by Jon Skovron
The inside was one vast room with dark wood pews in orderly rows. The walls were lined with tall stained-glass pictures of saints, and the ceiling rose over fifty feet into the air. Moreau stood behind the altar at the far end, holding a struggling human male down with one clawed hand while he injected something into his neck. Otherwise, the church was empty.
“My, my,” said Moreau. “It looks like you’re finally taking your own self-improvement seriously. Excellent, bold work, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Where are the other hostages?” I said, aiming my stump at Moreau.
“Oh, they’re all gone.”
“You killed them all?”
“Actually, I believe it is your friends who are currently killing them.”
“What?”
“I’ve . . . well, see for yourself.” He looked down at the human, who had gone from struggling to convulsive.
“Oh no . . .” I said.
“Oh yes.”
The human thrashed on the altar as his skin began to ripple and bubble, then peel away in strips, exposing bright green scales beneath. His eyes turned black and his tongue lengthened as it protruded from his open mouth. One leg grew longer and thicker and the other shriveled up and lay dangling to the side. His entire rib cage began to grow and lengthen. Then there was a sharp crack as his chest split open, exposing his ribs.
“Ah, well,” said Moreau. “Sometimes that happens.”
The half-snake creature tried to sit up, but wet, squiggly guts came spilling out across the altar and floor. Then it fell over in a heap and grew still.
“That latest group of beast people they’re fighting . . .” I said.
“Were the hostages. Yes. I turned them into monsters and set them loose on you. I don’t imagine they’ll fare very well, though, considering they lack any sort of training or guidance.”
“You . . .” I said. “Stay put.” I shot my last sticky foam pellet at his hand, gluing it to the altar. Then I turned and ran back out of the cathedral.
From the top step I could see them all down there fighting. And from this distance, it was so obvious that this group of beast people had no idea what they were doing. They were just reacting mindlessly to the violence. Classic fight or flight.
“Stop killing!” I shouted. “PLEASE GOD, STOP KILLING!”
But they didn’t even notice me. I was going to have to go down there and stop them myself. I slammed my metal hand back into place and was about to start down the steps when an incredibly strong hand grabbed my flesh arm and yanked me backward so hard my feet left the ground. I flew back through the church doors and slammed into one of the stone pillars inside. On impact, my head snapped to one side and the bionics in my eye shattered. There was a momentary screech of feedback, then the eye went black and there was silence. My link to Vi was broken.
Moreau stood over me, his ape mouth grinning. The hand I had glued to the altar was now just a ragged, bloody stump at the end of his arm. He looked down at it and shrugged. “I can always grow myself a new one later.”
I struggled to my feet.
“In the meantime,” he continued, “I am about to almost literally beat you with one hand tied behind my back.”
He came at me so fast and strong I couldn’t connect a single hit. He used his one clawed hand, his feet, his tail, and his teeth all with equal skill. The ferocity of a wild beast combined with the strategy and intellect of a human. He was a perfect fighter. I didn’t stand a chance. No wonder he’d beaten my dad.
But when I thought of my dad, my body suddenly filled with a cold rage, as hard and unmovable as the Jura Mountains he’d loved so much. The pain didn’t matter anymore. I barely felt it. I pulled myself back into a more defensive position, blocking, dodging, ignoring the tempting openings that were just traps. He was losing blood. A lot of blood. I let him slowly push me back deeper into the church, all the while taking note of how his strikes were coming a little slower, the blows with less force. Finally, I saw that the scales had tipped in my favor. He swung a sloppy kick at my face, I dodged and brought my fist down on his kneecap, shattering it.
His eagle eyes went wide as he realized he’d taken too long and worn himself out. But it was too late. I caught his clawed hand and crushed his fingers in my grip. Then I swept his good leg with my robot leg, breaking his ankle in the process. He fell to the ground in a heap and lay there, panting.
“Stupid,” he said between gasps. “Damned beast instincts. Stubborn beast flesh. It creeps in. Even with constant vigilance it forever creeps in.” He glared up at me. “Well, I suppose you’ve won. If you can call it winning. And we are all the poorer for it. I was on the side of righteousness and liberty.”
“You’re a murderer.”
“I am a surgeon, remorselessly cutting out the cancers of this flawed and broken world. I could have made it something great. But you have swooped in to return us to the status quo. I was trying to accomplish something. You accomplish nothing.”
“I stopped you.”
“For now. But I have contingency plans. They will imprison me just as they did before. And those monsters sympathetic to my cause will grow more ardent in their love for me. Because make no mistake, the humans will be even more cruel to us now than they ever were before. Yes, and I will escape again, and those who were too frightened to rise up this time will not hesitate next time.”
“Actually, you’re wrong.”
“About what?”
“They won’t get a chance to imprison you.”
He laughed weakly. “Don’t pretend that you have what it takes to kill me. Stephen told me all about you and your weak, middle-class morality.”
“That was true when he met me,” I said. “But there is an emptiness inside me now. You made it.”
