Falling (2 page)

I keep screaming. It might be Ryan’s name or something
coherent like “What are you doing to him?” but I don’t think so.

There are not words for this, only a strange tearing that is
also emptiness, because my mind is trying to escape my body lest I comprehend
what has just happened. My boyfriend, he who kisses my shoulders and took me
down the quiet pathways of Avalon, is suddenly still, his eyes glass and
half-lidded, a dark stain growing across his crotch.

The stranger is looking at me. He is not so tall, but I can
tell that he is a powerful person. A person who is not kicked around, who wins
fights before they even start. His voice is quiet and calm, each word crisp like
water drops hitting my cheeks.

“We are leaving now.” He opens his arms, and I don’t
understand.

I am crouched over Ryan, gripping his shirt. I am also
watching the stranger’s glowing hands, wondering if it hurts. Something is
coming off him. I feel the vibrations of it hook around me and tug me upright.
I cannot see what it is, but I can feel it, an invisible string that pulls me
toward the stranger. I start to slide across the cobblestones.

“No.” I clutch Ryan’s shirt, and his body drags with me.
“No, no, no.”

The invisible force pries my fingers loose one by one.

“No, no, no,” I moan.

Ryan drops back, and I spin into the stranger’s arms. I
don’t understand how this has happened, but I know it is the stranger’s doing,
his invisible string. His hook.

The stranger embraces me. I feel his breath cut across my
ear, and my stomach wrenches. I vomit across his shirt and down my own. A low
gurgled moan comes out of my throat.

“Unbecoming behavior for a daughter of mine.” He wraps his
arms around my waist. We lift up into the sky.

Running steps. Someone is below us. It is the boy with the
baseball cap and curly hair. He pauses at Ryan’s body, looks around. Then up.
By the time he swings the gun around for a shot, the stranger and I are already
rocketing away through the night. The stars are streaks, and the boy is a
shrinking dot beneath the lamp light. I hear his voice echoing in the distance.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!”

We fly. The air is cool, and the stranger’s arms are strong.
My mind flees into a dark recess. I close my eyes and feel the tears flicking
off my chin into the dark.

My senses short circuit so that everything is bleary except
for random bits that stand out like vivid darts of pain: dark row of storage
units coming nearer as we descend, minor jolt of landing, sound of the
stranger’s shoes crunching beneath the gravel, sweep of headlights strafing the
rows of closed metal doors. My mind clutches to the light, hoping that it is a
police car, but there are no sirens, and the headlights jump away.

A short while later I am lying on a concrete floor inside
one of the storage units. I pull my legs into my chest. My lumpy purse is under
my hip, its strap still twisted around my arm. The metal door shuts with a
bang
like a gunshot or like panic or like gruesome
finality. The man lurks somewhere in the dark, and a question hiccups in my
mind –
is he a man at all or something else entirely
?
A light flickers on, and I tuck my head to my chest to protect my eyes. His
voice comes from above.

“Inelegant accommodations I know, but I couldn’t rely on
your composure.”

A wail crawls up my throat.  “Did you kill him? Did you kill
him?” My breath is gone. “Did you…” I huff, “did you…” my voice cracks and my
heart cracks and my mind cracks too. I stare at the stranger’s shoes between my
tears. They are expensive-looking loafers, the kind with tassels on top that I
would have mocked in the vast distant past when I didn’t know that monsters
wore tasseled loafers. The shoes walk away. This is when I should try an escape,
when I should scream for help or otherwise try to save myself. I wrap my arms
around my body and weep.

I am not brave. Not now, curled up on the floor sobbing and
retching and not caring if the stranger glows me to death with his hands.

He does not glow me to death. Rather, he crouches down near
me, and his eyes probe my face.

“It is a shame,” he says, “that they are always born human.”
He extends his hand, and I realize that we’ve come to the end. I am gallant
enough to wipe my nose so I don’t die with snot bubbling out of my nostrils.
His palm opens to reveal two capsules.

