Liquid Death (The Edinön Trilogy Book 1) (15 page)

              I chew slowly. “Tell him what?”

              “Don’t tell him we’re going out anywhere.”

              “Why not?”

             
He will hurt you like he hurt the others.
“Just don’t. Promise?”

              My gaze narrows suspiciously. “Okay... I promise.” Apparently Isaac has “hurt” other male acquaintances of Sam’s in the past. Odd. I have never heard nor seen any indication Isaac distrusts me. Why would Sam want to keep something as trivial as a casual night out a secret from her brother? Heck, he could come
with
us!

              Though I have a distinct feeling Sam would disapprove.

              Samantha and I sneak out of the house while Ned is asleep and Isaac is watching TV. She is almost attractive in a short black dress and heels, with her medium-length hair scrunched into tight curls and her lips and eyes enhanced with makeup. And, because I am a gentleman, I offer her my arm on our journey down the steps to the car, then open the driver’s door for her.

              I am dressed in a black dress shirt and jeans – the best Sam could find in her brother’s closet. I have never worn anything so formal before.

              Is this really a date? What have I gotten myself into? Sam’s thoughts are no comfort, either:
I hope he doesn’t hate me. I hope I don’t wreck this crappy car on the way to Ray’s. Gosh, he probably hates me. He’s just being nice as always.

              To ease her emotional turmoil, I give her a genuine smile as I buckle my seatbelt. She glances at me nervously before turning the key in the ignition. I run a hand through my hair, nerves jumping as she kicks the ’85 Impala into gear.

              Despite Sam’s lack of aptitude behind the wheel, we arrive at Ray’s in one piece. I rush out of the car so I can open her door before she does.

              She smiles nervously as I help her out of the vehicle. “Thanks, Juan.”

              On our way inside the restaurant, I cast furtive glances around the parking lot to ensure we are not being watched or followed. My internal organs instantly recede to their original places when I see nothing unusual.

              Ray’s is a colorful little Mexican grill between a gas station and KFC. Since this is a Friday, the restaurant is especially swamped with customers. Sam and I stand in line for five minutes before a hostess escorts us to two seats near the restrooms.

              “Are you sure this is okay?” I inquire across the small table.

              Sam nods. “Yeah, this is fine. I love the food here.”

              “No, I mean... what will Isaac do to me if he finds out?”

              “Oh.” She licks her teeth and purses her lips. “Nothing good. We must be quick.”

              After ordering our food, Sam leans forward with her arms on the table, emphasizing her womanhood beneath the dipping neckline of her dress. Sweat beads on my hairline. The temperature in the room ratchets up twenty degrees. I focus intently on her glittering blue eyes, reminding myself that I am not interested in her.

              “So,” I murmur, grateful when I feel a rush of cool air wafting from a vent in the ceiling. “Tell me about your life in Georgia.”

              One side of her mouth quirks upward. “Let’s see... I moved to Georgia when I was fifteen. Isaac was fresh out of high school, and I was a freshman. We moved around a lot as kids after Mom’s first divorce...”

              I hope the food comes soon so I can occupy my mind with eating while pretending to listen. My mind floats elsewhere, though my gaze dares not venture from hers. I remember to nod when appropriate.

              “Anyway, a couple months ago, my dad died of thyroid cancer. Mom was so devastated she... she started drinking. Isaac and I convinced her to join a support group. She sent us to live with her stepfather, Ned, so we could find a way to support ourselves while she recovered. It’s been hard, but... I think it has been good for us to, you know, get away for a while.” Sam dabs her eyes with a napkin and smiles. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on like that.”

              “No, it’s okay. I actually like listening to your voice. Your accent is mesmerizing.” I am surprisingly being honest here. Although I do not care about the substance of her dialogue, I do enjoy her unique Southern inflection.

              She smiles wide enough to show slightly crooked teeth. “Really?” She places her hand affectionately atop my own. “Thank you.”

              Her face is glowing. “
De nada
.”

              Still smiling, she closes her lips. “What does ‘
de
nada
’ mean?”

              “You’re welcome.”

              “I like hearing you speak Spanish.”

              I laugh, shaking my head.

              She giggles. “Say something else.”

              I furrow my brows and laugh again. “Why?”

              “Because the language is so beautiful, and you sound so beautiful speaking it,” she blurts, giggling some more.

              “Uh, okay...” I idly look around to check if our waiter is coming. “
No sé qué decir.
”

              “What does that mean?”

              I shrug, feeling lame. “I don’t know what to say.”