I plunged my robot arm into his chest and closed my fist around his heart. The thick gristle of vein and artery fought against me and I almost gagged.
“Please . . .” His voice was little more than a strangled breath through clenched teeth. “Please . . . mercy . . .”
But I slowly ripped out his heart.
I watched as life faded from his eyes and his heart slowly stopped beating in my fist. I stared down at him and I knew that no matter how justified it might seem, I would regret this moment for the rest of my life.
The heart fell from my hand onto the altar with a wet splat. Then I turned and walked out of the cathedral.
The fighting was over. The beast people, soldier or newly made from hostages, were all dead. People I cared about were still alive. I knew I should be happy about that.
“Boy!” yelled Claire. “Are you okay? Did you beat him?”
I beat him. But I was not okay. I would never be okay. To beat him I had allowed myself to become him. I had used people, cold and calculatingly. I had put them in grave danger. I had made them kill for me. And then when there was no one else to do it, I had done the killing myself. And for what? Moreau was right. I had done nothing except bring the world back to its natural broken state. Or perhaps even made it worse.
“Boy?” called Claire.
I couldn’t face it. So I turned. Away from her. Away from them all. Away from the world.
And I just started walking.
24
The Long Way Home
I STARED OUT of my tiny little ice cave at the blinding wall of snow that blew past. It had been like this for days. The monotony was getting to me. No night, no people, no animals. Nothing but bright white snow and the howling wind.
This had been a mistake. Possibly my dumbest ever. Probably my last.
I’d come to the Arctic to find peace, just like my father had. I wasn’t sure where I was exactly. Somewhere along the northern coast of Canada. I’d walked all the way from Denver. At first it had been tricky to avoid people, but the farther I went, the easier that got. For a
while it had been good to walk. It cleared my head. I calmed down a bit. I started thinking back to all the choices I’d made. I tried to look at it all with a little more objectivity, to try to figure out if I had done right or not.
But no answers came to me. And no peace, either. All I felt was loneliness. I missed Claire and Sophie, Vi, Henri, my mom, all of them, really. Yet how could I face them after the terrible things I’d done? And now I’d abandoned them to this harsh world that would treat them even worse than it had before. How could I possibly go back after all that?
It turned out, though, that it didn’t matter if I wanted to go back or not. Because now it was impossible. As strong as my bionics had been initially, they were not as durable in cold weather as the rest of my body. My eye had been useless since the fight with Moreau. My arm failed next. During the long trek up, I had woken one morning to find that it was just dead weight hanging from my shoulder. Finally, sometime after that, my leg failed. At least it had locked in a fully extended position, so that I was able to pivot on it like a peg leg and continue north. But only for short distances. So I wasn’t going to make it back to civilization, even if I wanted to.
Now I was holed up in this cave, more or less waiting to starve to death. I had no idea how many days I’d been here. The sun never set and the wind never stopped blowing. It almost felt as though I were stuck in time, doomed to repeat this moment of realization that what little chance of happiness I’d still had, I’d left back in Denver because I’d been too cowardly to face my own terrible deeds. Claire’s voice still echoed in my mind, calling after me as I’d slowly walked away.
“Boy!”
This must be the part of starving to death where I begin to lose my mind, I thought. It really did sound like she was calling my name.
“Boy!”
Actually, it sounded more like Sophie than Claire. I guess my subconscious wasn’t super picky about details at this late stage in the dying game.
“Boy!”
I was starting to hallucinate now. Because it really looked like a small, hooded form was trudging through the blizzard toward me.
But the figure didn’t vanish. It kept walking toward me. Gradually, I became aware that it was muttering to itself in a voice that was unmistakably Sophie’s. Finally, she stepped into my little cave, lifted the goggles, and pulled down the scarf that covered her mouth. Her nose and cheeks were a bright red and her eyes sparkled as she grinned down at me.
“I thought,” she said, “it was high time I had a turn at saving your life. Can’t let Claire have all the fun. Fortunately, you continue to give us new and colorful opportunities in boyfriend saving. I do appreciate that you don’t let it get monotonous.”
“S-S-S-Sophie?” I said, my voice weak and rough from lack of use.
She knelt down in front of me and gently kissed my dry, cracked lips.
“Are you about done here, then, love?” she asked.
“Uh . . . yeah,” I said.
“Good. ’Cause it’s bloody cold. Let’s go home.”
“Where’s home?”
“Villa Diodati, of course. They’re all waiting for you.”
“They who?” I asked.
She waved her hand vaguely. “You know. Everybody.” Then she pulled a walkie-talkie out of her coat pocket. “Holmes, come in.”
There was a click, then: “Holmes here. You find him yet?”
“Yeah. You’ll need to bring the sled, though. He doesn’t seem very mobile. And maybe a sandwich or something. He looks like a bloody supermodel.”
THE NEXT DAY or so was a blur. I was on a sled, then a helicopter, then an airplane. I slept a lot. And when I wasn’t sleeping I was eating. I noticed that Holmes and Sophie took a lot of care to not have me in any public places. I wondered if monsters were now outlawed or something. If we’d have to go back into hiding, only this time without even the benefit of most people thinking we didn’t exist.
