Predominance

by H. I. Defaz

  “I'm sorry,” I said, looking at his ruined body. “I never meant for any of this to happen.” My voice almost breaking. “But I promise you, I'll find a way to make them pay. I’ll seek justice for you, my friend. I promise.”

  Damian just watched and listened, saying nothing. I sighed and pulled the plastic cover over Denali's body.

  How much more blood will have to be shed? I wondered despairingly. How many more lives will have to be sacrificed before I see the end of this nightmare? I didn't know what to think, feel, or do. My head was nothing but a tangle of conflicting thoughts, and keeping myself from feeling anger at this point was no longer a choice, but a challenge. Soon these conflicting thoughts became a vicious circle, a merry-go-round that wouldn't stop spinning inside my head. At one point, I even thought that bringing Damian back to Denali's cabin would be a mistake.

  The truth was that I didn't know how much I could trust him. After all, he was a practical man. He negotiated with other people's lives for a living...and unfortunately, in this case Yvette was his bargaining chip. But I was running out of options. I needed to go back. I needed to know how Yvette was, and whether she had awakened from her sudden collapse. Besides, trying to keep Damian away would only have proven my distrust, and that could've caused Damian to react in an unfavorable manner.

  Sarah was sitting on the porch in an old rocker when I parked the bullet-holed truck in front of the cabin. She run to the truck and opened the door for me. “What happened?” she asked breathlessly. “Where's Denali?”

  “It was an ambush. Denali was shot.” Sarah's hand flew to her mouth. “He's dead, Sarah.”

  “Oh, my God!” she exclaimed in a whisper. But then her eyes flew to my head, where my new shock of hair hung over my brow. “Are you all right?” she asked, running her fingers through the silvery patch. “What happened to you?”

  “I'm fine,” I said, reaching for her hand. “Don't worry about it.” Once again, why try to explain something I couldn't explain myself? “How's Yvette?” I asked, walking hastily towards the cabin. Damian followed close behind.

  “She's still out, but I think I've figured out what's happening to her and Roger. My mentor once told me that the reason patients couldn't survive the procedure was because dormant, immature cells were being awakened inside mature brains. In some patients, these cells, once awakened, aren't able to catch up with the current maturity state of their brains. My theory is that the immature cells awakened in Yvette and Roger found a way to accelerate their maturity process: by wrapping themselves into a mental cocoon, forcing the brain into a hibernation state.”

  “So, what happens when this mental cocoon opens?” I asked, intrigued.

  Sarah sighed. “I don't know.”

  “Wait a second,” Damian burst out. “How come we didn't go through any of this?”

  “Well,” Sarah began, “Like I said, it's obvious their procedure was different than yours. Walker was probably trying to target a new set of inactive neurons. After the first incidents with patients who developed telekinesis, Walker began to avoid targeting the same set of neurons in every patient. Why he targeted the same ones in the two of you is beyond me. He knew the consequences, and the side effects the two of you would suffer.”

  “All right,” Damian began. “So how long will it take for her to wake up?”

  Sarah frowned, confused by Damian's sudden interest on Yvette's condition. “I don't know,” she said slowly. “Hours. Days, maybe. It's uncertain at this point.”

  “Can she be moved?” he asked keenly.

  Sarah scowled at him, confused.

  “Hey!” I snapped at him. “I know what you're getting at, but no one is moving her anywhere, is that clear?”

  Damian scowled at me, his arms crossed.

  “All right, what the hell is going on?” Sarah demanded.

  It took me a few minutes to bring Sarah up to speed with our new situation. It was only noon, which meant we still had twelve hours to figure out what to do. So I decided to give Denali at least the honor of a burial—nothing remotely close to what he deserved, of course, but a burial nonetheless. Sarah and Damian helped me move the body to the back yard and dig the pit where we finally rested his body. In his shirt pocket, next to his heart, I slid a picture of his fiancée that I'd found in his wallet—as well as a note explaining the circumstances of his death and the people responsible for it. I'd promised to seek justice for him, but at that moment, I wasn't sure if I was going to live past midnight.

