Played

Loud rock music played overhead, but the heavy bass thumps did nothing to cover up the incessant buzzing of the tattoo machine at my back. I'd decided to go big for my first tattoo, and this was my third and final sitting.

"Almost done," my tattoo artist said. "How you feeling?"

"Feeling fine," I answered. "Thankfully, I have a high pain tolerance."

Tony was the kind of artist who focused more on his work than on his conversation, so I'd filled in the silences during our sessions. I liked to talk. One of my friends, Evan, said I liked to hear the sound of my own voice.

Tony surprised me, though, by pushing the conversation further. "What's the worst pain you've experienced?"

"Getting shot in the head."

The tattoo gun let out a short buzz and then cut off abruptly. "Seriously?" he asked.

"Seriously."

The needle returned to my back with a sharp bite. "How'd you survive something like that?"

"I was a test subject in a clandestine government experiment that made me invincible."

The tattoo machine went quiet again. The radio switched from hard rock to pop and the front desk girl sang along with the lyrics.

Tony still said nothing.

I glanced at him over my shoulder and put on my liar's smile. "I'm totally kidding, Tony. Do I look like someone the government would turn into a science experiment? I mean, with this sweet, innocent face?"

He exhaled with a shaky laugh. "Dude, I was going to say."

I chuckled with him. If only he knew.

The truth was, I really had been a volunteer test subject for a program that had made me invincible. The organization behind the program was known as the Branch, and they'd pumped me full of something they'd named the Angel Serum. I had, in fact, died when I'd been shot in the head.

But I came back.

Which was why I'd decided to get the tattoo Tony was currently finishing up.

Fifteen minutes later, he said, "All right, Chloe. All done. Wanna take a look?"

He cleaned off the excess ink, my skin still burning and tender from the needlework. When he was done, he hurried over to his floor-to-ceiling mirror and crossed his arms, waiting excitedly. I held the flimsy sheet to my naked front as I turned my back to my reflection.

The tattoo started at the nape of my neck and ran down the length of my spine, all the way to the small of my back. In swirling, vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges, the phoenix was a symbol of my own resurrection, rising from an inferno of embers and ash.

"It's beautiful," I breathed, and twisted left, then right, to get a good look at every angle. "Thank you, Tony."

He smiled, big and dopey. "You had the vision."

That I did.

Seven years ago, my family and I had been on our way to see a movie when a semitruck lost control on the icy roads and sent our car through a guardrail, plummeting us into the frigid East River.

The only reason I made it out of the car was because my brother sawed through my seat belt with a pocketknife, then smashed his feet through my window.

That was the last time I saw him. He'd managed to cut through half his seat belt, and the police suspected it was the river current that finally freed him, sending his body so far down the river that he disappeared into Lake Michigan. His body wasn't recovered with my mom's and dad's.

Emerging from the frigid water was my first resurrection. I'd had many more since then.

After Tony taped up his work with plastic and skin tape, I paid the last of what I owed, promising to return once the tattoo had healed so everyone could see how it looked. I'd never been good at keeping promises, though, so I considered my good-bye a final farewell. Chances were, I'd be leaving town soon anyway.

I went straight home to the apartment I'd rented above a bookstore in this small Ohio town. It was a studio with boring beige walls and rough oak flooring. I'd only been there a little over a month, and tonight I planned on packing what few possessions I had so I could leave first thing in the morning.

Every day I felt like I was getting closer to my goal: tracking down Tom Riley and killing him.