by Platt, Sean
It was all meaningless to Mary.
Paola was dead, murdered right in front of her.
Mary was trapped in a vortex of vicious thoughts. Waves of memory collided, too many things she’d not thought of in years. She flashed back to the first time her baby had stared up into her eyes; then to the time when Paola had drawn something for Mary, eager to be like her mommy and make cards; and then back to a rainy Saturday morning when she, Ryan, and Paola let morning turn into afternoon without leaving their bed, watching cartoons on TV. Such a silly little thing, that one moment of inactivity would be among Mary’s most cherished moments. A sign of happier times when the family was together. Alone, those memories were heartbreaking. But then they blended with darker thoughts — the imagined memories for her daughter’s future that could now never be. Paola’s first job, her first boyfriend, going to college, doing something she loved for a living, perhaps exploring the world. Her life erased in a flash by some alien entity bent on humanity’s destruction.
And for what?
Why had they targeted humans?
Why were they so hell bent on using Mary’s daughter as a pawn?
It wasn’t just the aliens. Even the horrible people at The Sanctuary had tormented them for no reason other than some top-of-the-food-chain bullshit.
Mary wanted to scream. Wanted to punch things. Hell, she wanted to shoot something.
But screams invited company. And whom would she shoot? The man who murdered her daughter had been shot dead the moment he pulled his trigger.
Mary had no target for her wrath, no well to pour her grief. Nothing to fill her soul’s wretched void.
She turned over, squeezing her pillow as tightly as she could, and screamed into it.
* * * *
CHAPTER 4 — BORICIO WOLFE
Boricio woke to a world of blurry pain.
He tried to move, but couldn’t.
He panicked, looking around, barely able to move his head, trying to suss out his situation.
Boricio was in a bed, in what had to be a hotel room. A nice hotel, from what he could see in his limited view.
The last thing Boricio remembered was being in a motel while Rose, Mary, and Paola had gone off to see that weird-ass cult chick from the Church of Original Design.
What the hell happened?
Was I in an accident?
“Hello?” he called out, barely able to push breath into voice.
He turned, coughing blood violently onto the bed.
Boricio tried moving his fingers, his hands, his toes, anything, but his body couldn’t hear him. The more he focused, the more tired he felt.
Boricio noticed a tube running from his hand back to an IV bag hanging from a pole beside the bed. A peek under the covers would probably show a catheter moving piss from his prick to a bag beneath the bed. But there were no wires or machines, so far as he could tell, meaning that despite the medical equipment Boricio wasn’t in a hospital.
He drifted off, exhausted.
When Boricio woke, he had a bit more strength to his voice. He called out, “Hey!” And then, “Hello?!”
* * * *
CHAPTER 5 — LUCA HARDING
Luca sat at the foot of their occupied summer home’s stairs, wondering when Boricio would finally wake up.
The house belonged to a man named Parker Davison, founder of P.K. Davison Industries, a multinational company with its fingers in a bit of everything, including, Rose said, elections across the country. Davison was seventy-five years old and had been on the verge of suicide a few months ago when Steven befriended, infected, and ushered him into the Church of Original Design.
Rose had turned to Davison before getting Boricio out of jail, requesting his summer home in Highland Park — with sweeping views of the San Gabriel Mountains — to use as their new headquarters. It was better than a hotel, as they didn’t have to worry about suspicious staffers, and Davison rarely used the house himself, so they didn’t have to worry about him being around either.
The home was two stories and well kept for a place so rarely used. Most of the furniture was made of dark wood and looked cozy, reminding Luca of his mom and the magazines she used to read.
Luca was spending a lot of time alone as Rose was getting Art accustomed to the alien inside him. She was also often busy meditating, during which time she was reaching out to other elements of The Darkness, trying to strengthen its core and prevent its weakest members from doing anything rash that would draw suspicion from the government agents searching for them.
Sitting in the house alone, Luca couldn’t help but think about his parents, and his sister, Anna. Not just his real family, who had died in a car accident years ago, but the other Luca’s mom and dad, the ones who had been raising him unaware that their real son had evolved into something else, his place taken by a child impostor from another world.
Luca also felt horrible that he had to run away after he killed the bullies. His family had to be worried sick about their son, never knowing they were worried about, or perhaps even mourning, a fraud. Their real son had become something they couldn’t comprehend.
He imagined them sitting up at night, sick with worry, wondering if their son would ever come home.
Luca wanted to call them, to let them know he was OK. It was the least he could do.
But Rose had refused to let him. She said they couldn’t risk the police tracing the call and coming to get him. After all, Luca was wanted for murder.
It would ruin their plans to secure the vials if he were in custody. Even worse, the moment someone realized that Luca had The Darkness inside him, his family would be doomed. They would be picked up then shipped off to Black Island or some other secret experimental place. They could be murdered into silence.
No one could know about The Darkness. The government wouldn’t allow it, Rose explained. And the government had killed far greater numbers to keep lesser secrets.
