Subject Seven

by James A. Moore

  “No, Cody, it’s nothing that serious.” The doctor was speaking.

  His mother interrupted. “Cody! We don’t use that sort of language!”

  He shook his head again, scowling. “Yeah, well, no offense, Mom, but no one is calling you a mental case.”

  “Just calm down, Cody. It’s a test, that’s all.”

  “Well, what if I’m done with tests?” He took a step back toward the doctor, his head aching. “What if I just want to go back home and get on with my life?”

  His dad stepped forward and swelled up with a deep breath. “It’s not your choice, Cody. It’s going to happen and you’re going to answer all the damned questions carefully and truthfully, you understand me?” Dad stepped in closer still and Cody looked up at him, reminded forcefully of exactly how large the man was. “I’m done playing games here, Cody. This is serious stuff and you’re not going to pull any stunts.”

  Stunts? What kind of stunts? He’d never pulled anything until he woke up in a damned jail cell and yeah, that was a big one, but he hadn’t done it.

  “Fine! Just get out of my face!” The anger surged hard into him and his voice came out louder than he meant it to. He’d never, ever yelled at either of his parents. He knew better, was raised better.

  “What did you say to me?” Dad’s face was red with anger. Cody knew just how he felt. He would have backed down instantly in most cases, but not this time. Not today. That throbbing, thrumming headache was giving him balls the size of Texas. The world swam for a second, growing darker and then lighter and then darker again and Cody forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down. Asthma, no matter what Dr. Sunshine said, was a real issue and one he couldn’t take lightly.

  The doctor stepped forward, moving between them. “Let’s just calm down. Cody, once the test is done, we can all get back to our regular lives.”

  Cody stared hard at him and nodded. His knees wanted to shake, adrenaline made him feel dizzy. Had his heart ever beat this hard?

  Sure. He could go back to his life after the test.

  Unless they decided he was crazy.

  He nodded again and moved over to one of the waiting room chairs, sitting down and settling in. It might be a long wait.

  “So do it. Do the test. Let’s get this done.” His mother tried to talk to him, but Cody looked away, too angry to deal with her. His sense of . . . of betrayal was simply too sharp to ignore.

  Still, what if he was crazy? What then?

  He had a bad feeling he’d be finding out soon enough.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gene Rothstein

  GENE STARED AT THE TV without seeing it. There were images, noises, commercial breaks, but none of the input made any difference. The only thing on his mind was the news that was adopted.

  It was there, a huge lumbering shadow that kept blocking his view of everything else and distracting him from having any solid thoughts.

  He kept trying to relax, or even to convince himself that he could wait until his parents got home to find out, but the shock was wearing off and anger was taking its place. His parents had lied to him. That was all there was to it. Every time he thought about that, the anger swelled like a wave building in size and waiting to break.

  He closed his eyes and ground his teeth and then forced the anger back again. No emotions. Emotions were for the weak.

  There had been absolute silence between Uncle Rob and him after the conversation in the car. The man had stared dead ahead and driven calmly, soberly even, as he made the trip back to Gene’s home. He hadn’t dared look over, hadn’t wanted to risk making eye contact because he was probably hoping that somehow Gene would forget the conversation and avoid the inevitable confrontation with his dad.

  That wasn’t happening.

  The phone rang and he looked at the caller ID. Rob, again. Like he’d bother answering the Right Revrund Robbie after the special sermon he’d been forced to endure earlier.

  “Get screwed.” He hissed the words. His lips peeled away from his teeth and his eyes narrowed into hateful slits. Had he seen a picture of himself right then, he wouldn’t have recognized the face. He’d never been the sort to hold a grudge, but he wanted nothing more at that moment than to find his pseudo-uncle and beat the man black and blue.

  His little brother, Kevin, and his little sister, Trish, were already home. They’d taken one look at his face and decided to give him a lot of space. Sometimes they were smarter than others. Right then they were freaking geniuses.

