Liquid Death (The Edinön Trilogy Book 1) (16 page)

              As the foliage thickens, so does the darkness. While I can see in the dark, I know the girl cannot. I wish I could tell her that we will stop shortly, and that she needn’t worry over losing me. I wish I could hold her hand to help her along. I wish for so many things that simply can’t be.

              “Can we take a break?” the girl inquires, panting heavily. “I can’t run anymore.”

              I snatch a stick from the ground and hit it against the trunk of an oak tree. The girl blindly follows the sound and gropes for the trunk. I kneel on the moist ground and cup my hands together. Comprehension stirs in her eyes as she steps into my hand. I boost her up.

              She doesn’t get far.

              Her raw screams rattle me to the core as I am knocked backward by a stench I will never forget.

              He has her. He has the girl. He has a knife.

             
I raised a bloody hand to summon the knife from the floor, but was unable to keep it up for more than a second. I croaked, “Run, Trace,” before her wails were promptly silenced.

              Though he abandoned me months ago, the cigarette smoke and stale beer is unmistakable. He is thinner, his hair has sparsely grown, and his face is clean-shaven. But he has the same lightless blue eyes. The same posture. The same breathing pattern. The same blackened heart.

              “Hello, Kandi,” he says, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

              The girl, with a knife pressed against her throat, looks at me with confidence. I look back in terror.

              “You’re probably wondering where I’ve been.” He squeezes the girl against him. “Traveling the world, spreading Zidivin. I guess you could say I have been at Death’s bidding.” He laughs. “So, you see? I never abandoned you.”

              When I refuse to acknowledge his words, he growls, “Look at me, Kandi.”

              I meet his gaze, and immediately every drop of power I thought I possessed dissipates, utterly nonexistent. Tears soak my eyes.

              “The ritual, Kandi, you remember? Your father performed it on your poor human mother and sister.” Jim cackles. “He never could go for long without sacrificing somebody. It was in his nature, you see. Grafted into his very being the moment he was conceived. He could get away with it back home, but here?” He shakes his head. “Denboïrn has forsaken us. We are never going home.”

              Jim slides the knife across the girl’s throat. The girl’s eyes widen as she gasps for a few seconds and clutches her neck, blood spouting through her fingers.

              I scream, mangling my vocal chords as the full horror of Jim’s actions takes hold. He drops the Patient’s lax form and advances toward me. I am abruptly overcome with nausea and roll over to vomit.

              “Hey! Kandi, look at me!”

              Again, I look at him, unable to control the automatic response. Jim tenderly drags the bloodied knife over my left cheek.

              “I missed you,” he says.

              The girl never should have died. I should have been able to protect her. I could have saved her had I been strong enough. I could have saved Alice, too. I could have saved Juan. I could have saved Mom... and Traci.

              I could have saved myself from torture. From the nightly experiments in the underground shed, to the frequent defilements in Jim’s home.

              Why can’t I use my powers for good? Why can’t I be the “special person” Mom always thought I was?

              Jim cuts into my throat. I can’t stop him. I am paralyzed by sheer terror. A girl like me should never fear common folk like Jim.
I
should be the one provoking fear. Jim has no right to touch me!

              Another innocent little girl is dead because of me. Where is the flame that preserved her before? Where is that energy within me that can cripple even the likes of my all-powerful father?

              “I shall complete the ritual,” Jim mutters as he laps blood from my neck. “But first I’ll enjoy myself.”

              Lightning flashes brilliantly above me. Thunder and a torrent of rain shortly follow, washing the blood from my skin and percolating the soil. Time slows to a crawl. Raindrops splash in slow motion. I stop breathing.

              My vision is unlocked.

              I see the universe – stars, solar systems, and galaxies – infinite in depth and height and width – dimensions which had previously been unfeasible. I see Home, and the vessel bound to take me there.

              Tears trickle with rain and blood down my temples as I lie vulnerably beneath my uncle, seeing all but unseeing.

             
In the past my mind would have fled my body to protect itself. Now I am aware. More aware than I have ever been.

              I can count every molecule of rain that connects with my skin. I can name every tree in this forest and number every leaf. A vortex of moisture forms around us, jarring Jim from his drunken stupor.