  As Sarah stuck a crude wooden cross at the head of Denali's grave, I asked her if she had any idea what Walker could possibly want with Yvette. But she seemed as lost on that point as I was. She did ponder the question for a long moment, and then lifted her head as if with a theory. But something drew her eyes in surprise and made her gasp, “Oh, my God! …Look!”

  I turned to follow her stare and saw Yvette walking towards the pond. The hem of her dress fluttered in the wind; her glossy black hair flowed in the same direction. I dropped the shovel I held and ran to her, calling her name. She failed to respond, so I walked around and faced her. Her sapphire eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the forest. “Yvette!” I said again, gently nudging her shoulders.

  “Victor?” She blinked.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “I… think so,” she hesitated, as if waking up from a dream. “Where'd she go?”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Denali's grandmother,” she said, looking around the pond. “She looked sad.”

  “There's no one else here, Yvee. Maybe you were dreaming. Sleepwalking.”

  She shook her head, confused.

  I stroked her hair and smiled. “It's all right. Let's go back to the cabin.”

  “Wait!” she said, realizing my clothes were recently bloodstained; and she gasped when she saw the new silvery patch in my hair. “What happened? Did you end up going with Damian?”

  “Yeah,” I said regretfully. “But I'm back, as I promised… And I'm fine. Don't you worry about me,” I said, gliding my knuckles gently down her cheek. “I'm just so glad you're awake. Don't you ever scare me like that again, all right?”

  “You scared me too,” she said, choking back a sob, her fingers grabbing my new silver hair, pulling my head towards hers.

  “I know,” I said. “I'm sorry.”

  We kissed then, hungrily, as if we'd thought we were never going to kiss again. My senses went haywire at the touch of her lips, overwhelmed by all the love I felt for this amazing angel, hoping she could feel the same. Getting lost in this mixture of love, passion, and extrasensory perception, I experienced the most extraordinary ecstasy a human being can achieve. Eyes closed, I wondered if we'd made the stones levitate again. If they did, they probably dropped at the same time Sarah's desperate call startled us both. “Victor!”

  Roger had awakened too, and his behavior had frightened everyone in the cabin. He was screaming incoherently, like someone on the verge of a nervous breakdown. His anxiety only worsened the moment he saw me. He showed an irrational fear towards me, as if my presence alone was enough to hurt him. I couldn't understand what was happening to him... yet something beyond my enhanced senses warned me his fear was based on something he had seen during his “mental cocooning.” I realized it was imperative for me to understand what had incited this fear.

  So despite Roger's trepidation, I asked everyone to step outside so I could have a minute alone with him. I grabbed a folding chair from the kitchen, opened it, and sat right in front of him. He hugged a blanket that rested on his lap and stared at me with frightened eyes. I leaned forward, my elbows resting on my legs. I interlocked my fingers and forced a quick smile, hoping Roger would calm down. But my close proximity only made him cringe.

  “You want to tell me what's going on?” I asked genially. But his only answer was the piercing silence of a pair of penetrating black eyes. “Listen,” I continued, my voice careful. “I know that what you're going through is e
nough to make you very angry. Believe me, we're all in the same boat here. But maybe that's a good thing, because it also means that we're not alone. We can help each other, Roger.”

  I waited again for a reaction, but nothing; so I continued to probe. “Look, whatever's bothering you, it obviously has something to do with me. So why don't you just tell me what it is? Maybe I can find a way to make it right.” His silence continued. “Roger, I can't help you if you don't talk to me.”

  He still refused to answer.

  Discouraged, I hung my head and sighed. “What have I done for you to fear me like this?”

  “It's not what you've done,” he finally muttered. “It's what you'll do.” His words made me pop my head back up. “What you'll become.”

  “What do you mean, what I'll become?” I asked, flustered.

  He leaned forward on the edge of the sofa and whispered, “I've seen it… In my head. You change, Victor. And you do terrible things.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, frightened.

  “Behind my eyes, there are days beyond tomorrow,” he said mystically. “Memories of what will be. Things that I'll never live to see.”

  His words were a cold draft that pierced right through my bones. “You're telling me that you can see the future now?”