Still, Luca longed to call home. And it surprised him to realize that it wasn’t just to ease their minds, but a hollow part of Luca missed them. He knew they weren’t really his family, but he’d lived with them since his arrival, and had come to love them as if they were his. After spending so long with the silence in his head, Luca was desperate for the sound of their voices.
The Darkness spoke inside his head: You know you can’t call them.
I know. I just miss them.
It’s odd how your species can be so disconnected from one another and yet remain so bonded. Why is that?
I dunno.
When we evolve the species, all will be connected. Things such as misunderstanding, violence, and war will all be relegated to the past. You will all truly be one with each other. When you wonder how your family is, you’ll be able to reach out in your head and know. What you’re feeling now is the result of mankind struggling to be something more — to be part of a whole. In time, we will make that happen, Luca. In time, all will be one.
So, what will happen when we evolve? I mean, are we no longer ourselves?
Self is an odd human construct. A need to identify as something more than what you are. It’s as silly as each part of your body wanting to declare itself a different being. What if your finger tomorrow wanted to go off and be its own person, perhaps change its name? I know it’s hard to understand in your current form, but there is an elegant beauty to all being one.
But I like being myself. I like the way my father would tell corny jokes. I liked the way Mom would make me feel special. And I loved Anna.
When they evolve, do they stop being who they are? And what happens to me? Am I like I am now, which is kinda like me but with someone else inside? Or will I change again?
Do you feel like yourself now?
Yes. But I’m not alone in my head. You’re always there. I get the feeling that when you and Rose do whatever it is you’re planning, the part of me that’s here will go away and it’ll just be you. Is that true?
You will still be you, but not.
That doesn’t make sense. Will my parents and sister still be themselves? Or will they see themselves as The Darkness?
Evolution will leave us no need for names. We think as one. I know this is difficult to understand, but once you’ve evolved, all will make sense and nothing will seem scary. This is a learning experience for our species as well as yours. I see nothing in our collective memories to suggest that we’ve ever evolved a species in quite this way.
So, this might not work? This could end just as badly as it did on the other world? Everything could be gone?
We will not allow that to happen again. We will make this work. The Darkness on the other world was misguided, seeking only to destroy and consume the land. But that can’t work without exhausting both humans and our own species. We must find a more sustainable way. And together, Luca, we will.
Art entered through the front door, carrying four grocery bags, two per hand.
“Wanna give me a hand?”
“OK,” Luca said, glad to be pulled from the depressing conversation in his head and happy for distraction.
After Luca helped him unpack the groceries Art asked if he’d like to help him make chicken fried rice.
Luca helped Art with lunch, wondering what kinds of conversations the old man was having with The Darkness in his head. How comfortable was he with this whole notion of evolving humanity? Before now, Luca hadn’t dared ask. He didn’t feel safe, especially with Rose always around. The Darkness controlled her, but Luca couldn’t help feeling that her Darkness was a different strain. It didn’t feel the same as the alien that coursed through his blood. In fact, Luca wondered if his own Darkness was all that dark. It wasn’t forcing him to do evil things, and seemed to have regard for his feelings. It felt more like a neutral presence than something out to demolish humanity.
Luca wondered if perhaps that was his way of rationalizing the things that were happening inside him.
Of course nobody wants to be the bad guy. But maybe bad guys don’t see themselves as all that bad.
Don’t think so much about it, Luca, The Darkness answered in his head.
Where’s Rose?
The Darkness answered. She is in her room, reaching out to others.
So, she’s busy. Too busy to monitor our conversations?
Why?
Luca didn’t need to answer The Darkness. It was a step ahead of his thoughts, warning him away from the conversation. But Luca didn’t listen.
He looked up at Art and asked, “How do you feel about our mission?”
Art was slicing chicken breasts on the wooden cutting board. He looked up, “What do you mean?”
“You know we’re trying to evolve the species. And Rose came to you because of some book you wrote about Genghis Khan, because you said the man was actually good for humanity overall, right?”
“Yes.”
“So, how do you feel about that? How do you feel with this alien in your head? Does it talk to you?”
“Yes, it does. It was odd at first to feel my innermost thoughts exposed, but I quickly grew used to it. You learn not to care when someone is so accepting of your every flaw. You get over your ego.”
Luca didn’t want to get into a debate on self versus collective, though he was curious if Art shared his concerns about surrendering his identity to the alien.
Art continued. “But then I started seeing my situation — our situation — as an opportunity. I have this thing inside my head that knows so much more than I ever could. What a blessing it is to converse with an alien species! And while its own memory as a species is spotty, it has the collective memory of all that it has absorbed or infected on both worlds. I’ve been tapping into the minds of scholars and psychopaths alike, mining a true understanding of our peoples’ full breadth of differences and similarities.”
“And?” Luca pressed, “How do you feel about our mission?”
“I think that mankind will destroy itself if we don’t intervene. We have a moral obligation to evolve our species. Now I have a question for you, young man.”