              “Kandi, what are you doing?” he questions warily, my blood staining his lips and chin, his hands paused in the middle of raising my hospital gown.

              I sit up and summon the energy in my brain which had previously lain dormant. “Completing the ritual,” I tell him, grabbing the knife and thrusting it into his heart.

              Jim gapes at me and tumbles off my body, exhaling his final breath as his dead eyes stare into the sky.

              The summer storm lingers. I hug my knees against my chest and shiver. I used to think my life could not be more miserable. That was, until now.

              To the majority of human beings, I don’t exist. I am the primary subject of a covert experiment implemented by people striving to alter the fabric of human existence. I am on the run from the Doctors, government agents, and my father. I have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, and no food to eat. I am thoroughly destitute. Alone.

              “No, sweetie,” Dad rumbles as he emerges from the trees. “You are never alone.”

***

The Pandemic

              June 23, 2017

                           
If someone had told Leyla twenty
years ago that she, a successful brain surgeon, would fail running an institution for disturbed children, she would have slapped him.

              And she did.

              Jeremy Levinson was the most charming man a forlorn married woman could ever meet. He was delivering pharmaceutical supplies to the hospital she worked for at the time, and he had asked her if she’d like to have coffee during her break. She’d noticed the wedding ring on his finger and didn’t care. He was extremely attractive and articulate, and he seemed to know her better than anyone after their first encounter.

              He brought his infant daughter directly to her the first time Kandi bled out, and many more times since. He made her feel appreciated and more important than her regular job ever could. Kandi was special. Leyla became obsessed with her condition, and wanted to know more about how her body functioned. How could an infant shed so much blood so often and emerge in perfect health? Her obsession with the girl quickly led to joblessness. She was stripped of her medical license after using Kandi’s blood to treat another patient. The patient survived – with abnormal side effects.

              Leyla suspected Jeremy wasn’t being consistently veracious from the beginning. No matter how much she questioned him, he would never cave. He simply wanted her to patch up his daughter and leave.

              Twelve strenuous years later, as Kandi matured, Jeremy approached her with an offer to make her the director of a new project called Blue Skys.

              The plan was simple: use the research they had been conducting underground and continue it on a grander scale. Jeremy’s powers of persuasion came in handy during the recruitment period. He found families with broken homes who were willing to give up their violent, unpredictable children for an annual profit. Leyla’s late husband’s connections with government officials at the time boosted their legal credibility. Governor Garcia introduced Jeremy to Jose Chavez, a minor elected official in San Diego who also ran a drug cartel. Chavez had donated loads of money to Garcia’s campaign, and offered to donate more to Blue Skys and sign over his illegitimate son for the cause.

              The bigger Blue Skys became, the more attention it could have potentially garnered from the media. With well-founded promises to “cure cancer” and “take revolutionary steps in the field of medical science,” Jeremy, in a matter of three months, won the President’s favor with said promises. Indeed, they were fulfilled while Jeremy was serving his sentence for butchering his wife and younger daughter. Various government agencies have guaranteed Blue Skys will remain a secret.

              The work at Blue Skys has become so important to humanity itself that any child and family associated with the experiments are forced to live in neighborhoods around Sunny Days Elementary and High schools. The government gives them everything they need to survive, including a home, food, clothing, toys, etc., and erases their identities so they can never again live in the outside world. Most of these families don’t mind. They come from deplorable backgrounds, and those who still care about their “special” children sincerely want them to improve. What better way to guarantee a child’s mental and physical well-being than handing it over to the best Doctors in the country?

              Leyla knew this day would come, when the superhuman characteristics these children developed would spiral out of control. That is why Zidivin was created.

              She should have heeded Jeremy’s warning the day he offered her the job:
“The plan will succeed, Leyla. But once Kandi turns twenty, everything will change. You will not be able to contain her.”

              She has tried everything: from transforming Jose’s son into a weapon, to concocting liquid death... yet Jeremy was right: Juan is still missing, Blue Skys is enveloped in unquenchable flames, and Kandi and Patient 100 have vanished.

              Large black shipping trucks are currently transporting the remaining Patients and Nurses to Sunny Days for temporary confinement. Custodial crews have salvaged what they can from the untouched floors of the building before it crumbles to dust.

