Liquid Death (The Edinön Trilogy Book 1) (19 page)

              The man doesn’t seem fazed by this information. “Execute you?”

              “Yeah...” I look out the window. “Sometimes, if a Patient becomes too volatile or too powerful, the Doctors put them to sleep. I happened to be one of them.”

              “And my daughter...?”

              “She could still be alive.” I compress my lips and meet his eyes through the wide rearview mirror.

              “You mean you don’t know?”

              I shake my head. “I wish I did. I will know for sure very soon.”

              “And this ‘other Patient’... The one in Trapper. You say she’s powerful?”

              “Yeah, I think so.” My mind is still whirring with questions. How do I know where she is? What exactly did I see in the forest? Am I having
visions
now? Is Kandi really as powerful as I am praying she is? What if her dad is there?

              I feel so nauseated, I could vomit any second. I am the dumbest person alive.

              The bus stops twice for the witch and the scarecrow before moving off the beaten path to a small town outside the city. The road cuts into an extension of the forest. I wonder if – and how – the police haven’t found Patient 1. How could anyone hide
here
when the FBI and the entire city police force are after them?

              Owen, the driver, stops the bus next to a closed diner and opens the door. He intercepts my arm and crams a piece of paper into my hand. “Call me if you find her,” he says. “You can’t trust the police. Although you probably know that.”

              I nod and stuff the paper into my pocket. “Thank you, Owen.”

              He looks taken aback. “How do you know my name?”

              I smile and shrug, leaving him staring at me in awe and immediately turn right on the sidewalk. The streets in this town are uninhabited this late at night, luckily.

              About an hour later, I reach the edge of town and step around the house I saw in my “vision.”
This can’t be that easy
, I think. I bash the back door with my foot and enter the small, modern home. My eyes scan the chairs, coffee table, smart lamps, keyboard piano, and the flat, curving television drilled into the wall. I move into the hallway and search the bedrooms and the bathroom. No signs of life whatsoever.

              I find the kitchen and scavenge all the food I can find, including ham, white bread, cheese, granola bars, cookies, crackers, chips, bananas, apples, oranges, bottles of water – and I toss everything I can into two plastic sacks.

              Last but not least, I check the basement. The door is locked, but that doesn’t matter. I bust it open with a flick of my wrist.

              My stomach drops when I hear noise emanating from downstairs. It is faint and fuzzy, almost like a TV was left on... I close the door softly behind me and descend cautiously. It is difficult to move quietly when I am carrying two sacks full of food and treading on creaky stairs, but I manage to get to the bottom without any attacks or shouts of surprise.

              What I heard was exactly as it sounded: someone left the TV on. I set the bags at the bottom of the stairs and pass a large bed to find the girl sleeping soundly on a gray loveseat.

              I forget to breathe. She is more beautiful than I remember. I feel like an enervated adventurer who has stumbled upon an enigmatic, mythical creature. She is wearing a long, peach-colored nightgown, and her hair appears softer than silk. Her lips are slightly parted as she breathes steadily.

              I spare a peek at the TV; she was watching the local news. I scan the room for the remote and find it under the couch, then turn it off. The room is swallowed in darkness and tranquility. I am so fatigued, starved, and dehydrated that I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the carpet.

***

The Hybrid

              June 25, 2017

                           
You can imagine my bewilderment
discovering an unconscious, tan, dark-haired, shirtless male on the floor when I open my eyes the next morning. Or maybe you can’t. Human imaginations are so finite.

              My first thought is:
He’s supposed to be dead.
My second thought is:
No, my power must have worked. He is, in fact, alive.
And my third thought is:
How did he break into a room sealed with my father’s blood?
I highly doubt my father let him in.

              After dressing in a denim jacket and transparent blouse over a white undershirt and khaki capris, I investigate upstairs, confused when I find no sign my father was ever here. Why would he leave me alone and allow his “weapon” to break in?

              Oh.

              He must have led Juan here somehow to shelter him from the upcoming cataclysm with me. That makes sense. He wouldn’t want Leyla to dig her claws into his prized Patient first.

              When Dad crash-landed on Earth, he and Jim (his servant) decided to pose as brothers to blend in. My blood mother perished while birthing me on the landing site. Jim’s little sister, Sarah, was separated from us after the crash and picked up by a trucker, who took her to a nearby hospital, where she was treated by Doctor Hendricks. Dad met Leyla trying to track Sarah down and returned to her two months later (after he had married Talia) when I bled for the first time. Leyla became my regular doctor, and continued assisting my father even after she lost her medical license.