“Yes?”
“What do you know about that man upstairs?”
“Boricio?”
“Yes.” Art’s face wrinkled in a grimace.
“I’ve seen some of what others remember of him. And I have some of my own memories of another version of him. He was my brother on the other world. We were both adopted by the same man, Will Bishop.”
“Yes,” Art said. “I’ve seen the memories, too.”
“OK, so what is it you’re really asking me, Mr. Morgan?”
“I like you, kid,” Art chuckled. “You don’t beat around the bush.”
Luca smiled.
Art said, “I’m wondering why Rose chose to give the vials to him? He is a horrible, wretched example of humanity. A true monster.”
“Some would say the same thing about Genghis Khan, right?”
“Yes, but Genghis Khan had a vision, and improved the lives of others.”
“Those he didn’t kill?” Luca countered, dipping into The Darkness’s collective memories concerning the military leader.
“History has many examples of people who through fate or choice have been on the wrong side of war. But make no mistake, Khan wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer killing victims at random. He was leading people against barbarians who would’ve been stuck in the Dark Ages forever had he not come along. The world needed him to advance humanity. Just as the world needs us now.”
“OK, and you think Boricio isn’t worthy?”
“No, I do not. He is a fine killing machine, I’ll give you that. His unflinching ability to do what must be done is a rare trait that will serve us well against our enemies. But I believe that Rose should infect and control him so we can do what must be done. She shouldn’t give him a vial.”
“What’s the harm in giving him a vial?”
“As I understand it, The Darkness responds to those it comes into contact with. We shape it and whether it’s used as a tool for creation or destruction. You and I are good people, Luca. Not perfect, of course, but more good than bad. We see humanity as something worth saving, and that turns The Darkness into something more like Light.”
“But we’re not Light,” Luca said. “The Light doesn’t want to evolve humanity, does it? Rose said it wants to destroy us, that it wants to erase itself from this world so there isn’t a threat.”
“No, we’re not The Light. But we can be something in between. We are the greater good that must inflict itself upon the world in order to save humans from themselves. Introducing a man like Boricio is a sure recipe for disaster. That monster is chaos. Unleashing a more powerful version of him is tantamount to handing a child a nuclear missile with a big red launch button that says PRESS ME. Don’t you agree?”
“I dunno,” Luca shrugged. “I haven’t even talked to him yet. I know he’s helped a lot of people, and that the other Luca fixed the thing inside him that made him so bad.”
“Can you ever really fix evil, Luca?” Art slid the chicken into the wok with the already cooked rice and started slicing onions.
“I dunno.” Luca watched Art add eggs, spices, and soy sauce into the wok, wondering why the alien inside him was silent.
Why are you so quiet? What do you think about Boricio? Should we give him a vial?
I think there is an equal case for either side.
Some help you are. I thought you could give some mathematical answer or something about the odds of this blowing up in our face.
I could, but Boricio is too wild a variable.
Luca went to check on the rice. Before he reached it, a scream erupted upstairs — Boricio.
“Hey!” Boricio shouted. “Hello?!”
Art yanked the wok from the fire and bounded up the stairs far faster than a man his age, should be able to move, even with decades removed. Luca followed.
Art opened the door to reveal Boricio in bed, sheets pulled up to his waist, flesh on his chest purple and rotten w
ith stitches where Rose had sewn the wounds along his chest and face. He was paralyzed from the neck down, his face warped with frustration.
* * * *
CHAPTER 6 — BORICIO WOLFE
The door burst open, and an old man entered, looking down at Boricio. Behind him, Boricio was surprised to see Luca in the doorway, looking afraid to come in.
“Luca?” Boricio asked, confused, wondering why he was back to being young. “Where are Rose and the girls? They OK? How’d you get here?”
The old man wrinkled his nose at Boricio. “I’ll be right back,” he said with no emotion, then pushed Luca out the door.
“Oh, come the fuck on!” Boricio shouted, coughing bloody phlegm.
He was pissed that he couldn’t remember dick about shit, and hoped that everyone was OK. They must have been ambushed by one of them crazy alien fuckers. That’s the only thing that made sense. Someone got the drop on old Boricio, and shot him from behind.
Then why the hell ain’t I in a hospital?
Boricio looked around the room. As best he could see with his limited motion, he was in someone’s house.
Maybe this is Luca’s place? Maybe that old man is his grandpa?
But why not bring me to a hospital? And how the hell did Luca find me? I ain’t seen him since we got back.
A horrifying thought slithered into Boricio’s mind: Perhaps he’d already been to a hospital. Maybe he’d been in a coma and resigned to hospice care at home. What if the old man was some sort of nurse or doctor?
“Luca!” Boricio shouted, hard enough to invite more coughing and blood.
The bedroom door opened to Rose.
“Oh, Morning Rose!” Boricio said, tears wetting his eyes, grateful to see her OK. “I thought something happened to you.”