              Leyla dials 1 on her phone and holds it to her ear. She is standing in the parking lot, surrounded by the Security team, firefighters, the police, Doctors A through Z, and ambulances. She has distanced herself enough from the black flames to avoid asphyxiation. Any closer and she would be forced to wear a mask.

              Three rings, and no answer. She curses and dials again. If there has ever been a time she has required a genius, sociopathic anomaly, it is now. She grits her teeth and presses her unoccupied palm against her pounding forehead.
Where is Jeremy?

              “Doctor L,” Agent Hunter shouts over the pandemonium, “the search party has picked up on Kandi’s trail. She shouldn’t be too far from here.”

              Thunder roars overhead. Leyla looks up at the bruise-colored sky. “Thank you,” she shouts in reply, hanging up her phone and glancing around. “Have you seen Doctor B-“

              The building explodes.

              Debris and body segments fly hundreds of feet into the air as the deep violet fire and toxic smoke devour Blue Skys. Leyla is on the ground, her face conjoined with the asphalt, stunned and deafened. Her phone lay before her eyes, screen cracked. She tastes copper and tongues a few loose teeth. Her corneas are obscured in smoke. She dazedly blinks when she sees a specific pair of shiny black shoes striding her direction amidst the commotion. She shudders as a familiar entity invades her mind.

              “Leyla Hendricks, you have failed,” declares the entity, flashing an ivory grin.

             
No
, she thinks stubbornly to herself.
We can rebuild. We still have enough of Kandi’s blood...

              “No, Leyla,” Jeremy says, his suit ablaze in viridian. “The human race will not survive the next pandemic contagion. With or without my daughter.”

             
What contagion?
She closes her stinging eyes.

              He smiles. “The one we created, of course.”

***

The Proposition

              June 23, 2017

                           
Isaac’s temperament when I open
the
door would be hysterical if Sam wasn’t shaking like a leaf with unease and resentment as she clung to my left arm. But she is, so my spontaneous snickering is short-lived.

              “Where were you two?” Isaac glares at his sister. “You were gone for
two
hours
, without even informing me first!” He faces me. “You! Explain yourself!”

              I try to mimic his accent. “Well, we was just tryin’ to have a good time, is all.”

              Sam gapes at me like I chucked a grenade at her brother. “We were just... Eating out. Sorry I didn’t warn ya, Isaac.”

              “No, you’re not,” he huffs. “You are not!” My eyebrows fly at his tone. “Not yet.” ...And suddenly, his beefy arm is crushing my throat.

              “Isaac, stop!” Sam screeches at a volume imperceptible to dogs.

              “You must learn, Sam.”

              “No! You have no right to do this!”

              Laughter unexpectedly escapes me when Isaac’s arm toughens around my neck like a boa constrictor. Sam looks at me like I’m insane. Which I certainly am.

              “Isaac, do you want to lose your arm?” I cough, now chuckling incessantly.

              He grunts and slams me against the wall. “What’d you say, stranger?”

              I smooth the wrinkles from my borrowed shirt. “That’s better.”

              “You don’t want to test me, man.” Isaac’s nostrils are twice their natural diameter.

              “How can you be so sure?” My eyes dart to Samantha, who is fearfully backing against the opposite wall.

              “Don’t hurt him, Juan.” Her request, though sincere, is monotone. She knows now that I am capable of destroying her brother. She sees it in my eyes.

              Isaac glances at her over his shoulder, then looks at me and shrugs. “Let’s get this over with.”

              Hearing his thoughts, I am gaining insight into his motivation. After losing his father to a random shooting and his stepfather to cancer, his greatest nightmare is to lose his mother or half-sister. I dodge a punch and elbow him in the diaphragm. There is something else... an underlying attraction to his sister that evokes jealousy when he sees her with another man.

              “Isaac, nothing happened between us,” I assure him as he attempts to twist my arm backwards. “I would never hurt your sister.”

              He laughs. “Yeah, I’ll make sure o’ that.” Just as he is about to twist my arm a centimeter too far, I yank it from his grasp and stomp on his foot. He howls and grapples for my neck. I take both of his wrists and squeeze until: “All right! All right!” he cries, sinking against Ned’s favorite recliner. Isaac massages his forearms and glowers up at me. I know what he is thinking.