              I am unclear what transpired between the Sarah’s Death visitation and Juan’s birth. I don’t know how she met Jose Chavez or how she became dependent on him for food and shelter, but I do know she met him approximately six months before her son was born.

              In short, Juan is my father’s servant’s sister’s half-human spawn, thereby, the “perfect subject” and the answer to the age-old question: What would happen if a half-blooded Edinön absorbed an immortal Edinön’s blood?

              I casually inspect the plastic sacks Juan brought downstairs with him. He was quite thorough in his selection of the pantry’s contents. I glance at his bare back, my eyes affixed to the taut muscles between his shoulder blades. Should I wake him up? We should probably get out of here before Jeremy returns.

              I drag his body to the cramped bathroom under the stairs and prop him beneath the showerhead, then turn the knob full-blast. The millisecond the water splashes onto his dark skin, he gasps awake and clambers to his feet. His ebony eyes land on me. I detect his emotions. He is disoriented, puzzled, surprised, and intrigued.

              “Kandi,” he sputters, pupils dilating. He ruffles his wet hair and stands awkwardly under the water. “Hi.”

              I look away and close the shower door, giving him privacy. I rub both sides of my face, wondering why my cheeks are so warm. The water continues running, and steam soon clouds the small enclosure, so I head out and pick up an orange from one of the bags, biting into it like an apple – peel and all.

              I realize while I am chewing that Juan will be naked when he comes out of the shower, so I ascend the stairs and explore the house again in search of a towel and some clothes that will fit him.

              Turns out my father left a single chest of drawers full of male-targeted attire, likely in anticipation of Juan’s arrival. His premonitions sure come in handy when occasion permits. I hastily select a white t-shirt, a pair of boxers, white socks, and blue jeans with a black belt. I’m not much of a fashion guru, but I believe a white/blue/black combination will look flattering on his sinewy physique. 

              Once back in the confines of the basement, I crack the bathroom door open and toss the pile of clothes and a towel inside. The water ceases, and I hear the shower door scrape against tile as it uncloses. I retreat to the bed and curl up against the headboard, wishing for the trillionth time I had something to do besides watch TV.

              When Juan is finally finished, he emerges from the bathroom and immediately reaches for the bags. “I was thinking we could get out of here, find somewhere safe,” he says, rugged jaw clenching as he hoists the bags off the floor. His eyes meet my own, and my heart hiccups. Flame threatens to ignite across my skin.

              I nod dumbly and slide off the bed.

              “Where is your father?” he asks, forehead creasing.

             
Not here
, I want to say. Instead, I lead him up the staircase, through the mudroom, and cremate the front door with a burst of dark fire. Juan’s eyes bulge.

              “Is it true you reduced Blue Skys to ashes?” he inquires in a voice abnormally high.

              I respond with a single bob of my head and step outside under a silvery orange morning sky.

              “Did you kill your uncle? And the girl?”

              I whip around in surprise. How does he know about that?

              “I, uh...” Juan lowers his gaze. “I followed the feds and saw them in the forest. Everyone thinks you did it.”

              Moisture blurs my vision.
Jim killed the girl, I killed Jim.
I shake my head and turn back around.

              Juan exhales as though with relief and proceeds to follow me to the sidewalk. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for killing him. And I’m sorry about the Patient.”

              I halt.
Can you hear me?
I think, pulse pounding in my throat. How else would he know I killed Jim, or that I feel guilty? I glance at him over my shoulder.

              His eyes shrink against the rising sun as he affirmatively nods.

             
You have my father’s gift
, I mentally inform him.

              “Is that a bad thing?”

             
No. This way we can communicate.
I listen to the neighborhood come alive around us – to the birds singing, alarm clocks tinging, engines revving. My ears are so receptive that I can hear people yawning a few houses over.

              “Hey, Kandi?” Juan shuffles his feet against the cement. “Why is your father allowing you to escape?”

              I feel like smiling at the ridiculous question, but I can’t.
There is nowhere we can go where he will not find us.

              “Oh. So what’s the plan, then? What is his plan for you?”

              We stop walking while a car backs out of the driveway in front of us.
His plan is to preserve us until the vessel arrives to take us home.

              “Preserve us from what?” We press forward as the car zooms down the road.

             
The effects of Zidivin.

              “Zidivin? Isn’t that ‘liquid death’? Aren’t you immune?”

             
Yes, but humans are not. My father has released it into nearby reservoirs, and from there it has spread. It has already reached continents overseas. Soon the entire world will be affected, and the only cure will be my blood.
I sense the wheels cranking in Juan’s head. He doesn’t know what questions to ask first.