              The waiter arrives with our food in time for a change in topic. We talk and eat for another hour, not realizing how fast time is flying until we return to the car with stuffed bellies and high spirits.

              Sam’s pleasant mood dies when she catches the time on the radio. She curses and swings the Impala out of the parking lot.

              “I’m sorry,” I mutter, feeling guilty.

              “He must know we’re gone by now. He is not going to be happy when we get home.”

              “Why?”

              “Because he’s an overprotective jerk.” She slams on the horn when someone switches lanes in front of us.

              “What happened to the last guy?” I query cautiously.

              Sam huffs and looks at me. “Nothing you need to worry about. I’ll go through the front door, and you sneak through the back and get changed before he sees you. I’ll tell him I went out with someone else.”

              Both my hands are in fists. “Will he hurt you?”

              “No, no. He would never hurt me. He’ll just... yell at me until I nod enough times to convince him that I understand.”

              “Sam, I’m not afraid of him. You don’t have to lie for me.”

              Her eyes blur. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Juan.”

              I rest my hand on her knee for a split second before realizing that might give her the wrong impression. “I won’t,” I assure her.

              She looks at me skeptically and says nothing until she pulls onto the gravel road leading up to the cabin. As the engine rumbles to a halt, her eyes scan me heatedly, and I lose my ability to swallow. Droplets of perspiration roll down my spine.

              Suddenly, she takes a sharp breath. “Thank you for... for the date. It was fun.”

              My body tingles in anticipation of something that shouldn’t happen. I am about to exit the car when her warm, moist lips assault mine. I roughly hold her face and coax her lips apart, my heart drumming in my ears, my brain galloping into the sunset. Her skin is soft. I find myself yearning for more contact, regardless of the fact that she is as appealing to me as a baked potato.

              Before the situation takes a turn for the worse, half of my brain resurfaces. I break away, vexed with regret. Her eyes remain closed for a few seconds, as if expecting the debauchery to continue. I hastily wipe my mouth, worried I might have lipstick on my face.
Way to go, Juan.

              “I am going through the front door with you,” I hear myself say. “Isaac will not lay a finger on me.”

              She seems to believe me, nodding slowly in agreement. I can hear the gears turning in her head. Her eyes sparkle in the evanescence of sunlight. In this light, I could consider her beautiful. She has a bearable personality and a nice figure. She always smells like vanilla, and her dialect is engaging. There is truly nothing about her I dislike. So why do I feel culpable for allowing her to kiss me? It shouldn’t be a big deal.

              I step out of the car and walk around to her side. She chews on her lower lip as I pull her to her feet. My heart is still racing in circles.

              Her next thought hits me like a speeding train:
I think I’m falling in love with him.

             
That
is why I feel guilty. I planned on returning to Blue Skys in a few days. I’m going to break her heart.

              “You shouldn’t come inside with me, Juan,” Sam warns. I can feel her pulse pounding through her hand.
Oh, gosh.
Now we’re holding hands.

              “I know this is hard to believe, Sam, but I am stronger than your brother. He can’t hurt me.”

              We stop in front of the door for one last staring contest. “Are you sure?” she asks, nose wrinkling with doubt.

              I nod once and open the door.

***

The Escape

              June 23, 2017

                           
I lay my head on my pillow and
smother my face in the soft fabric. My fingers squeeze together, relishing sensation.

              Dad is making his first appearance in years. Honestly I don’t know what to feel. I knew he was coming. I anticipated his arrival. Now that he is here, fear is my most prevalent emotion. I am terrified, especially with the knowledge that he is aware of how terrified I am. It’s like anticipating your execution over the course of a few years, spending that entire duration convincing yourself it isn’t going to happen… yet the day has surely come. Daddy has returned.

             
“Mom, stop!” I protested, giggling. I pried her fingers from my sides and ran across the room. I hated being tickled.

              Traci popped her head over the back of the couch behind me. “Hey! I thought we were going to watch a movie!”

              “Yes, Trace,” Mom panted, brushing her hair from her face. “Let’s start the movie.” She looked at me pointedly. I rolled my eyes and laughed.

              “Where’s Dad?” I asked, curling up on the couch beside Traci.

              “I don’t know. Don’t worry, though. He’s probably fine.”

              I nodded and turned the TV on with the remote. This wasn’t abnormal. Sometimes he disappeared. But he always came back.

              “Didn’t I?” Dad says, smiling.

              I relinquish the pillow and sit up, rubbing my arms vigorously. I nod.

