going back to the nails that were strewn all over the place, he concentrated on the ones on the floor first. Within just a few seconds they had all risen off the floor and laid gently back on to the table. He then focused on all of the bent nails as a whole and with little effort he was able to lift every one of them off of the table at the same time. He grouped them together until they resembled an almost solid metal sphere, and while hanging in mid-air he was able to straighten them all back out. Still hanging over the bowl, he let them drop one by one.

  Remington put his hand up to his nose to see if he was bleeding, he wasn't, not a drop. He still felt a bit tired but nothing that required he take a rest. He still couldn't believe what he could do. What kind of technology could make a person develop a power like this? What kind of operation? What the hell did they do to his brain? The more he thought about it, the more he thought it would have had to change his DNA. He had heard of a lot of crazy experiments performed on humans; the Nazis conducted some of the most ghastly ones during the holocaust. They attempted things like bone, muscle, and nerve transplants to immunization and sterilization experiments and a lot of other operations that left the victims mutilated and in agony. He wondered how many in the cavern weren’t as lucky as he was; how many operations that failed and the victim’s lives cut short by the greed of power hungry faceless men. He remembered one face though. He knew this Mr. Smith wasn't the only one to blame for what was going on in that cave, but he was the one haunting Remington’s nightmares. Just knowing that others were still being held there and having to endure whatever hell those fuckers decided to subject them to was enough to make his bloo
d run cold. He had a target and he would eliminate him. It's what he was good at. He would find a way back in and do what he could to help the poor souls unlucky enough to find themselves waking up in that sewer and he would kill whoever got in his way.

  Chapter 13

  Jackie and Remington had replaced both front and back doorknobs and deadbolts. They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about his powers and possible reasons he could be useful to an undercover government agency. There were a million reasons really. What military wouldn't want someone who could manipulate metal, Or an army of people who could? Remington told Jackie about wanting to find his way back where he had escaped from when he could get a hold on his new power. He needed to have complete control before attempting any kind of rescue, and although Jackie understood why he wanted to go back, she didn't like the idea. She knew she couldn't let him go in alone; she had to help. She kept that part to herself for now, knowing he would have no part of it. There was no way he would take her with him and risk her safety, so until she could figure out a good reason he wouldn't be able to argue with, she stayed silent.

  "You ready to eat?" Jackie called to Remington from the kitchen. He was in the living room relaxing on the couch watching TV. They agreed he would try a few things bigger than the nails he had bent earlier after dinner. She didn't want him low on energy, so she ordered him to the living room to rest.

  "Yeah! Let me set the table." He answered getting up and walking toward the kitchen.

  "No, I already got it." She said. "Just have a seat and enjoy."

  Remington sat down to a huge bowl of chili, cornbread, and a side of sour cream. "Wow, this smells delicious."

  "Thanks! I hope it's good, I haven’t made cornbread in a couple of years. You want a beer?" She asked moving toward the refrigerator.