Cain's Blood (19 page)

“Does it work?”
“Some.”
“you did it? you . . . you talked to ghosts?”
“In a way, I guess.”
“Did they go away after?”
“The ones I talked to.”
“Who’s Shaya?”
Castillo jolted.
How in God’s name . . .
“you, um, kinda talk sometimes when you sleep,” Jeff explained.

“Who is she?”
“
He
was someone I knew in Afghanistan.”
“Did something—”
“Not something I talk about.” Castillo studied this boy.
Castillo knew that half of the other clones had been systematically

abused, molested, neglected. Injected with varying levels of serotonin,
dopamine. Tweaked and modified. It seemed that Jeff had not. his test
group had been slated to be raised in a loving environment. An environment tolerant of his passive nature, of his possibly emerging homosexuality. The end result was a kid who was polite, curious, and sharp. yet
he’d still been crafted from the DNA of one of the worst serial killers in
history. Castillo knew such men were often gifted socially. They could
mimic and master, for a short time, social norms. They could use them
to their advantage.
Is that what Jeff is doing?
Was he merely waiting?
Pretending?
Was it only a matter of time?
Where did the fabrication end and
the true boy begin?

Jeff stared right back. “War’s stupid.”
“War’s simply the unfolding of miscalculations.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Something I read once in college. Basically means war’s stupid.

Comes around when people reach bad conclusions.”
“Is it pretty terrible over there?”
“Sometimes.” Castillo’s mind tried to replace his instant remembrance of Shaya (
what they’d done to him, what he’d done . . .
) with other
thoughts. The “good” ones. “I’d be lying if I told you it wasn’t also fun
sometimes, too.”

“I don’t know. Some of the guys, I guess. funny shit they do, say. The
landscape, sometimes. Some of the locals you meet. I don’t know . . .”
“What’s your favorite memory?”
“Memory? hell . . . couldn’t even guess. Don’t have one.”
“Then you can make one up.”
Castillo smiled in the dark room. “fine. early. October ’01. hell,
the dust of 9/11 was still settling over New york. We hit ’em outside of
Mazar-e Sharif. A thousand Taliban, back when they were still fucking
dumb enough to amass like that. They had a couple ZSu-23 antiaircraft
cannons, pair of T-55 tanks, and good fields of fire. Good defensive
position, but not dug in too deep yet. We’d partnered up with a local
warlord in the Northern Alliance who’d brought along a thousand guys
of his own. Only way in was across an open field. ’Bout eight hundred
yards. And we wanted all of us over at once, so we came in on horses.”
“you making this up?”
“Does it matter?”
“Nope. horses?”
“Ayup. Like real live cowboys. Or Napoleon or some shit. Six
hundred guys on horses. To buy us some time, our side was hitting the
Taliban positions with 14.5mm machine guns and M-30s. Artillery.
even had a couple of old T-55 tanks. Bad guys came back with Soviet
mortars and those damn ZSu-23s.”
“Loud,” Jeff said.
Castillo nodded, smiled again. “yeah. And bad. The 23s, there’s
nothing left if one hits you. We went in six waves of a hundred men
each. Crashed against the Taliban position. hundreds of Afghans yelling
‘Charge’ in Dari.
Allahu Akbar.
‘God is great.’ you know? Christ, I was
twenty.” he chuckled, turned to look out the window into the night.
“Like I said, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t
any
fun.”
“So, you liked it? Over there, I mean.”
“I liked being good at something.”
“killing people.”
“That’s not all we did . . .”
“But you did.”
“yup.” At this point, there was no reason to fight the discussion.
“But it was never something I
wanted
to do.” he realized it was a lie as
he said the words.
There had been times . . .
The boy must have seen something in Castillo’s look to make him
drop it. “you still think Ted and the rest of the guys are coming here?”
he asked.
“yes.”
“What happens when you catch them?”
“Then . . . Then it’s over.”
“you gonna turn me over to them?”
“DSTI? Don’t know. But this
will
end soon.”
“I could run away. you’d still let me, yeah?”
“Then what? you’re fifteen years old.”
“Sixteen. And I’d manage.”
“yeah.” Castillo shook his head, imagined the road Jeff was choosing. “People seem to. here . . .” he handed Jeff his book.
“What’s this?” The boy stepped closer, reached out a hand.
“Chapter called ‘A Gathering of Shades.’ It’s about how to talk to
ghosts.”
Jeff riffled through the pages inside. “Thanks.”
Castillo did not reply and turned slowly back to the window.