              “See, Kandi? I’ll always come back.” He kneels in front of me and pats my knee. I shiver fiercely. His telepathic rays palpitate within my skull. That is why we are so close. He is the only person who knows me. Not even my mom – my best friend in the whole world – knew me the way he knows me.

              His light hair is slicked back, his eyes are merciless, his teeth are straight and pearly white, and he is clothed in a black suit under a white medical coat. He is picture perfect. Everything about him on the surface is so darn perfect.

              Dad sighs and stands up to pace the room. “Ah, you couldn’t possibly believe that, could you?”

              I close my eyes and try to do that thing where I leave my body and forget everything when I wake up. Apparently I can’t control a force that controls me.

              He clucks his tongue and chuckles. “Kandi, there is nothing on Earth you cannot do.”

              Except...

              I think of all the suicidal attempts, all the accidents, and all the pain I have suffered throughout my brief lifetime. I know what he wants me to say.

              “You can’t die,” Dad states flatly.

              My face swells with heat as tears flow.
I know, Daddy
. 

              He points at the door. “Why do you remain here when you could walk right out that door? You are not locked in.”

              I am locked inside of myself. Even if I waltz out the door, I won’t be free of the prison that is my mind. I never will be.

              I want my dad to leave.

              “I will leave,” he promises. “But I will be back. I always will.”

              I nod and turn on my cot, pressing my face into the padded wall.

             
At approximately three
AM
, I followed my dad outside to the shed. Ms. Hendricks was there, as well as a few new patients she had found – criminals, orphans, or dying hobos, folks nobody would miss. Dad tied me to one of the beds next to the others and injected me with a drug that made the world turn inside out.

              “Is it ready yet?” Ms. Hendricks inquired as she pulled the straps tightly around my wrists.

              “No,” my dad answered regrettably. “But it will be soon. I have a few more tests to run before I can be sure it’ll work.”

              “Have you tried it on Kandi?”

              Dad looked at her like she had pincers for teeth. “Of course not.”

              “I think it would be a good idea, Jeremy.”

              He sighed and shook his head. “Let’s get this done for tonight. I’m exhausted.”

              “Very well.” Ms. Hendricks slapped on a pair of plastic gloves and clasped my father’s bicep affectionately as he held the knife up to my chest.

              “Get the others ready,” Dad ordered. The woman nodded and walked over to the patient next to me, a scalpel in her hand. With one swift movement, she created a gaping wound in the man’s throat. Blood spurted in all directions. I felt a drop on my face.

              “This one’s ready,” Ms. Hendricks stated, moving to the next one to do the same.

              I felt the cold metal of my father’s knife press against my own throat. The drug had enfeebled me so completely that I couldn’t scream.

              I lie there loathing myself for being such a coward. I thought I would be able to face my father, but after several years of not seeing him since he murdered Mom and Traci, I have forgotten just how powerful he truly is. He can draw and quarter me with his stare, and all I can do is tremble and whimper like a little girl in the corner of a padded cell.

              Of course, what he said was correct: I cannot die. No one can kill me, not even him. I should not have been so afraid of him, but every time he spoke I felt the knife in my heart – how weak must I be if mere memories are capable of attenuating me?

              My mind scrolls through the faces of Blue Skys’ Patients, children from ages 10 to 22, who are undergoing the same torture as I but without the assurance they will live. How could I take pity on myself when innocent young humans are suffering with me? Many are even dying on a monthly basis, as more students from Sunny Days are caught wielding abilities and imprisoned here. Patient 108 was one of them. As much as I have come to execrate humans, I can’t help but feel sorry for them.

              Regrettably, with Jeremy Levinson in the picture, there is little I can do for them now. He has everyone in this building under his spell. I don’t believe I can break it.

              The little girl in the gas chamber enters my thoughts, and a sob wrenches my chest. She looked so much like Traci. What if Traci was here? Would I find a way to save her?

              I glance at the door. No doubt I would.

              The door disintegrates before my eyes.

             
“You are not locked in.”

              I open my mouth. “You’re right, Dad. I’m not.” And I take my first voluntary step out of my cell.

              I walk down the hall, a trail of black-violet flame billowing behind me. Alarms and fire sprinklers erupt in blissful discordance, joined by shouts of surprise moments later. Doctors and Nurses scramble through various corridors and rooms, screaming at each other over the noise to evacuate the building.

              So much energy has coalesced over the past two months that I can scarcely control it. My fingers and lips tingle with ecstasy. I have never felt so alive. I can see and hear so much – and all that I see is real. I hear no deprecating voices and see no apparitions from my past. The world is more vibrant and substantial than I had heretofore imagined.

