by Matt Betts
“Don’t listen to him,” Brandt said from the back seat. “You did the right thing. Between this and the coffee shop, I think you’re really starting to take charge here. You’re going places now. You know exactly what the girl is going to do and where she’ll be.”
Morgan smiled. He did finally feel in charge of shit for once. Usually he took orders happily, that’s how he made his living; he got a job, found the subject and killed them in the manner suggested by the client. Today he’d killed who he wanted, how he wanted and got the job done.
Still, the girl hadn’t always done what was expected of her.
“Marsh is going to be very appreciative. He’ll turn to you now,” Morgan could see Brandt’s face in his rearview mirror. “Better still, he’ll trust you.”
Morgan nodded again and activated the car’s communication system. The small screen revealed itself on the dash. “Dial Mr. Marsh,” he said. As the sound of the phone ringing began to emit from the speakers, he felt a smile of pride force the corners of his mouth open wide. He struggled to make his voice a little more somber before someone picked up on the other end.
32
Garrett gripped the seatbelt that crossed his lap. If there were any armrests, he would have held on to them for dear life. The plane was apparently too small for that. He took one glance at the California countryside sliding by below them and that was enough for him. He didn’t need to look again. The prop plane dipped and rose against the air currents every other second it seemed to him.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of flying. That’s crazy,” Pel said.
In the cramped seat next to him, Pel was playing some game on her phone. “Shouldn’t you shut that off? Don’t they make you turn off phones when you’re in an airplane?” Garrett asked. “Shut it off.”
“Nah. We’re fine. A little Angry Birds never crashed one of these things. Besides, I switched it to airplane mode.”
“What the hell does that mean?
“We’re fine,” Pel said. “You seriously can’t handle flying?”
“I’m fine with jets. Jumbo jets. Big planes. Widebodies. This thing runs on a tightly-wound rubber band.” Garrett stared at the back of the pilot’s head to make sure the man was watching where they were going. “I’m not cool with that.”
After she closed the game, Pel brought up some documents on her tablet. “I did a little research into some things that Leonard was talking about,” Pel said. “You know there are a lot of parasitic insects that can change the behavior of a host?”
“You’re thinking someone put bugs like those into these people? On purpose? I don’t know. That sounds far-fetched. Can’t there be another explanation for this behavior?” Garrett asked.
Pel flipped to some images of bugs and enlarged them. “I don’t know, but the bug thing is possible. Look at this one. It’s a Maculina Rebeli.” She handed the tablet to Garrett. The screen showed a beautiful butterfly with bright, colorful markings on its wings. “This thing? It puts out some kind of smell that makes ants think it’s one of them. It’s so effective, that the ants will take care of the butterfly’s larvae.”
Garrett looked at the butterfly and considered what something like that could do if applied to humans. Could a person be fooled into not knowing who their friends and enemies were?
“This one’s my favorite. It’s really gross,” Pel took the tablet back and flipped to a new picture. “This is the Emerald Cockroach Wasp. She’s kind of nasty. She paralyses a cockroach with her sting, and then stings it again in a specific part of the brain. The wasp then chews off part of the roach’s antenna and completely hijacks its brain. The wasp makes the roach go back to her nest, lays some eggs in the roach’s stomach which later hatch and the young eat the roach. The whole time? The roach doesn’t care. Doesn’t act like anything is out of the ordinary.”
“Just lets it happen?”
“Just lets it happen,” Pel said. “Something about the sting to the brain.”
The image Pel pulled up was pretty gross. It showed a wasp chewing on a roach. Garrett wasn’t really interested in seeing the video that Pel offered to show him. “So, you think this gives credence to what Leonard said? The fact that there are some nasty bugs that can make other bugs do stuff?”
“I don’t know. There seem to be enough examples to show it could be possible.” She started flipping through the file some more. “There’s another bug in here that tricks rats into not being afraid of cats. That’s weird, right?”
Strange science was one thing, but plausibility in humans was another. “Yeah. Definitely weird. Hard to prove though, if everyone dies when the thing is taken out of them.”
“But, I mean, can these people be held accountable if they’re being pushed to do these things?” Pel got silent as she flipped through the pictures and played the videos she’d saved. Her face contorted in disgust, but she kept turning to the next and the next. Garrett wanted to laugh at her, but he’d grown to accept and enjoy his younger partner’s idiosyncrasies. A sudden drop in their altitude brought Garrett back to the here and now. “What? What happened? Are we going down?”
“We just changed altitude by twenty feet or so,” the pilot yelled. “Not a big deal.”
“How the hell does this generic agency not have a private jet? What kind of budget do they have that we have to fly in this sad excuse for transportation?” Garrett checked his seat belt one more time.
Pel put her tablet away and leaned over. She talked louder over the rattle of the plane’s engine. “Where do you want to go first when we land?”
When we land. Garrett liked the sound of the words. “I think we should probably get a ride to the crime scene. I don’t know how long they’ll keep the train there on the tracks.”
“They’ll take it to the nearest train yard and we can look at it later. I’d imagine the coroner will need to take possession of the dead guys, though.”