Castillo’d sent him out the back door to buy some more food and
water when it got dark. It was a bullshit errand, but Castillo must have
recognized Jeff was rapidly losing his mind in that house. Cabin fever.
Cain
fever. And Jeff was more than happy to seize the escape. he
also
thought he was rapidly losing his mind, but he wasn’t so sure that being
stuck in the house was the problem. The nearest convenience store was
two miles away. By the time Jeff reached it, he’d decided to just keep
walking. he had the forty dollars Castillo had given him. he figured
that was enough to do something. Get a bus, or walk to the next town
and figure out what to do then.

It had probably been an hour. he didn’t know. Cars kept passing
in the night. Black things filled with black shapes he couldn’t see. A
hundred people going God-knew-where. Just pairs of headlights racing
past. It was colder than he’d first thought.

he would get back east and find his father. Because that man had
more explaining to do. A hell of a lot about
when
and
who
and
where.
But
mostly a whole lot more about
why.

It was another mile before he realized he hadn’t a single clue about
how to find him.
All those journal pages and weird cartoons and “murder maps” and
computer printouts and Castillo’s little phone calls—they were all about
finding the other kids. Not kids—clones. None of it was about his dad.
The guy who’d basically told him to fuck off and die. Discarded him
like a piece of trash blowing beside the street.
he stopped to shove tears away from his eyes.

“Where the hell were you?” Castillo asked.
Jeff did not respond.
“you get the water?”
“fuck off,” Jeff said.

avid stared toward the ocean from the balcony, any view
of it blocked by the umpteen enormous houses between.
he couldn’t even hear them, the waves. Instead, a couple
of gulls cawed beside an open Dumpster behind the pizza

he could also hear the others in the next room. Dennis and Andrei
watching TV.

And, also, the girl they’d picked up on the boardwalk a couple hours
ago. They were all in her apartment, which was half a dozen blocks
from the beach. She was still crying.
“yo!” Dennis called out above her. “Get in here.”
Soon this will be over,
David told himself.
Somehow, someway.
he wanted out. Didn’t care anymore if he was really the genetic
clone of Son of Sam, some balding douche named Berkowitz. It didn’t
matter that his dad roughed him up some, called him stupid a little too
much, or that he’d been prescribed access to porn and violent movies by
a bunch of evil doctors working for the military. None of that mattered.
he didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not really. Or be around those who did.
he only wanted to go home. Boring old Pennsauken. Play some Xbox.
Maybe even make some microwave popcorn and watch a funny Will
ferrell movie with his asshole dad.
David trudged back into the living room. The TV was on. Some
countdown on Vh1 about the fifty most “Outrageous Moments” in
rock and roll history. The girl was hog-tied on her stomach over the
wicker and glass table. her clothing, which they’d cut, hung in dangling
in shreds. Andrei was naked, too.
“I’m gonna get some pizza,” David said.
“Later.” Dennis looked up from the girl, smiled. “Later.”
“I’ll be right back,” David sustained.
Down the steps, down the street,
forget the car, just keep walking.
Down the whole Atlantic if he had to.
Call his dad to pick him up.
Would he?
“kinda hungry is all.”
“What about you?” Dennis laughed and smacked the girl on her
bare ass. “you hungry, bitch?”
Andrei grinned, his hand working between his own legs.
The apartment door opened.
Andrei jumped up. “hey!”
“Who’s that?” Dennis jerked up from the couch, lurching toward
the hallway. David also turned with the noise.
The door had already shut again.
And something crept in the shadows within the hallway, then glided
deeper into the apartment. A blur of darkness, no more.
Then Dennis gagged suddenly, blood spurting from his mouth.
No,
his entire neck.
his hands clutched for his throat as the blood jetted out
from between his fingers and sprayed the white walls and tiny paintings
of lighthouses. The boy’s head sloped back, half attached to the yawning
neck beneath. his body toppling after it to the floor.
Something sleek and black slid away from him further into the
room. A man—
obviously, what else could it be?
David asked himself—scurried low across the floor like, if David had to say, a gigantic insect, a
four-legged wriggling thing.
Andrei suddenly lifted several inches off the floor, too quickly to see
exactly how. his naked body jerked, a choked scream gurgling in the
blood that sputtered from his mouth. David saw the wide tip of a blade
exiting his stomach, then steadily lifting, carving, up to the soul-patched
chin. Andrei’s eyes, wide and glazed, tracked the knife’s slow progress as
his breath rasped and wheezed, then stopped. The body was tossed to
the ground.
David looked toward where he’d left his backpack. Thought of
getting his hands on the canister. Jacobson had told him to just open
it early if it ever looked like they were going to get caught. Instead,
he stood frozen as the dark man next killed the girl. Drove one of the
blades into her back so hard that the glass table shattered and she fell
through to the carpet beneath. The man wiggled the blade free from
the floor.
Then came for him.
And, so, the decision to open the canister was never really his to
make.
“Wait! What . . . ?” David started a half-formed question.
Two blades replied.
The boy spilled to the ground, suffocating slowly, the blood and
air releasing together in cadenced surges from his severed throat. It
sounded almost like the ocean.
his killer had already withdrawn to the front door. Stopped over
the dead girl for an instant, considered her nude form, but continued
ahead.
his other brothers were still out there somewhere. his fathers waiting.
And there was still much work to be done.