But then as our private jet began its slow decent into Geneva, Holmes said to Sophie, “We’ll have to land on the public strip and take him through the airport.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” asked Sophie. She put her hand protectively on my arm. “So soon? He’s barely recovered.”
“We can’t avoid it forever,” said Holmes. “And I think a public return to his ancestral home would send a good message.”
“You’re getting to be as bad as Ruthven,” said Sophie. “Everything’s a bloody show.”
Holmes shrugged. “It’s a tricky time.”
“What are you guys talking about?” I asked.
Sophie gave me an uncomfortable look. “A lot of things have happened while you were off finding yourself in the wilderness.”
“What kind of things?” I asked.
“You’ll see. Just try to smile as much as you can. And, uh, don’t freak out. Okay?”
Once the plane landed, Holmes turned to me. “Can you walk?”
“I think so,” I said. “But we’ll have to go slow.”
“That’s fine. It’s perfect actually.”
“Perfect for what?”
“Them.”
She pointed out the window. A mass of people had gathered outside the plane. Reporters, people with video cameras, people with signs that said things like HE’S ALIVE! and WE BOY! Possibly even stranger, it was a mix of humans and monsters. I saw elves, satyrs, and even an ogress.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Your fans,” said Sophie.
“My what?”
“You might as well tell him now,” said Holmes.
“No way. Let Vi tell him. She’s the one who did it, after all.”
“Okay, somebody needs to tell me something or I’m going to have a panic attack,” I said.
Sophie pulled a smartphone out of her pocket. “Paging Ms. Vi,” she said.
Vi’s avatar appeared on the screen. “How is he?” she asked, her face frowning with concern.
“See for yourself.” Sophie angled to phone to look at me.
“Hey, Boy! You look terrible!” said Vi.
“That’s not what you’re supposed to say, remember?” said Sophie.
“Oh, right. Hey, Boy! You don’t look terrible!” Then more quietly, “Did that sound convincing?”
“Very,” I assured her. “It’s good to see you.”
“So, Vi,” said Sophie. “Why don’t you tell Boy what happened.”
“What happened?” asked Vi, a question mark appearing over her head. She was apparently getting more expressionistic.
“You know, with the broadcast.”
The question mark changed to an exclamation point. “Oh, right!” Then a large single drop of sweat appeared at her temple. “So, Boy. Please don’t be mad at me. But I did something without your consent.”
“What did you do?”
“I broadcast you to the entire world.”
“Well, yeah, there in Lima.”
“No, I mean after that.”
“Wait, what? How much did you broadcast?”
“Pretty much all of it.”
“Everything we did from that initial broadcast until . . . when?”
“Until the cybernetic eye was smashed during your fight with Moreau. That was quite a cliff-hanger.”
“And why did you do this?”
“Well, viewer reaction online to the initial broadcast was mixed. People seemed to like you, but there were a lot of comments that you were too self-conscious. So I thought if I broadcast you without your knowledge, that would take care of it. And I was right!”
“But why did you broadcast it at all?”
“Because I love you, Boy. But there were people out there who didn’t like you. Who didn’t trust you. Who were even afraid of you. And it made me so sad. I knew if they just saw you as I see you, ever
y day, trying to do the right thing, trying to take care of people, monsters and humans alike—I knew if they saw that, they couldn’t help but love you as much as I do.”
“It worked, Boy,” said Holmes. “There has been a huge groundswell of public support for the monster community worldwide. Many governments, including the United States, are very nervous about a monster presence within their borders. And I think not without good reason. But because of you, they have to tread very carefully or risk severe public backlash.”
“Which is why,” said Sophie as she and Holmes helped me to my feet, “we need to smile pretty for the people out there, okay?”
I didn’t really need Sophie’s help to walk, but having her arm linked with mine made me feel a lot better about facing the people. The moment we hit the stairs down to the tarmac, there were cameras flashing and people calling out questions, trying to get my attention.
Someone jammed a microphone in my face. “Boy! Where have you been all this time?”
“Uh . . . well, after what happened in Denver . . . It was pretty awful, and I guess I needed some time alone to think.”
“What finally brought you back?”
“Honestly? I missed my girlfriend.”
That got a laugh from the crowd.
“No more questions!” barked Holmes as she hustled us through the crowd and into a waiting car. Once we were inside, she patted me on the back. “That was perfect. You’re a natural.”
“Thanks, I guess?” I really wasn’t sure how I felt about being the monster poster boy. It seemed like a really precarious place to be. “But what happens when they get bored of me? I mean, that’s inevitable, right?”
“Hopefully, we’ll have some international laws regarding monster rights in place by that time.”
“And in the meantime, try to enjoy it!” Sophie patted my knee. “I know I am.”
“She even met the queen of England,” said La Perricholi from the front driver’s seat. “Welcome back, Boy. Let’s get you home.”
“Home,” I echoed. I wasn’t even sure what that felt like anymore.