“Yeah. But if they don’t have Deena’s body on the train, it likely means she’s on the move. Maybe we can find some idea which direction she went. Right now, she could’ve gone anywhere. And she’s got a good head start.” Garrett looked at his watch. “How long ’til we land?”
“No idea.” Pel tapped the pilot on the shoulder. “How much longer?”
The pilot scanned the control panel and turned around. “If we don’t hit any turbulence or anything, maybe an hour and fifteen minutes, maybe an hour and twenty.”
“Turn around,” Garrett said to the pilot. “Just turn around and fly.” He looked at Pel again. “Don’t bother him. He needs to fly this plane.”
“What a baby.”
“Just hand me Deena’s file. And let’s go over it again. Maybe we can find someplace logical for her to run to.”
33
Her greatest joy in life used to be making fun of stupid people doing stupid things, and here she was, in a yoga class while the better part of the criminal underground searched for her.
Deena crossed her legs and stared off at the wall. She tried to make her mind a blank slate, tried to clear the thoughts that surfaced every time she needed to control her power. The Shadow Energy began to spread across her arm whenever Harper or Avi pushed their way into her thoughts. But it wasn’t working, she tried to picture beautiful meadows and sunlight rippling off serene ponds, the mountains in the background, but all she could see were the black streaks lurking in the weeds and the strange dark currents just underneath, however light, seemed to be growing louder.
She regretted breaking her cover and stepping into the community as soon as she’d done it. She figured there would be some way to calm herself here in the little train stop town of Chemult, Oregon, but there wasn’t much. On the corner stood an old-school coffee shop with red plastic booths and a mini jukebox at every table. The kind that served actual coffee with cream and sugar; exactly
what she didn’t need right now. But the coffee called to her, the way it always did—mocha, dark roasted, whatever. It was all good.
Chemult had a tiny police station that she avoided even though she didn’t see any police cars out front; she supposed that every member of law enforcement this close to the train incident would probably be helping in one way or another. Scattered amidst the closed storefronts with newspapers taped to the windows were the town garage/gas station combo, some fast food places, jewelry store, coffee shops and the Paul White community center. She wandered into the community center just in time for a half-empty yoga relaxation class. No one said much to her, though they looked her over real good when she sat down. The instructor just smiled, introduced herself and got to business.
Deena opened her eyes and found her hands were balled into fists and turning black as the darkness migrated down her arms. She needed to release. She stood up quickly and grabbed her bag as she left the room. She saw a couple of the other women’s eyes snap open to watch her retreat.
In the hall, she slung the bag over her shoulder and folded her arms so no one would see her hands. She quickly moved toward the exit, wondering what her next move should be. There was no way she could get back on a train, and she doubted the little town had a car rental place she could hit up.
“Hey, was it something I said?” the instructor whispered from the doorway of the classroom.
“Oh, no. Thanks. I was just having trouble focusing,” Deena tried to keep walking, but the instructor advanced as she spoke, trying to engage Deena.
“Everyone has a little trouble the first time. You just have to work through it.”
The stairs made Deena stumble and she put out her arm to steady herself. She was relieved to see the hand wasn’t darkened nearly as bad as it had been. She hoped the woman wouldn’t notice. “Look, Taylor was it? I’m just not in a frame of mind to relax now. I’m…”
“Anxious about something? It shows,” Taylor said. She looked around the empty hall like she had a secret. “Look, I don’t usually mix relaxation classes with the others I teach, but come here for a second.” She nodded her head for Deena to come back.
Deena’s lip twitched. She wanted to leave before something bad happened. “I have to get going.”
“Look, I’ll show you what I’m thinking. I have a place where you can take your time getting into a better state of mind, all by yourself. I have to get back to my class. I’ll leave you alone, you can stay, you can go. Whatever,” Taylor shrugged her shoulders.
Deena looked down at her feet. One was on the first stair. The other was on the second. She could say no and keep going. But she could feel an outburst building within. “OK. Two minutes.” She stepped down and walked back to follow Taylor.
“I, uh,” Taylor looked at the door to the classroom they’d just come from. “I also teach a kickboxing and self-defense class at night. Some of my yoga students get all weird about that for some reason.” She smiled wickedly. “A girl can’t be peaceful and kick some ass? Come on.”
Deena smiled weakly. She had the ass-kicking thing down. A peaceful mind and body would be a nice addition.
At the other end of the hall, Taylor opened a door and leaned in to flip on the light. “This is the practice room. Most of the ones I’ve seen other places have some padding on the floor and mirrors all the way around,” she stepped in and waved her hands around. “Never understood that. People need to see themselves in the mirror to make sure they’re in the proper stance, suppose. Seems unnecessary to me. Mirrors break. I’d rather have it like this and be able to crash into walls and stuff.”
The entire room was padded from floor to ceiling with light blue practice mats; not so soft that you couldn’t walk on them, but soft enough that you wouldn’t break a shoulder if you were thrown into a wall. In one corner was a boxer’s heavy bag hanging from the ceiling and in the other, a speed bag.