astillo shook him awake.
Jacobson! Jeff!
“What?” The boy rubbed his eyes awake, stirring from

where he’d fallen asleep on the floor.
“Lion time.” Castillo nodded out the window.

Jeff pushed himself up and stepped beside him.
“See the blue car? Pulled up five minutes ago. No one’s gotten out
yet.”
“It’s them!” his voice groggy.
“relax. relax. haven’t seen anyone yet.”
So they waited another ten minutes. It felt like an hour.
“What’re they doing?” Jeff asked.
Castillo watched.
eventually, the car door opened. A man stepped out. A teenager.
“Jacobson?” Castillo murmured.
Jeff caught himself moving back from the window. he recognized
the kid completely.
“That’s henry,” he said.
Castillo nodded. “Go and get the car.”
“What?”
“The car. right now.” Castillo handed him the keys. his voice
hadn’t changed at all. If anything, Castillo sounded even calmer than
usual. “It’s close to where we were the first day. remember the spot?
Good. Bring it to the top of the street. On Ashbridge. Ok? keep up
top.”
“yeah. But . . . I—”
“right now. Albaum’s family was killed in minutes. I’m not letting
that happen here.
We’re
not. Go!”
Jeff was down the steps and out the back door in seconds. he
sprinted around the side of the house toward where the car was now
parked. he wondered what neighbors would think if they saw some kid
bursting free from an empty house in the broad daylight, running on
fire. The cops were probably already on their way.
Good!
In either case,
no matter what happened next, he was never setting foot in that suckhole house again.
he was gasping for air when he reached the car. felt like acid was
pumping in his chest, and his hand shook when he tried the key at the
door. It took several attempts.
Jeff got inside the car. Sat down. Got his hands on the wheel.
SHIT!
he’d never actually driven before. The temps and lessons meant for
the summer had been swept aside by an ever-increasingly “distracted”
father. By a man losing his mind . . .
“Ok,” he said to the empty car. “This is  .  .  . this is nothing.” he
put the key in the ignition.
Thank God, it’s an automatic!
The car started
right up. he fumbled with the gearshift, found Drive. foot on the gas.
The car pulled forward.
“yes! yes . . .” he slapped the dashboard.
The car trolled down the street at about two miles an hour and
eventually made the necessary turn to the corner of Ashbridge and
Oldegate. As he inched up against someone’s lawn, Jeff stomped on
the brake and the car shuddered to a stop. he could see nothing of the
scene down the street, the Sizemores’ house and half the block lost beneath a low dip in the road. he thought about getting out of the car to
see . . . wasn’t sure if Castillo wanted him to stay with the car or not. his
eyes glanced to the various mirrors: rearview. Side. A hundred angles
showing more of nothing.
he looked down to study the gearshift, finally found Park.
By the time he looked up, a car passed. A dark blue car. And henry
was driving.
Jeff froze. he’d met henry a dozen times at DSTI. But in less than
a month, henry already looked different. Older. Darker. So much so
that Jeff was half convinced it wasn’t even him. Or hoped not, because if
henry turned and saw him . . .
The car passed. kept going. It was totally henry.
Jeff collapsed against the steering wheel.
The car door flew open.
“Move over.” It was Castillo.
“What happened?”
“Move! Or get out!”
Jeff scrambled to his right. Castillo hopped in and tossed the car in
reverse, then pulled a quick k-turn that would have made a stuntman
applaud. “he just knocked at the door,” Castillo explained. “Talked to