              “You don’t have to call the cops. I’ll be gone in a few days,” I say, Sam’s shocked expression in my peripheral.

              Sam steps forward. “Juan, you don’t...”

              I run a hand through my hair and smile wearily at her. “Sorry, Sam. I should have left weeks ago.” With that final note, I turn toward the kitchen and exit through the back door, the screen slamming behind me.

              I watch the sky’s violet hue deepen as storm clouds gather in the west. Thunder rolls in the distance over the mountains. I do not know where I am or recall how I arrived here, but I know the city in which Blue Skys resides is closer to those mountains. I consider whether walking there or stealing a car is the better idea.

              Animal noises saturate the summer night – crickets, cows, horses, sheep, etc. – and I listen to them for a few minutes before realizing that
hey!
I could steal a horse.

              The back door opens and shuts. “Juan?” Small footsteps move across the patio. “Was that true? What you said to Isaac?”

              I nod without veering my gaze from the field. “I have been here too long. There is someone  who needs help, and I just.... I don’t even know if she is still alive.”

              “Maybe we could help,” Sam offers, a slender hand on my shoulder.

              I glance at her and shake my head. “You couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

              The pressure of her hand gradually disappears. “So why are you still here?”

              I swallow and shrug. Her vanilla perfume permeates the air. “I don’t know.”

              “Could it be because... you feel something... for me?”

             
Ugh
. Do I have to answer that question? Why are girls so confrontational? “I am still here because the thought of going back is... too horrifying to entertain. The things I had to go through and witness still chill me to the bone.”

              Sam nods and frowns. She is slightly wounded by my blatant evasion of her question, but she is wisely choosing to ignore the sting. “I still don’t see how we can’t help you in some way.”

              “It would be too dangerous for you if I allowed you to help me. I must do this on my own.” ...Though it would be nice if a sizeable army could storm the castle with me. She bites her lip and crosses her arms. Her clavicle immediately draws my attention as she shifts closer. “Maybe I should leave tonight,” I mutter, mostly to myself as a distraction.

              “You can’t stay one more night?”

              I stare at her face, wishing I could forget the gruesome photographs in Kandi’s file... tied to a table, dying night after night as Doctor Hendricks and her father did abominable things to her as a young girl... before she witnessed the brutal double homicide of her mother and sister and was forced to live with her uncle, who became addicted to her thaumaturgic blood; Doctor L kept comprehensive notes of his actions in the file and neglected to stop him. I wish I could forget the look in Kandi’s eyes when I asked her if we were going to die. I wish I could forget her screams as she was dragged from the Death Room. I wish I could forget about Destiny, my mother, Blue Skys, and the reality that I killed my own father.

              I gently clasp Sam’s arm and murmur, “I will leave in the morning.”

             
I awoke in a cold sweat on my bedroom floor. The sheets strung over my open window flailed in a sea-scented breeze. I checked the ticking clock on my wall and exhaled as I read the time. 12:35. I had to meet with the gang in 25 minutes... and not because I was invited.

              I swiftly threw on black clothes and tucked a stolen gun in the back of my pants. The moon was full and phosphorescent in the sky, so navigating the alleyways without being sighted would be more challenging than usual.

              Flashes of the strange night on the icy, steel table tormented me as I scrubbed my face with cold water over the bathroom sink. Why did I cry tears of blood for three days afterward? Why after weeks without sleep had I not been exhausted?

              “Honey?”

              I jumped and flipped around. “Mom?” She was standing in the doorway, her hair long and greasy as she scratched at her scalp and bony arms. I had seen pictures of my mother before she eloped with my father, and I knew she was a beautiful woman. I could not bear to see her so decrepit.

              “Where are you going, Juan?” she slurred, foam dribbling from her lips.

              “Mom!” I launched myself toward her to catch her before she fell. I cradled her in my arms and carried her to the tub. “Mom, you need to wake up.” The ever-present mauve rings around her eyes were now black. I turned the knob in the tub to hot and dumped water over Mom’s head. She did not respond. I plugged the bathtub and filled it to her waist. I wiped her clammy face with a damp rag and lathered shampoo into her scalp. She gradually came to while I rinsed her dark hair under the faucet.