  Just to prove him wrong, Trish came into the room and stood behind him. She’d gotten perfume for her birthday and lacked the skill to put it on without bathing in it, so he could always tell when she was coming closer because he could smell her ten feet away.

  She shuffled her feet behind him, and he closed his eyes, forced himself to stay calm. She wasn’t to blame, and at ten she didn’t deserve to take crap from him having a lousy day.

  “What is it, Trish?” Nice and calm. No anger, no pain, no nothing.

  “Why’re you mad?” Trish wasn’t so good at hiding her feelings. Her voice was both worried and petulant.

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Yes I would.”

  The anger surged again and he bit it back, but with difficulty. “Well, it’s private. I have to work some stuff out.”

  “Mom looked for you this morning and couldn’t find you.”

  Perfect. Just perfect.

  “Well, that’s between me and Mom. It doesn’t involve you.” His tone was pissy, but he couldn’t seem to make himself be nice.

  He couldn’t see her, but he knew the expression she’d be wearing on her face. She wanted to make a comment, but she was smart enough not to push too many buttons when he was being quiet.

  “Look, Trish, just do me a favor, okay? Let it go.”

  “Well, I want to watch TV.” She crossed her arms over her chest and jutted her chin out like she was waiting to prove how tough she was and was expecting him to swing.

  Gene shrugged and slid over on the sofa to give her more room. “So watch. I don’t care.”

  She moved around until she stood next to him and looked at him long and hard for a few seconds before she sat down and took the remote control from him. Half a minute later they were watching Hannah Montana, and he felt himself relax a little. The show was retarded, but at least Miley Cyrus was cute.

  He’d almost forgotten that he was angry when his dad came into the room. One look at the man’s face told the story. Sometime after he’d been dropped off, Rob had gotten up the nerve to call his dad and confess his screwup.

  His father stared at him, his eyes both sad and apologetic.

  Normally Gene was a forgiving being, but the anger was still there, a living, breathing thing that wanted to roar and scream.

  “Gene . . . ”

  “Is it true?”

  “That’s not an easy question.”

  Gene looked away from his father as he stood up. His heart felt wrong. His head felt hollowed out. “It’s true.”

  “Gene, please.” Had his dad ever sounded so desperate, so sad? Not that he could remember.

  The anger again. It grew bigger and made him vicious. “You know what? Why don’t I give you and Mom some time to figure out what you want to say. You know she’s always been better at this sort of thing than either of us.” It was a barb, deliberately hurtful. His father hated conflict. His mother, the lawyer, loved a good debate. This was her field of expertise, and until she was home, he couldn’t stand the thought of dealing with his mother or his father. He didn’t want to hear their lies twice. Once was more than enough.

  His father, one of the best men he’d ever met, flinched as if Gene had slapped him on the face. Maybe he had. Much as part of him felt bad for the reaction, there was another part that reveled in causing a little pain. Fair is fair, after all, and inside, where he could hide it, Gene was in screaming agony.

  He went to his room and turned on his iPod.
There were tests coming up at the Hemingford Academy, where he went to school, and he had to study. His life was shit, true enough, but that was no excuse for not handling his workload. His mother would never accept an excuse from him on his studies, and much as he wanted to scream at her and demand to know what was going on, he still had to handle the daily routines to the best of his ability.

  But he didn’t have to like it. Deep inside, where he tried to keep all of the anger and shock of the last day, where he tried to hide the fury, the storm grew and raged.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Joe Bronx

  FOR THE FIRST TIME, he examined the phenomenon first-hand. Oh, he had felt it before, of course. He’d experienced it through their minds and their senses, but this time he wanted to actually see it.

  This one was filled with rage. Joe could sympathize. He looked forward to experiencing the fury unleashed.