“Take them,” the man says. “I was prepared for such an
outburst, disappointing as it is.” His voice is still soft, still calm with no
inflection of emotion. He has changed into a navy polo shirt with white buttons
at the collar. I wipe my nose again. In a swift motion, he grabs my neck and
claps his hand over my mouth. I try to scream and suck down the pills instead.

He picks me up and places me on a small cot in the center of
the space. The air is warm and heavy with the scent of old things and lost
memories. For the first time, I look around. A naked light bulb sways above us,
and a duffle bag and folded towel sit next to the cot. Lying on the towel is a
long needle with a wicked, thick point.  There is nothing else inside the
storage unit except for him and me, and fear enough to drown even Noah’s
blessed ark.

The man turns from me to reach into the duffle bag. I lurch
forward on my shaky legs and stumble toward the door. I don’t even realize what
I’m doing until I’m doing it. The stranger is already there, impossibly,
standing in front of me. I never even heard a sound. He holds a bottle of water
in his hand, which he extends to me.

“Yes, you should have tried. That’s good. Now, lay down on
the cot.”

The light is beginning to change color, and this is funny.
The smells are whispering to me, but I can’t understand what they are saying. I
realize that Ryan isn’t dead. He was pretending, and after I left he got up and
went back to the apartment. This is strange, because Ryan never plays jokes on
me.

I am lying prone on the cot. My shirt is off. I am scared
and confused and giggly. I turn my head to watch the stranger’s hands as he
moves toward me. I think,
rape, rape, rape, cape, escape
and wonder how he will fit all of me into his duffle bag if that’s the way he
chooses to go.

The stranger kneels down next to me. His fingers brush the
hair away from my neck and travel between my shoulder blades. I flinch, and he
catches my eyes, shakes his head. His face is composed in concentration,
searching. I can tell the exact moment he finds what he’s looking for. His
eyebrows pinch together and then relax. The fingers make a soft circle behind
my right shoulder and then take another lap. I know what he’s found: the
tea-colored birthmark that I hardly ever notice until I do, and then I can’t
stop staring at it in the mirror.

“Maya. I knew they would find you.” The words are whispered.
Satisfied.

He stands up. The combination of meticulously combed hair,
high forehead and expensive shirt gives him a casual air of arrogance and
luxury. I could almost believe he was on his way to the marina to take the
yacht for a spin or down to the club for a round of golf before lunch. Except
that he’s going to kill me instead, though what he says is, “I am going to give
you a gift; something precious that my father gave to me. I am going to take
away all your weaknesses.”

“It’s okay to be weak,” I say for no reason.

The man frowns. This is the first emotion he’s allowed across
his face.

“No. The weak are…,” he pauses here, eyes intent to make
sure I’m listening. The word comes out of his mouth softly but with obvious
pleasure, “food.”

The man picks up the needle from the towel. It shimmers like
a rainbow in the light and seems to grow in his hand.

“The change shouldn’t be this difficult. There was an easier
way, once. A process that bestowed much more power, but that knowledge has been
destroyed.” The man looks down at me. “I’ve had to start all over, but I will
find it. For now though, bone marrow will suffice. Three rounds of the needle.
It will be painful for us both. Try to be good about it.”

“Why are you doing this?” I manage. It is all absurd, a
strange dream where the colors on the walls are strangling each other. Where
I’m floating away through the ceiling but still here lying on the cot. A dog
yips far away.

“You do not understand this now, but I am making a great
sacrifice for you,” the man says. He lifts up his shirt and slowly inserts the
needle into his hip. He closes his eyes, and I hear the air dragging sharply
into his lungs as he pulls back the stopper.

“No, no, I don’t want to,” I push myself up. Panic squeezes
in my chest with both hands and lots of leverage. The colors are running all
around the room. Maybe he’ll slip on them, but he doesn’t.

Even as I struggle up, he is next to me, pushing me down,
hard. His hand grips my neck, and he digs a knee into my back. He must be made
of solid steel, for my desperate thrashing doesn’t move him at all. 

“Please don’t,” I say or try to say. Taste of tears in my
mouth.

The needle plunges into my spine.

He was right about the pain.