              “You mean, you’re not...”

              I turn and look up at him, meeting his bizarre black orbs. My stomach churns, and heat rises up to my neck.
That’s right.

              His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Then what are you?”

             
I am my father’s daughter.

              Juan’s brows furrow as he slowly nods. “That’s a little... vague.”

             
Next question.
I break eye contact. Our rigorous march out of the town resumes.

              He expels carbon dioxide. “All right. Um... What will happen when the Zidivin spreads over the world?”

             
The human race will not survive.

              This revelation silences Juan for a few minutes. The sky gradually lightens as the yellow sun rapidly heats the earth. I spy a Western Tiger Swallowtail butterfly flying over a bed of assorted perennial flowers. “So... You said your father wants to preserve
us
from the end of the world? Why me?”

             
Your mother was one of his servants.

              I can feel Juan’s heart pounding as though it were my own. “My mom is...? Hang on a minute.” He sets the bags on the ground and crouches with his hands on his knees, inhaling deep, sharp breaths. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

             
My father and Jim, his closest servant, were separated from your mother when they landed. She was Jim’s sister. My father believes she suffered from amnesia after the crash. She probably does not remember who she is.

              Juan runs a hand through his thick hair and shakes his head. “No way. Is there any way we can get back to her?”

             
I don’t know. I doubt my father would permit an untimely family reunion.

              He moistens his lips and rubs them together. “We need to fight, Kandi. How can we stop him?”

              I stare down at my hands and penetrate my palms with my fingernails.
I don’t know
.

              “Well, he can’t be invincible. Do you have any theories?”

              I start walking away, so he picks up the bags and follows suit.
Back home, ten natural forces govern the people: Time, Death, Energy, Conscience, Appetite, Agency, Intelligence, Hope, Love, and
Deioïn
(a will to survive). These forces are manifest in family bloodlines. My bloodline is Death, which means my father is invincible until I can take his place, which I cannot do until I kill him or bear a child of my own. Unfortunately, I do not know how to kill Death. I can’t even kill myself.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Believe me, I have tried.

              “As Death, does he literally decide who lives and who dies?”

             
No, he merely keeps a record of souls’ appointed departures from life. Since my blood mother died, however, he has ignored his divinely bestowed position in the universe and has taken matters of death into his own hands, which is dangerous.

              “If he remains invincible until you take his place, why would he want to ‘preserve’ you?”

             
Because eliminating me would engender punishment. He cannot kill his own flesh and blood.

              “Didn’t he kill your little sister?”

              Wow. He must have read the entire file.
She was not the child that mattered. As a half-human, she could not have inherited Death’s position.

              Juan and I reach the edge of town by midafternoon, and I am grateful for the summer weather. Juan, on the other hand, appears to feel the opposite, as he is drowning in perspiration. His white shirt is nearly diaphanous. I find a nice, shady patch of grass at the forest’s entrance and order Juan to sit on a flat rock beneath a weeping willow.

             
How long has it been since you’ve eaten?
I query, sitting cross-legged on the grass.

              “A couple of days, I think.” He raises his wet shirt to wipe his forehead and accomplishes nothing in the process.

              I examine the bags’ contents and pass him a bottle of water. I grab one for myself and down three gulps in the time it takes him to down its entirety. I quickly (and sloppily) assemble a ham and cheese sandwich for him.

              “
Gracias
.” He bites into the sandwich with his eyes closed. I make another sandwich and chew slowly. After a prolonged period of quietude, he asks, “How far will he let us go?”

              I idly watch an ant crawl over my shin. He interprets my lack of response as lack of a sufficient answer.

              “No offense, but... why don’t you talk? Is it by choice, or is it... something else?”

              I peek at him through my lashes. I leave the question hanging, unable to complete a thought.

              “Could you speak if you had to?”

              I clear my throat. “Yes,” I croak. I grasp my neck and clear my throat some more. I feel my lunch coming up.

              Juan’s gaze softens. I hear him breathing. “I’m sorry.”

              I look away, suddenly overwhelmingly fascinated with a longer stalk of grass. I know Juan isn’t completely human, but he still elicits symptoms of anxiety in me. I wish I could ignore it and pretend I was comfortable around other people, but I have never been particularly proficient at pretending to be like anyone else.

              I’m going to vomit. I rush behind the trees and collapse onto my hands and knees, poised to upchuck the food I consumed. Tears scorch my eyes like acid.