  It was night and the world was dark, which was really when he preferred to do his work. The people around him were blinded by the darkness, but he and the others like him weren’t as limited. Darkness was not a hindrance, it just made them see differently. He could hear things that most people never noticed, and he could smell the emotions of the people around him as if they were perfumes, distinctive and subtle, but obvious to him. The people around them were practically deaf and blind in comparison.

  The man in the riverside condominium across the street had caused Joe’s target a great deal of pain. More than either of them realized, but Joe could feel the confusion, the anger that festered. He didn’t give the wake-up call, though he’d been planning to. Instead the anger caused the awakening. He nodded. That explained a lot, really. How many times had his Other taken over when he was tired? When he had no anger and no adrenaline, there was always a chance that the Other would take over. This was just the opposite. There was anger and suddenly the Other awoke, ready to take care of what was causing the anger, maybe, or simply because of the burning emotions.

  The voice in his head was dark and furious. The man across the way was to be punished. So be it. Joe kept his quiet and let the one he was watching keep control. He wanted to see how well he could control this, but first he needed to know how much he could actually experience though the body of another.

  The man had to be punished. Joe was going to enjoy this, and so was the one who was actually doing the damage.

  Joe stood still and closed his eyes. Through the senses of his target, he moved across the street quickly, his heartbeat growing stronger. The sense of impending violence was like a song he could get into. Like the sort of thing he knew he wasn’t supposed to enjoy but did anyway.

  His newly-awakened friend listened first and Joe heard what he heard. Inside the condominium he could hear the television and two voices whispering out an argument. Best not to fuss in front of the girl. The girl meant something to him, though he didn’t know why. Joe grinned. This one was experiencing bleed over already. No wonder he hadn’t been kept. He’d have been considered a failure immediately.

  He rode on the other one’s senses. He could smell his enemy, the alcohol on his breath.

  The one he listened with smiled as he charged at the door. There would be no knocking to let his enemy know. This would be a fast, brutal attack.

  His shoulder slammed into the door hard enough to crack the wood but not quite hard enough to break the lock. The barrier pissed him off, so he hit it again, harder.

  The sound was hideous, like a tree falling down in the woods. The door had been locked for the night and the security chain was in place, so when it was knocked off its hinges, it wobbled into the room and then danced into the wall on the opposite side of the hallway.

  The sensations were real, the emotions were real, but they weren’t his. They belonged to the beast crashing through the door. Joe felt a smile grow on his face and for a second wasn’t even sure if the smile was his.

  The woman in the house let out a shocked holler and the younger girl, around his age, actually screamed in surprise. But they weren’t the reason he was there.

  He was there for—

  “Hey, old man! You better get over here!” His voice was a roar, and it felt good. Joe felt the fury, the adrenaline, the desire to do damage. All of it was intoxicating.

  The man looked at him with wide eyes and then came forward. He could tell what was going through the man’s mind. He wanted to keep his wife safe, his daughter.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” The man’s voice was slurred. He stank of gin. The notion made his nose wrinkle into a sneer. “I’ve already called the police!”

  He shook his head and Joe felt vocal cords flexing and words formed by a different mouth. “You’re a lousy liar.” Two steps into the room and he could see the furnishings that were familiar, pictures of friends and family and trophies from when the man was younger and an athlete. Bleed over, so much bleed over that it unsettled him.

  “What do you want?” Drunken eyes tried to focus, held at last when they reached his eyes. He looked down on the man, the perspective twisted from what he was used to.

  “Mostly? Mostly I want to kick your ass.” To make his point, he planted one foot on the broken door. His feet were bare.

  What the hell was the old man’s name?

  “What?” The man’s voice broke and he took a step back before he looked over his shoulder at the wife and child he was supposed to be defending.

  “I said I want a piece of you.” The name clicked at last. Rob. The Right Revrund Robbie. He took another step and then ran forward, charging like a bull before the loser in front of him could react.

