“No!” My cuffs clanked against the restraints as I tried to move. “No, I can’t. I don’t know how I did it!”
Afridi looked up at the ceiling with a sigh. “Why do they always say this?”
He cocked the gun, pulling back on the slide to chamber a round.
“Now, hold still. I’d rather you stopped this, but if you do fail then let’s keep this to a flesh-wound at least.”
“No!” I threw myself against the cuffs, but even if the torso restraint hadn’t been there, I had no leverage. Afridi watched me in silence, gun held by his side while I thrashed. “Have you about finished?”
“Fuck you!”
He shook his head. “Now, that’s just rude. This is going to happen, Carver. If you don’t want to get shot, then stop the bullet.”
He raised the gun as he spoke, levelling it at my thigh.
Shit, he was actually going to do this. I’d lost weight in the last four days. Dehydration and lack of food had wasted away my fat reserves and torn my muscles down. I couldn’t see my own legs well enough to judge, but I could feel the weakness in them. If he hit bone, he could cripple me. If he hit an artery, he could kill me.
I looked up at him. “Don’t do this. I’m no good to you dead.”
Afridi shrugged. “Stop the bullet then.”
And he shot me.
PART
II
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Mackenzie?” The voice was nagging, persistent. She rolled over, or tried to, but her arms and legs were held by something.
“Mackenzie, you need to eat.” The hand was soft on her face, stroking her hair away from her cheek. She cracked her eyes open and peered between lids that felt dry and crusted with something that scratched her eyes.
“I don’t want to.” Her voice wasn’t much more than a whisper, but she saw him give her a sad nod. The Man in the Suit was older than she’d first thought. Up close, where she could see past the suit and the exuberant personality, he was just a thin man with sad eyes and deep lines on his face.
“How about some soup?”
“Soup?” The word didn’t make sense for a moment, as if the notion of food other than the gruel in the tube was now an alien concept. “How?”
“I’m sure I could arrange something; would you like that?”
Soup sounded good. Since she’d been small it had always been her comfort food. She nodded absently but it was so hard to stay awake. Her eyes drifted closed again and distantly she heard the hiss of the door.
The smell tugged at her, bringing her back to consciousness and she opened her eyes to his eager smile. “Look what I brought you.”
He stood beside her with a steaming bowl, eyes dancing with a childish glee at her expression.
“Careful, it’s still hot,” he said, and brought a spoon to her lips.
She swallowed before she thought about what she was doing. It was good, tomatoes with pulses and some kind of spice. The second spoonful went down as easily as the first and soon she was bringing her face to the spoon, eager for more.
The Man in the Suit set the empty bowl down by his feet and looked at her. “Why did you stop eating, Mackenzie?”
“I wanted to die.” The admission pained her, and she looked away, trying to hide her face with her hair.
“And now?”
“I don’t know.” She met his gaze with hesitant glances, like a scolded child.
He smiled at her. “You don’t realise what you are becoming, do you? You’re special, Mackenzie. You’re like a diamond lost in amongst a thousand chips of glass. With my help you can become something amazing.”
“I just want to go home.”
“Really? Even now? Now that you’ve felt your power? I know the Cocktail can make things confusing, and that you’ve already been through so much, but you must have felt something?”
She opened her mouth to answer him but as she did, she realised he was right—she had felt something. There was something new within her, something had changed. She reached out towards it, feeling for the small place within her with a tentative thought.
It felt… wrong, somehow splintered and fractured as she probed at it, like a tongue in the hole of a missing tooth, and she shied away in an instant. It reeked of power, of some force that she couldn’t explain, but which felt utterly alien. It cut and tore at her, at the substance of who she was, drawing her in. There were questions inside her that needed answers. They nagged at her in the silence of her prison. Each time she drifted off to sleep, they burned. Despite everything, she wasn’t ready to leave yet.
“Can you let me out of these?” she shook the restraints at her wrists.
The Man in the Suit smiled. “Soon. Just a few more steps. Trust is a two-way street, Mackenzie. If you will trust me to help you, I will trust you enough to let you out of those.”
“Can you at least tell me your name?”
“My name?” He seemed surprised, almost amused by the request.
“I have nothing to call you. I can’t keep thinking of you as ‘The Man in the Suit.’”
“That’s what you call me?” He laughed. “Call me Janan.”
The soup was helping—calories bringing strength to mind and muscle that she’d abused with her attempt at starvation. Already, she felt more alert than she had in days. Already, things were coming back to her. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, as tears pricked at her eyes.
“You burned Armond.” A statement that brushed only lightly against accusation.
“I did,” Janan said without remorse, his voice oddly gentle, in a way that stood at odds with his admission. “He was very ill. Did you know he had cancer?”
Mackenzie frowned but the man was already carrying on.