the dad for a minute and then took off again.”
“So what’s that mean?”
“No clue. Surveillance, I guess. running point, like we did. They’re
probably coming back later.”
“Guess they’re lions too,” Jeff said.
“Whatever. Now we follow this asshole. See if we can find four
more like him. Maybe your dad’s with them.”
“he’s not.”
“We don’t know that for sure. keep your head down a bit. I figure
he’d recognize you as easily as you recognized him, huh?”
“Maybe. Those guys never paid much attention to me, to be quite
honest.”
“Well, they might now. keep down.”
“you see him?”
“he’s a car ahead. Not a problem. This twisted fuck isn’t
going anywhere.” Castillo pulled out his cell. “It’s me. following
henry now. Affirmative. hitchcock, Indiana. yes, sir. Oh plates.
Tango-Juliet-Delta-Zero-four-Nine. Don’t know that yet. Affirmative.”
he put the phone away again.
“DSTI?” Jeff asked.
“Quiet. you done real good. Again. Just enjoy this part.”
They had at least one of the original six. Adopted Name: henry
roberts. Aged seventeen. Birth Name: henry/61. Parent Gene: henry
Lee Lucas. he still looked like his DSTI photo, hadn’t thought to
change his appearance in the slightest. he first stopped to buy some
Burger king, then headed out of town. Castillo followed every step of
the way, not even bothering to hang back after a while. henry didn’t
notice, didn’t even seem to check his rearview mirror.
They drove like this, cat and mouse, for half an hour. Castillo didn’t
make a single sound, and Jeff followed his lead.
finally, henry turned.
Pulled into something called the Paddy Creek Park. They’d never
been there, of course, but Castillo knew it well enough. It was like any
small community park, like the one back in Ohio—a crime scene waiting to happen.
Castillo drove past it and doubled back after a few minutes. henry
had parked and already vanished. The rest of the parking lot was empty.
1500 hours on a friday afternoon. how long before an evening crowd
appeared? Castillo parked far away from henry’s car. he got out of the
car. “Stay here,” he said. The summer sun nuzzled atop the tall trees.
“If I’m not back in thirty minutes, you call this number. Tell ’em you’re
with Castillo and that we’re at Paddy Creek.”
“This DSTI?”
“There’s money in the glove box. you don’t have to be here when
they arrive.”
Jeff nodded, sliding down into the seat. “Castillo?”
“What?”
“Be careful,” Jeff said.

Castillo considered the boy for a moment. The messy hair and glasses.
The uneven smile. he wondered what truly awaited the kid if he actually called that number. “Thirty minutes,” he repeated. It would be,
he hoped, more than enough time. Still no other cars in sight. he
wondered how many more of the boys he’d just found. If any. There
was no time to get backup, but it’d be difficult to take down half a dozen
teenagers.

Castillo approached henry’s car. his eyes took in the playground,
brickhouse restrooms, and the concrete buildings attached to a small
amphitheater in the center of the park. his 9mm drawn, silencer
threaded in place. The car was empty, but he found his target soon
enough. Moving by the small amphitheater in the center of the park.
Castillo thought of waiting until the kid headed back to the car. Too
tough to get up to that stage unnoticed. But henry had stepped out toward the center of the platform, half lost in summer shadows. kneeling
over something.

Some
one
. A form, a woman, reclined before him like some kind of
Aztec sacrifice. She was not moving. Castillo aimed his gun, considered
taking the shot then. Took one last look. No others around, teens or
otherwise. Area secured.