              “Juan, what are you doing?” she mumbled.

              “Cleaning you up,” I replied. “You nearly drank yourself to death, Mom.”

              Tears trickled from her swollen eyes. “I’m sorry.”

              “I thought you were going to quit.”

              She sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. “I tried, honey. I really tried.”

              “Tell me where you are hiding the liquor, Mom, and I will get rid of it for you.”

              Her eyes widened in sheer panic. “No, Juan, please!” She clutched my hand at the edge of the bath. “Please don’t. It would be such a waste.”

              “Fine, I won’t. Promise. Just tell me where it is.”

              She shook her head. “I can’t. I’m not ready.”

              “You will only be less ready the longer you continue to drink,” I insisted. “You can’t keep drinking like this and expect to live another ten years. I don’t want to live without you, Mom. You
must
fight. For me.”

              Mom paled and held her hand to her mouth. She looked at the toilet across the room, then at me anxiously. I lugged her out of the tub and set her before the toilet. She proceeded to vomit an entire bottle of beer. I held her hair back and stared into the fungus-coated wall until she was finished.

              I couldn’t meet the gang that night. I managed to locate them a week later. Thanks to the perplexing experience in the dark room with the bloody girl, Emanuel and company paid dearly for their transgressions.

              A resounding crash shocks me awake. I peel my face from the living room couch and peek over into the entryway, where ten armed, uniformed men have obliterated the front door to search the house. I instantly recognize the all-black uniforms and the helmets as affiliated with Blue Skys, and my heart gallops like it never has before.

              Ned and Isaac are already in the room with their weapons to investigate the racket. While the security team points their rifles at them, a man in a black suit and tie strolls forward – middle-aged, gray hair, blue eyes. He exudes the same level of confidence my father flaunted until I smashed his face with a baseball bat.

              “Who the heck are you?” Isaac demands, far from relinquishing his only defense.

              The man, smacking gum like he invented it, smirks and slowly opens his jacket to fish something from his pocket. Isaac and Ned simultaneously clench their triggers further, anticipating an attack. Instead, the suited individual displays a photograph. “Have you seen this boy?”

              Isaac glances at Ned, and they both narrow their eyes. “No,” Ned answers gruffly. “Now get off my property.”

              “Ned!” Sam squeaks as she rushes down the hall. She gasps and clasps her hands over her mouth when she sees the flashing lights through the windows and the SWAT team in the vestibule.

              The unidentified man smiles at the girl. “You’d better start talking,
Ned
,” he suggests derogatively as his henchmen cock their weapons and point them at Sam.

              Isaac attempts to lunge at the man, but Ned restrains him.

              The man laughs. “Now tell me where this boy is.”

              I rub my eyes and yawn as I rise from the sofa. “Here, Doctor B.”

              He turns, his eyes squinting as though he doesn’t believe I am actually standing here. I touch the top of my head. My hair must be jutting in every conceivable direction.
How embarrassing.
Eventually, B’s mouth curves into a devilish, victorious grin. “108. At last.” The minions surrounding him shift their armaments to my face. “Are you going to come with us peacefully, or would you prefer more blood on your hands?” Three of the guards interpret that as their cue to force Isaac’s, Ned’s, and Samantha’s arms behind their backs. Samantha’s expression precisely mirrors Destiny’s before she was... I gulp and cover my mouth during another involuntary yawn.

              I hold both wrists outward. “If you harm them, I will make you bleed.”

              B motions for the release of the hostages. “Take him, boys.”

              Emotions come out of nowhere suddenly when I glimpse Sam’s face the final time. This is what my life has become. I will always either be a fugitive or a prisoner. I may never taste freedom again because a sociopath named Jeremy Levinson transformed me into a creature worth only as much as it can pertain to Doctor Hendricks’ “research.” How anomalistic is that?

              I permit the guards to cuff me with the hope these chains are not coated in Kandi’s blood – though the Doctors would be complete dolts if they weren’t. And, anyway, I can beat these suckers even with shackles.

              “Juan?” Sam utters confusedly in the shadows of the hallway between her grandfather and her brother. She has the expression of devastation one only feels after a loved one’s betrayal. She watches me with round azureous eyes as Security escorts me out the door. I attempt to slip tennis shoes on in the process.