“His healing abilities could cope with so much, but the cancer was insidious. It was as if his body had accepted that the cancer was a natural part of him, and did nothing to combat it. We tried, of course. He was remarkably resistant to drugs, and the normal kinds of treatments like chemotherapy. His abilities worked to preserve his body in what it thought was a healthy state.” He gave a bitter little laugh. “It was the worst kind of irony really. Armond had an incredible gift. Were it not for the cancer, he might have lived forever. As it was, his gift worked to kill him, defeating us at every turn. We even went so far as amputation, you know? The cancer had begun as an osteosarcoma of the proximal femur. You’re a nurse, aren’t you?”
Mackenzie nodded mutely. Armond said they cut him for tests, not to remove cancer. Her mind was spinning, questioning what she thought was the truth against this awful revelation.
“Then you probably know more about cancer than most. This kind of malignant tumour should have spread to bones in his skull or torso, if it was going to spread anywhere.” He grimaced. “Spread is the wrong word. My English is usually good, but this word just escapes me.”
“Metastasise,” Mackenzie muttered.
Janan smiled. “Thank you. Yes, a malignant cancer like this should have metastasised to the torso, his ribs, or maybe even as far as his skull; but with Armond it seems his abilities were sufficient to protect his core. Or perhaps he was simply unlucky. We tried surgery to begin with, removing a section of bone in his femur. His recovery was remarkable. Within two days you couldn’t even tell he’d had the surgery. But then the tumour was back within a week and just as aggressive. Poor Armond was in constant pain. We had no choice in the end but to try an amputation.”
Mackenzie shook her head, refusing to swallow Janan’s version of events. “That isn’t what he said happened.”
“I know,” the Man in the Suit sighed. “The cancer spread to both of his legs in turn. In the end, we amputated all of his limbs in an effort to arrest it. Not that it worked, of course. I don’t know if we had somehow weakened his abilities, or if Armond had simply reached his limits. Cancer is itself a mutation. Perhaps it was connected to Armond’s abilities—perhaps it caused it? We will never know now. The cancer reached his brain in the end,
twisting his memories and perceptions. Some days he was lucid; other times he’d go days without saying a word, just staring at the walls.”
“So why burn him?”
He shrugged, and for a moment a glimpse of his former persona shone through. “Because I could. I’m no saint, Mackenzie. I never pretended to be. I burned Armond to see if you would put out the fire. It was a mercy to Armond as well, I suppose. An end to his pain. Not the quickest of ends I’ll admit, but we all must play the cards we are dealt, mustn’t we?”
“You didn’t have to do it like that. It was cruel.”
Janan gave her a strange look, cocking his head on one side. “Was it? He was half out of his mind with pain, and there was nothing we could do for him. But then, Armond knew what was coming. He suggested it.”
“What?” Mackenzie gasped. “No, he didn’t. That’s ridiculous. Why would anybody want that?”
Janan shrugged. “He wanted to die. He was in constant pain and the cancer was only going to get worse. Pain medication had little to no effect on him, he metabolised them too quickly.”
“But why fire? If he wanted to die that badly, why not just shoot him? Anything but burning him alive!”
Janan looked at her for a long moment. “I could say that I wasn’t sure a bullet would even be able to kill him, but honestly? I needed to see if you could put the fire out. Your power, this affinity with fire, it’s almost as if it is somehow suppressed at the moment. You can use your power if we alter your consciousness with drugs, but you don’t seem to be able to any other time. Since it first manifested under a situation of extreme stress, I wanted to see if we could replicate that.”
“So, you burned him?”
“I did what I needed to do,” Janan said in a flat voice. “I will bring the fire out in you, Mackenzie. You will learn to control this power.”
He sighed and crouched to retrieve the bowl. He looked back at her once on the way to the door and seemed on the verge of saying something, then he shook his head once and was gone.
The technicians brought the candle in not long after he left, setting it into the clamp and lighting it, before leaving without a word. She stared at it, watching the flame eat away at the wick as it sent rivulets of wax down the candle’s length.
He had burned Armond alive. That inescapable fact circled her thoughts, bursting in upon them like a wolf among sheep.
*
He didn’t come the next day, or even the day after, and with each opening of the door, her excitement mounted until her hopes were dashed. It wasn’t him that she missed; rather, it was the human contact. The technicians arrived each day in silence, avoiding her gaze as they went through the process of replacing and lighting the candle, checking the water and feeding tubes to be sure they hadn’t become blocked. They ignored her attempts to speak to them, not even glancing her way as they worked. She wasn’t human as far as they were concerned. She wasn’t a person.
She was meat on a slab.
A culture in a petri dish.
A lab experiment.
She ate steadily, replacing the weight that she’d lost during her self-imposed starvation. But her body had changed, the muscles of her arms and legs had wasted even without the stress of starvation. With nothing more than staring at a candle to fill her days, she took to performing what exercises she could—lifting her bodyweight against the cuffs to work her arms, legs and abs. Curling and uncurling her fingers and toes. Tensing every muscle she could, from her feet up. The simple act of exercising felt good. Sweating felt good. But still Janan did not come back.
*
The candle taunted her. Burning merrily behind the perspex screen that blocked her breath. Even if the screen hadn’t been there, it was too far away to blow out. The most she would be able to do would be to make it flicker with her breath, but yet, she had managed to control that flame. The cracked remains of the waxy evidence were still present on the floor.