The boy struggled to his feet. fumbled awkwardly with his pants as
a wide serrated blade shimmered in his one hand.
“Drop the knife,” Castillo ordered and edged up the steps at the
wing of the stage. “Drop it now, henry.” Another step closer.
“Who are you?”
The woman at his feet was nude. Set over a blue tarp. her body
undercoated in dirt, filth, old bruising and scratches. even from twenty
paces away, she smelled dead. Looked dead.
But what if she’s not?
“I’m a guy who can help get you home,” Castillo said, looking back
at the boy.
“home? What the—,” henry laughed. “you got no idea, do you,
you stupid fuck?”
“So tell me then.”
Another step closer. Clearer shot. Leg, maybe. Shoulder.
“you know, I called that bitch two days ago. My ‘mommy.’ Told
Mommy I’m coming back someday real soon. That I’m gonna cut her
fucking head off. you from Massey? DSTI?”
“No.”
“She beat me, ya know. When I was a kid. Made me dress up as a
girl for her friends. forced me to watch her fucking dudes. Then the
men would . . . then they’d have a go at me. Nice, huh? Just like him.”
“Like who?”
“Lucas. henry Lee. Just like him, just like me.”
“I don’t know about any of that, dude. I just . . . look, how about you
put down the knife. Then we can talk about all this.”
“Suck me, faggot. Don’t you get it? She was doing it on purpose.
She wanted me to be like him. She did. Or
they
did. DSTI. Jacobson.
Someone
did.”
Castillo could not argue. he’d seen the videotapes and read the reports. Traumatization in the formative years was textbook development
for a serial killer, and it had been freely prescribed. Nothing in this
kid’s charts had said anything about it, however. yet knowing DSTI, it
wouldn’t surprise.
Jesus Christ, what they did to these fucking kids . . .
“road trip’s over, man,” Castillo managed. “The other guys are already back home.”
“Bullshit. Those guys? I left their bitch asses days ago. Told ’em I’d
take care of this fucking Sizemore kid myself. Those guys are halfway to
Cali by now.”
“They’re not. Police picked them up yesterday.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, it’s true. Look, I’m putting the gun away, Ok? Let’s talk
through this.” Castillo did as he said and gradually returned the sidearm
to its holster. he wasn’t worried about this kid and his knife, knew he
could disarm him easily if he got close. “Ok? See? Now put that down,
and we can end this thing before it gets any worse.”
“Any worse?” The boy lifted his shirt so Castillo could see. Castillo
had tensed, ready to draw his pistol again. But henry hadn’t revealed a
gun. A giant purple-black mark covered half the boy’s body. A bumpy
bruise that ran from his nipple down onto his stomach. “This . . . this
shit’s all over me, man.”
Castillo had no clue what he was looking at, but he played along.
“We’ll get you whatever medical—”
henry laughed. It also sounded like a cry. “Whatever, dude. fucking
listen to yourself. you’re so full of shit . . . you don’t even know it. July
fourth, you’ll find out, pussy. you all will.”
“henry  .  .  .” Castillo reached out his left hand. “Come on, man,
don’t let them win.”
“Whatever.”
“We could—”
“you wanna say hi to Nurse Stacey?” henry looked down and toed
the woman at his feet. “Me and her were gonna get married, I think.”
“henry, I can get you help.”
Can I really?
“But I’ll probably cut her head totally off and then—”
“No. you won’t.”
“After, I’ll cut you.” henry dropped to one knee, his eyes wild. Who
knew what was running through his veins. What hellish venom brewed
in some lab ran through his veins. he’d lifted the woman up to him
with one arm. “you know who I am, asshole?”
“henry roberts,” Castillo said. But his full attention wasn’t on
henry roberts anymore, it was back on the woman. Close enough, finally, to really see.
It
was
Stacey kelso. One of the two nurses from DSTI.
her face battered and swollen but recognizable from the ID photos.
Abducted by six psychopaths a week ago. Officially, they’d reported
to her friends and family that she was away taking an advanced training somewhere.
She looks dead
. Castillo tried not to think about how
DSTI and Stanforth would ultimately explain her disappearance. And
he certainly tried not to think about the reality of her last week. Still,