              “Stop the girl!”

              “Everybody out!”

              “Call L! Emergency on the fourth floor!”

              I can sense lifeforms, hear heartbeats, and detect brainwaves. I cannot read thoughts like my father, but I can feel others’ emotions and physical discomforts. Without my eyes I can determine where people are and whether they need my assistance. After passing through several emptied hallways and rooms, I arrive at one the Nurses intentionally neglected: the Death Room.

              Inside lies the 10-year-old girl, who nearly perished in the gas chamber. Zidivin thrives in her delicate veins, latching onto her red blood cells and sucking the life out of her. Her auburn hair is in a single French braid, and her primary functions are failing.

              I command the IV tubes to detach from her body and dissolve the parasite from within her. Her almond eyes fly open in shock. “One!” she cries through dyspnea. Her heart dangerously accelerates. I emit undetectable pulses from my brain to slow her heart. The girl breathes easy.

              I gesture for her to come with me.

              “You are here to help me?” she asks.

              Traci’s visage materializes over hers. I nod and peek out of the room, then wave my hand forward. The girl slides off the bed and pads to the doorway. A guard turns a corner then, spotting us at the wrong instant. The girl squeaks and jumps back as he aims his weapon. Lately they have ditched the tranquilizers and upgraded to real guns. The government is perilously trying to keep Blue Skys under wraps. Since the supply of sedatives such as Theratocin has diminished, Security has doubled, and if any Patient poses a threat to the operation (i.e. if they grow too powerful or unstable), then Doctor L will order a painless, “humane” execution of the child via
liquid death
. Juan Chavez was the prime example of a powerful Patient with too great initiative. He was in too deep and had to be eliminated.

              I psychically induce unconsciousness in the guard and make a beeline for the exit.

              My hair stands on end when lightning strikes nearby suddenly, followed shortly by apocalyptic thunder. The young Patient covers her ears. We run into a few more stragglers along the way, who are either consumed by my unearthly fire or psychic emissions. Fortunately, all the Patients and their handlers have escaped in one piece. Only Security remains behind to collect me and the girl.

              My father must be laughing hysterically right now. I know he expected this. He wanted this. He
wants
me to escape so he can have me for himself.

              The girl begins coughing, and I realize the noxious smoke my fire produces is the cause. Fortunately, we make it to the stairwell and out the little-known
side
exit before she passes out. For the first time in months, I see the night sky in all its glory: cloudy and starless. Our luck runs short when we come face to face with Blue Skys’ equivalent of a SWAT team, complete with automatic rifles, bulletproof gear, helmets, flashing red lights, and unintelligible commands spouted through electronic communicators. Traci’s reincarnated self and I are in the spotlight. I peer down at her to find that she isn’t frightened at all. She has so much faith in me that she does not fear these armed, professionally-trained, handsomely-paid men.

              Determined not to fail her, I quickly scan the guards. I have never incapacitated more than one human at a time before. This will be interesting.

              First, wall of fire.

              I tap my right foot, and veins of dark violaceous flame in the cement rapidly travel toward them. Shouts of amazement and orders to ‘get back and shoot’ transpire before the actual, unpassable flame barricade ignites at their feet. Bullets are fired, but none survive the inferno.

              I reach deep inside my head and focus on the vibration perpetually present in my skull. To release that energy, I point my eyes to the target and “exhale.” Once the supernatural energy is released, it drives forward in a straight line. To attack multiple human minds with a single pulse, I would need to widen my view. Currently, this is impossible.

              And because I don’t have enough energy to incapacitate every man threatening the girl’s life, I simply discharge more fire and run. The girl and I take off across the street. I halt incoming vehicles with an invisible barrier as we sprint into a forest of quaking aspens. Lightning tears through the purple sky, and drops of rain land on my head, shoulders, and arms.

              “Where are we going?” the girl inquires as we rest beside a lonely creek.

             
To the mountains
, I want to say. Instead, I point in the direction we have been running.

              “Will they catch us?”

              I shake my head, hackles rising as more thunder crashes around us.

              The girl covers her ears again and winces. My lips twitch into a thin smile. Traci was afraid of thunder as well.

              If I could, I would have rescued every Patient. For now, all I can save is one. My lower lip trembles. With Juan, we could have saved a thousand.

              At the third clash of thunder, we continue trudging uphill atop grass and soiled leaves. A storm is brewing, so we must find shelter as soon as possible.

              The trees vary and grow thicker the further we hike. My heightened senses slacken in the wake of new hope. I no longer feel compelled to use more energy than I need for moving my legs.