Janan returned the next day. She glared at him, ignoring his ridiculous child-like smile until he drew close enough for her to see the bowl he carried. Not soup, but some kind of curried dish. Her nostrils identified tomatoes, turmeric, garlic, and her mouth filled with saliva before he even got close.
“For me?” she didn’t even care about the pathetic begging tone of her voice. Real food! It was almost beyond reckoning.
“A little.” Janan nodded with a smile. “Your stomach will not be used to it. Just a small taste this time.”
This time? Did that mean there would be more times? She nodded eagerly, shifting her weight on the wooden frame as he scooped rice and chicken onto the naan bread. She moaned as she ate. A tongue so long deprived of stimulation was now drenched in flavours. Her teeth and jaw ached, unused to the work, but God it was worth it.
He set the bowl down after just two mouthfuls, shaking his head. “That’s enough. Your stomach isn’t used to it.”
She sipped water from the tube, knowing he was right but hating him for it anyway.
“Have you made any progress with the candle?”
She frowned. Didn’t he know? “No.”
“It will come, Mackenzie. The ability is in you, we just need to find a way to bring it out.”
She frowned at him. What was this? Was this some kind of joint effort now? Was he toying with her?
“Tell me, Mackenzie. Do you read?”
“I… I suppose.”
He nodded. “Your western classical literature is not so very different from ours. I don’t care much for the modern works. Tell me, have you ever read Homer?”
“Homer?”
“The Iliad? The Odyssey? The fall of Troy?”
“Oh.” She shook her head. “No, not really. I know the story of Helen, but I didn’t ever read it.”
He pulled a paperback from the pocket of his suit. “Moby Dick?”
She shook her head.
“The great American classic, they call it. Everyone should read it before they die, or so they say. Would you like me to read some to you?”
What was his game here? She fought to keep her face straight, to keep suspicion from her eyes as she nodded.
He paced as he read, marking his place with one finger. He was a gifted orator and she enjoyed the sound of his voice, but the days of not eating had left her weak. The book was stilted, written in a language that was unfamiliar, and she found it hard to follow. Before long she was drifting, her eyes heavy as she let the sound of his voice lull her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Hunger clawed at her. When she’d been trying to starve herself, she had found a way to block it out. She had pushed past it, and on into a listless weakness that allowed her to sleep and doze through the days.
Janan had changed all of that.
She’d been almost delirious when he’d fed her the soup. By the time she realised what she was doing she’d finished the bowl and her body was demanding more. The gruel was a poor substitute, and her stomach had become a force that would no longer be denied.
It was more than just the soup, or even the curry. Janan’s explanation of Armond’s death had robbed her of purpose. Despite her situation, despite the cuffs and the frame she was bound to, she had never truly wanted to die. Armond’s death had taken everything from her. Though he’d often fallen silent, just knowing there was someone else out there had been a comfort. His death had magnified everything about her captivity, and killing herself had seemed the only means of escape.
Janan, with his damned soup, and this sudden kindness, had changed that. More than that, he’d forced her to confront the realities of her power. Her memories of the fire in her home as a child were clouded. Despite the drugs that had been dulling her senses, there was no denying what was happening with the candle.
She could almost remember the sensation as she grasped hold of the flame with her power. The raging column of fire that she’d sent roaring towards the ceiling before the candle burned out. It had happened. She knew it, but she needed to know how.
&n
bsp; And then there was this thing within her. The broken, fractured place that hurt just to explore with her thoughts. It was related to the power somehow, she could sense that much. But what was it? What had they done to her?
The feeding tube had been adjusted, or perhaps it had always had a limit and she’d just never reached it before. Now that she was regaining weight, and with the increased exercise her routine was giving her, the tube didn’t seem able to keep up with her. She glared at the candle burning merrily in front of her as her stomach growled again.
“You always seem to get enough fuel, don’t you?” Her words sounded too loud in the silence and she laughed at herself.
She watched the candle burn down slowly. In the silence of the small room, every sound seemed magnified and she fancied that she could hear the candle itself—the faint hiss and crackle of the wax as the flame ate away at it.
*
The hours stretched out into days. Her exercises helped in some small way. Her calves and arms ached from the effort, but this was a pain that she controlled—a good pain. She had caused it and somehow that made it better.
The silence was so complete it was smothering her. The technicians came and went with a quiet efficiency, their ignoring of her so total that they may as well not have existed. She craved contact. Simple human contact. Even the shouted and confused conversations with Armond had been better than this.
“Please,” she begged the technicians as they entered. “Please, won’t you help me?” There was no response. She had known there wouldn’t be.
You shouldn’t have asked for help, she told herself. Should have just asked them to talk to you.
“Put out the candle, Mackenzie.” The voice came through the speakers. The first time it had spoken in weeks and she jumped.
“I’m fucking trying!” she screamed back at him. “You can see I’m trying!”
She glared at the candle, pouring out her anger and frustration. If she could just get the flame to move. Just to acknowledge her that would be—
“Fuck me!” she gasped.
The Lore of Prometheus Page 15