A long ragged scream tears out of me, and its echo jumps
around the room like a mad animal I have unleashed. As soon as the stranger’s
weight lifts off me, I curl up and listen to the waves of pain lapping through
my body.

“You’ll rest for half an hour, and then we’ll do the second
shot,” he says. “It will be worse. Your body will try to fight the change.”

I can’t look at him. I can’t do anything, because suddenly
my spine is ringing like a gong, and the vibration is growing.

“Once the change is complete, you will require sustenance,”
the man says. He lowers himself against the far wall.  “There are two boys who
have…caused me trouble in the past. I will bring them here. You will nourish
yourself from their lives, and it shall be an appropriate start to your new
existence.”

* * *

By the time the stranger prepares the second shot, my body
is on fire. The flames lick up my spine, shooting hot coals through my arms and
legs. Sweat pours out of my skin, and I am shaking so hard I can hear my own
teeth clattering against each other. Crying is too painful, so I lay in
silence, closing my eyes and trying to envision Avalon.

“You’re killing me,” I whisper to the man as he pulls the
needle from his hip.

“No. I’m breaking you down, stripping away your weakness and
building you back up into something better.” He turns his head, and a smile
touches his lips. “I’m making you my daughter.”

“I’m nobody’s daughter,” I say, which is only sort of true.
I find it strange that I conjure such a line. It seems like a brave thing to
say, or at least defiant. But I am exhausted and delusional and weak as a
broken-winged bumble bee, so maybe I don’t say anything at all. Maybe I just
want to believe I am capable of some grit. It’s so hard to think at all right
now.

I scream again as the needle plunges into my back. The sound
is raw, spiraling up into a squeal that cracks and dies in my throat. I fall
back onto the cot, and the scream has taken away my last reserves. Already, the
fire is growing into an inferno that snakes up the back of my neck and into my
brain. He has put acid inside of me or drain cleaner or bleach. I am dying.

“One more and it will be done,” the stranger says. His voice
sounds hoarse. The blur that must be him sinks against the wall and lays his
head back. I fall into a stupor.

This is what I remember next: a sound screeching through my
mind, bleary voices. A figure moves in front of me. It looks like a man, but
the lines of his body are wavering. Two explosions so loud that I cover my
ears. Voices rising. The figure in front of me is gone. Shadows waver under the
light. Something glints. Strange animal grunts. Another explosion. A scream. A
crash. Quiet. Quiet. Voices. Quiet.

Eyes. Big and golden-brown like honey. Elf eyes above a
sharp nose and triangle mouth. A ball cap on his head with wavy hair spilling
out.

“Oh fuck.” He lays a hand on my forehead, then pushes back
the wet strands of hair off my face. We are looking at each other, and I
realize I should say something, but I can’t think. I am watching the strange
blue light glowing around his face. A song is humming softly. I don’t know
where the music is coming from, but the melody is hypnotic. Strange, mystical
music telling me to touch the light.

“We’re too late,” another voice says.

“No, maybe not.” The elf’s voice wavers in and out with the
pain. “…need you to concentrate....how many shots?”

I watch the light around the elf’s face. The song is growing
louder. My fingers twitch. I can’t lift my hand.

“Maya, the needle….”

“One,” I say. One left.

“One?” His expression relaxes. “Good. That’s good……work with
that. Right?” He turns his head up.

“We have to go,” the other voice says.

I can’t stop thinking about that night –
the night I changed, the night my world stopped spinning and drifted off into
the dark. I plunge into those messy, fractured memories again and again, trying
to recapture the simple joy of that lunch with Ryan, the warmth of his lips
opening against mine under the stars. Oh, to be full again.

Upon my request, both Gabe and Tarren
have described the fight in the storage unit.  Each of my vigilante custodians
has their own method of evasion.

* * *

Gabe’s version of events:

It was a dark and stormy night... Yes it was…. Who’s telling
the story? Girl who was unconscious for most of it or the guy who saved the
day? …Well, if you’d be so kind, I will tell you exactly how I did it.
Capiche?
…Good.

So, it was a dark and stormy night. The fog rolled in thick
and heavy as two shadowed figures cut through the night. They warily approached
a storage unit, guns glinting at their sides.