  Rob might as well have been standing still. He tried to dodge, but his reactions seemed so slow that it was nothing to smash into him and throw him across the room. Rob crashed into the closest wall hard enough to break through the pressboard. The hard wooden stud behind the painted surface smashed into his arm and ribs alike and knocked the wind right out of his sails.

  He hit the ground and slumped down slowly. A moment later the man grunted and staggered back to his feet while his attacker watched and smiled, patiently. He could afford to be generous. He had the upper hand in this case.

  “Rob!” the man’s wife called out, frantic, panicked, and he turned toward her. He had nothing against her. No reason to wish her harm. “You keep out of this! This has nothing to do with you!” His voice was a tight snarl, and he watched her flinch as she heard him. The anger was growing bigger and though there was no reason for it, part of him wanted to hurt her too. Anything to make the man suffer more. Joe shook his head. A little experiment here, just to see if it would work. He pushed and willed his subordinate to focus on the man instead of the woman. The brute struggled for an instant but then listened, obeying without realizing why he was obeying. Joe felt his smile spread wider.

  The woman backed away, terrified, and behind her the girl moved closer, ready to do something stupid like come to her dad’s defense. Rob shook his head and reached for the stranger. His reflexes were a joke, but still he wanted to protect his family.

  The enraged teenager grabbed the man’s wrist and squeezed as hard as he could. Flesh softened under his grip and beneath his fingers he could feel the bones creaking in the man’s arm.

  Revrund Robbie screamed, and he smiled at the notion. It was not a pleasant smile. The thing spoke and Joe listened.

  “You feel like preaching at me some more, Robbie? Is that it? You feel like telling me how it is again?” Robbie tried to free his arm. He thrashed and whimpered and wagged his arm frantically, and all the while the hand clenched harder.

  Something wet popped inside Robbie’s wrist and the man screamed, a raw, desperate noise that sounded like music.

  “Oh God! Please, let me go! Let me go!” Robbie’s voice shook and his skin grew deathly pale.

  The satisfaction died away, replaced by a deeper anger. Weak! The man was weak. The thought disgusted him. “Why don’t you tell me how the world works again, Robbie! Tell me h
ow I keep getting it wrong!”

  “Leave him alone! You leave my daddy alone!” The girl might as well have been a stranger, not only to Joe but also to the brute he felt everything through. Her face was familiar, yes, but there was no emotional connection. She was just a pretty girl with a screechy voice. He’d never, ever seen her with the expression she had on her face. She was angry, scared. She had auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail and she was dressed in running pants and a T-shirt that probably belonged to her dad. Her face was as pretty as ever, but now her eyes were wide, her mouth trembled on the edge of tears and her soft voice was loud. She wanted to protect her own. That was admirable, but unfortunately she was trying to protect a loser.

  Admiration could go to hell. He couldn’t believe the feelings he had for her—No. Joe shook his head. Those weren’t his feelings, or even the brute’s; they belonged to the hidden side of the monster. Bleed over was bad here, worse than he’d ever experienced with his Other. This one’s Other had actually had a crush on her once. He shook the thought away. “Shut your stupid face! You don’t know anything! He doesn’t deserve your love! He’s a drunk and a loser!”

  Robbie screamed but tried to man up. He swung with his free arm and threw his weight into it. The blow landed well enough to snap his head to the side and to clack his teeth together.

  The world went red and Joe tried to stay calm in the sudden storm of anger.

  Everything around him was the color of blood, and from deep in his chest he heard a roaring noise. Robbie had started to get a little smile on his face, like maybe he was feeling good about the shot he delivered, but that changed when the growl grew louder.

  He didn’t merely growl, he roared, his voice shaking the windows, sending the people in the room into a terror.

  His hand slapped across Robbie’s mouth and mashed his lips into his teeth and broke his nose. Rob barely even managed to grunt his pain out before he grabbed him in both hands and charged. Robbie weighed in at close to two hundred pounds, but lifting him was easy and so was charging across the living room, knocking his daughter on her butt as he moved past her.