“Plus, with all the padding, the room is pretty darn soundproof,” Taylor stepped past Deena and started down the hall again. “If you decide to stay, have fun.”
Deena couldn’t stop staring at the room. A workout wasn’t exactly what she needed, but it gave her a place to lay low and figure things out for a little while. She was sure people would be looking for her so she didn’t really have time to pause for long. She worried she might destroy the place if things got out of hand though. “Look, I don’t know…”
“Whatever you want to do, do it.” The instructor’s blonde ponytail bounced as she disappeared back into the classroom.
She needed rest and she need to get ahold of herself but she could almost smell the people that were tracking her at this point. Police. Feds. Marsh’s goons. Still, she was no good if she kept lashing out with tendrils of magic constantly. Deena decided to take some time to get a grip and she let the door swing shut behind her as she stepped into the room.
Deena paced like some zoo animal for the first ten minutes or more. She went from one corner to the next, to the next, without a coherent thought. Images flashed in her head. She saw Avi and Harper, Marsh, Morgan and Ramirez, and then the parade of victims that died at her hands. It was a loop that started again, once she’d exhausted the list. After the first ten minutes, she added a punch at the speed bag and a kick to the body bag as she passed each of them. Soon the pacing became quicker as she went back and forth and the anger built in her. It became two punches on the speed bag, and a kick plus and elbow on the body bag, until it accelerated to the point where she was just going from one bag to the other and not even walking the room.
She feared that she was sliding back to what she was: some sort of zombie following orders without question and killing on demand without remorse. When she’d killed Mike, it was out of a fury she couldn’t control, but she still felt something afterward, she’d been aware of what she’d done and known it was horrible. But the next time she took a life, when her power first revealed itself, had seemed like nothing. It faded from her memory almost immediately. The man on the plane? She would’ve forgotten about him already if he hadn’t been the catalyst for this change.
But what made her what she was? Was it Marsh? The first time her power came out, he was there. Did he do something? Was it the power itself that somehow made her blindly follow him?
As she settled in to punching the heavy bag, obsidian spikes poked from her knuckles and she tore into the bag with punch after punch, blow after blow. The thick canvas shell gave way quickly. Long, vertical rips in sets of four showed up with each swipe and sawdust began to fill the room like flurries in a mild winter storm. Deena could smell the oaky aroma of the chips flying as they passed close to her face. She ignored it. She ignored everything and struck out blindly releasing the anger and the fear that had built up. She didn’t care if the Shadow Energy drained her again; she’d revert to a baby and work her way back to her twenties, kicking and punching the whole way. No one would expect a baby to rescue Harper, would they? She leapt at the bag and cut it in half with a sharp edge that had grown out of the side of her foot.
34
Deena at 17 the first time around
Being a waitress was hell for Deena: the long hours, the dull tasks, the jerks that didn’t tip, the assholes that got handsy when she walked by. The smell of the strange combinations of foods would make her nauseous from time to time. The Nimbus Lounge wasn’t a dive per se; Marsh kept it up and kept it respectable, but he didn’t exactly pour money into it. He made it acceptable to a decent crowd and left it at that. No high aspirations, which meant no big tippers, ever.
Harper, however, loved it, or so it seemed to Deena. Harper seemed sure that they were always a day away from selling their bodies on the street, so working tables for the lecherous manager seemed like a welcome relief in comparison. Harper took their tips and squirreled them away, doing what she could to make the money last. It gave her something to occupy
her time when she wasn’t working. She bought groceries with coupons from the newspapers she got free at work when diners left them. Deena couldn’t be bothered with it. She went to work, did her job and went home. If it weren’t for Harper, the lights in their apartment wouldn’t have stayed on.
True to his word, Marsh set the sisters up in a studio apartment a block away from the Nimbus. It was all as it was advertised—one room with two beds, a stove, a small television set that worked most of the time. The bathroom included a shower, at least. That was a treat. The temperature of the water couldn’t be predicted from day to day, however.
They managed to get into somewhat of a routine after they’d been there for a little over six months. The cycle of work, home, eat, sleep was becoming ingrained, interrupted by frequent trips to a nearby gym that Marsh owned. Deena needed to vent aggression some way, and the gym worked perfectly. There certainly wasn’t room to exercise in their little apartment, not even space for sit-ups without knocking into something. So Deena went. It got her out and, usually, got her away from Harper. There was something to be said for the healing power of not being near her sister. They saw each other at work, at home, everywhere. And it reminded Deena of their situation and how they’d landed there. Deena looked back at that day in the forest with Marsh and had a hard time believing she’d readily agreed to, even pursued the possibility of working for Marsh in any capacity. She chose to dwell on that when she was working out, not the fact that she herself had killed someone. Or was it two someones? The incident got cloudier the more time that passed. While she was hitting a heavy bag, Marsh’s spectacled face appeared before her, his old man cologne filled her nostrils. She hadn’t seen him since the incident and yet, somehow he was still fresh in her mind.