“This is it,” Tarren whispered, and both boys squared their
shoulders. Somewhere far off a coyote howled to the moon.

“It’s show time,” Gabe growled.

The heroic brothers heaved up the storage unit door. The
epic showdown had begun.

The angel jumped up, rage alighting in his eyes.

“You two!” he snarled.

“It’s been a long time coming,” said Gabe. His muscles
bulged beneath his shirt.

“We’re here to send you back to Hell where you belong,”
Tarren said, his eyes glinting dangerously.  …Yeah, course he said that. Tarren
is full of witty one-liners. He spends hours every night thinking them up and writing
them down in his diary… No, I’ve seen it. It’s pink and got little flowers all
over it. …Oh, now that’s just mean. Wait, you’re making me laugh, I gotta keep
going…. The story. Stop interrupting. I’m losing my place.

The angel moved swiftly in front of his prey, crouching low,
ready for a fight. He was weakened but still deadly. The brothers were ready
too. They’ve been ready their whole lives.

“This ends here, tonight!” Gabe cried. The angel was quick,
moving like a blur. Both heroes  raised their weapons and fired. He cried in
pain as the bullets tore through his flesh, but that didn’t slow him down. The
fight was totally epic. The angel was ten times stronger than an elephant and
twenty times faster than a cheetah, but the brothers held their own using
Matrix-like skills. Blood flowed. Ribs were cracked.

Tarren was knocked back, so the incredibly handsome younger
brother had to hold off the creature on his own using bad ass Chuck Norris
fighting action. Fists and legs flew at the speed of light. Using roundhouse
and 180° spin kicks of death, Gabe knocked the creature down, stunning him.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” he asked with his trademark
smirk. He totally had the situation under control and was about to waste the
angel, when Tarren shoved him out of the way in a fit of jealousy…. No, let me
tell it…Of course he’s going to say that…. Maybe I wanted to be up against the
wall. You ever think of that? Maybe I had ‘em right where I wanted him. So if
you’re done telling me my own story… Uh-huh, that’s what I thought.

So Tarren shoved his unbelievably talented brother out of
the way, because he wanted to finish off the angel himself. They did some tepid
fighting which involved absolutely no roundhouse or 180° spin kicks of death.
At some point Tarren got ahold of his gun and blew off the angel’s hand. It was
meat confetti. Ranger T hollow points, gotta’ love ‘em. The angel howled in
pain, clutching his mangled stump as blood gushed all over the place. It was
pretty sick.

“This isn’t over,” the angel cried as he escaped into the
night.

Of course Gabe totally could have killed the angel and ended
everything, but he realized that petty vengeance wasn’t as important as
rescuing the poor girl the creature had kidnapped. He went to her and realized
with shock that she had been infected. He took her fevered body in his chiseled
arms and cried out a soul-wrenching “NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“We’re too late,” said Tarren, instantly giving up hope.

Gabe refused to believe this. For you see, this wasn’t just
any girl. She was their long lost sister.

“As God is my witness I will save you,” Gabe vowed
heroically. “Damn it, I will save you!”

* * *

Tarren’s version of events:

We tracked you directly to the storage unit. The door wasn’t
locked. Grand was weak. This was our only chance to finally take him out. He
heard us coming and was ready when we threw open the door. We both got a round
off, but he was moving too fast. We didn’t get a kill shot. I was knocked back
in the fight, and I lost my gun. Grand had Gabe pinned to the wall. His hands
were glowing, and I knew he was getting ready to feed.

I tackled Grand, and we fought. He got me on the ground. I
had a second Glock strapped to my leg. He was reaching out to drain me, but I
pulled the barrel between us. The shot took off most of his left hand. Grand
figured the odds and fled before I could line up another shot.

He got away.  I failed.

It was clear you’d been infected. I knew what had to be
done. Gabe thought there might be a way to help you. He was already emotionally
attached. I could hear sirens in the distance. We didn’t have time to argue.
That’s the only reason I didn’t kill you then and there.

…No, that’s it.