he thought about both. And so shifted back to the here and now. The
ol’ black and white again. first:
99.9% dead. Can’t tell absolutely
. . . .
It
changes everything if a hostage situation.
he still needed to get closer to
know for sure.
“your name’s henry roberts,” he echoed, turning his attention back
to the teen. “And some really bad men put you in a terrible mess.” The
words came out more easily, suddenly, more earnest. “you can beat this
thing, man. Trust me. I know what it’s like to—”
“you know nothing, you fuckin’ liar. Don’t you know what I am
now? I’m henry Lee Lucas!” It was a declaration and a question, too.
he’d brought the knife to the woman’s throat.
“No. you’re just some guy who got fucked over by assholes who
should have known better.”
“I kill people. I like to rape dead girls.”
“That ain’t you, man.”
Closer.
The boy’d shielded himself well with
the woman’s body. head, shoulder exposed.
Maybe the shoulder . . .
“That
was something else. Someone else. Now, please, put down the knife.”
“Bet they name this highway for me. route 50, right?”
“Sure, Ok, man, I’ll bet you twenty bucks. What do you think
they’ll—”
Still too far away. . . . Fuck!
“Now let’s see her head come off.”
“henry, don’t . . .”
The boy tensed, knife perched to slice.
Two shots.
The boy flipped back, legs kicking out through the spray of blood,
and landed awkwardly on the concrete stage.
“Motherfuck!” Castillo dropped to the woman first. She was, as suspected, dead. had been for a day or even two, he figured. “Goddamn it,”
he cursed again. Crawled next to henry’s body. he’d gone for two in the
shoulder. Drive the kid back.
Must have hit his neck somehow.
Nope, both
shots in the shoulder. “What the fuck?!”
Why was he bleeding out so fast?
Castillo grabbed the knife and cut the kid’s shirt away. Bunched it
up to help apply pressure to the two wounds. The kid wasn’t lying. The
black growth ran all the way down past his hip and onto his back some
too. Castillo tried not to think about it as his other arm bent over the
boy to start CPr. “Come on, kid . . .”
Two breaths. elbow down twenty thrusts. But every time he
pressed, the blood pushed through the bundled shirt against his fingers.
It was as if he’d hit the kid’s jugular. But he hadn’t.
So why’s this fucking
kid bleeding out like this?
A pool of blood had already spread underneath
them. It looked, felt, oily. had a putrid smell. Castillo told himself the
stink was from kelso’s body, but he didn’t think so.
The kid’s blood? What
else could it be?
he put his mouth to the boy’s again. Blew air into his still body.
“Come on, kid. you gotta want it. . . . Not like this. Not like this.”
Two minutes. five. Ten.
On the final press, blood came from the boy’s mouth.
Castillo dropped back on his ass. Out of breath. Patted the boy on
his chest.
“I’m sorry, henry,” he said.
he pulled out the cellphone. his fingers were dark with blood. “It’s
me,” he said into the phone. “yeah. Target down, sir. Need someone to
Paddy Creek Park. right, henry’s down. kelso, too. yes, sir. Affirmative.”
he watched as Jeff approached slowly from the distance. Tried waving him away, but the boy still advanced. Castillo kept talking. “yes, sir.
The kid said something about California. The other guys. Could be
nothing. Threatened his mom. Made some comment about Julyfourth.
I don’t know. Any news on the east Coast group or Dr. J? yes, sir. Is
something wrong? yes, sir. I’ll be here. Out.” he put the phone away,
didn’t look behind him. “I thought I told you to stay in the car.”
Jeff had stopped moving toward the stage. “Is that . . .”
“yeah,” Castillo said. “One of the nurses they took.”
“Is she . . .”
“They both are. Why don’t you get your ass back to the car.”
“Why’d you shoot him?”
“he had a knife. I couldn’t . . . I’d hoped she was still alive. hit him
in the damn shoulder. how was I supposed to know the fucking kid
was . . . you know, fuck it.”
Jeff stared at the two bodies again, both perfectly level with his view
of the raised stage.
“Look, Jacobson, I ain’t gonna apologize for this shit,” Castillo said.
“fucker gave me no choice here. I just did what I was trained to do.”
Jeffrey looked up from the two bodies to Castillo.
“So did he,” the boy said.