  A rueful smile pulled up the corners of his lips slightly. “What we call the future is no more than a destination based on our choices, Victor. And normally, there are as many futures as the numbers you keep running in your head. But in your case, there's only one, no matter what choice you make.”

  “And what destination is that?” I asked.

  “The path to evil.”

  “No,” I said firmly. “I won't let that happened. I won't let this dark force turn me into something I'm not. And if your clairvoyance can't see the power of my convictions, then I'd have to say that your visions are nothing but a delirium from your comatose state.”

  I sprang aggressively from my chair and turn around, distraught and confused by Roger's alleged foresight. Through the window I saw Damian, Sarah, Laura, and Yvette standing next to the bullet-riddled truck, talking. My eyes selfishly focused on my angel alone, as I thought of all the promises I might not be able to fulfill—with her and for her—should this dreadful prophecy come true. Then I realized my biggest fear wasn't turning into a monster, but having this monster hurt the angel that had brought me back to life—the angel that I had loved my entire life.

  I shut my eyes tightly, forcing my heart to shut up, so I could let my analytical mind tell me the right thing to do in order to keep my Yvee and everyone else safe from the monster I might soon be. Then I thought that if Roger had seen my future, he might have seen Yvette's as well. So, I turned around to ask him... but my question was lost in the terror of what I saw next.

  “Roger?” I gasped, watching him pull a gun from underneath the cover on his lap. A .32 Colt pistol that he had somehow liberated from Denali's gun cabinet, to be precise. “What are you doing?”

  “I'm sorry, Victor. I just can't let it happen.”

  The blood drained from my face. “Why don't you just calm down and give me the gun, all right? Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise.”

  He laughed bitterly. “You should stop making promises you can't fulfill, Victor. It'll only bring you more pain.”

  “You can trust me, Roger. I haven't backed out on a promise yet. Ever.”

  “You haven't seen what I've seen! The horror, the suffering… the pain… And my knowing it only makes things worse. You see, they get ahold of me, Victor, and they use what I know to decide who lives and who dies. I can't let that happen, Victor.” He whispered again, “I can't let that happen,” bringing the pistol to his temple.

  “Roger!” I pleaded desperately. “Please don't do this. I can help you!”

  Tears ran down his cheeks now. “There's no help for us once we cross over to the dark side. You'll soon see that for yourself… goodbye, Victor.”

  “Roger, NOOO!” The spark in my brain ignited and I reached out for him—too late. Even my powers can't outrace a bullet that exits the chamber faster than the speed of sound.

  I jerked at the dull crack of the gunshot, as if I were the one shot, and it left a ringing in my ears that blocked all sound from my surroundings. Fortunately, my eyes closed reflexively when he shot himself, so I didn't have to see the worst of it. A bloodstain spread over the fabric of the couch as I watched Roger's head dangle over his shoulder, and his big body keel over onto its side. I stood there in shock, trembling before the horrifying scene. I couldn't move, speak, or hear. Damian, who was the first to enter the room, had to push me out of the way to get to Roger's body. He leaned over the big man and checked his pulse, just to confirm that Roger was gone...although the ruin that had been his head should been enough for that.

  I could see Damian's lips moving as he shook me by the shoulders, as if asking me for answers. But I heard nothing; the ringing in my ears continued to deafen me. Then I felt the touch of Yvette, which sparked my senses again. This shook me out of my deafness as if out of a nightmare.

  “Victor?” I finally heard her voice, as if from a mile away. “What happened?”

  “He…. he killed himself,” I answered past a knot in my throat.

  “Why?” Sarah asked, horrified.

  I took a minute to answer. “He was clairvoyant. He chose not to be a part of what he saw in his visions. “

  “And what was that?” Damian asked.

  I sighed. “A horrific future that he's taken to his grave.” I paused and walked toward Denali's bedroom. “I guess we're all just going to have to wait and see what it was… what it'll be.”

  After telling everybody that I needed some time alone, I stepped into Denali's bedroom. I stopped and leaned forward over the dresser, looking blankly into the mirror. After a few minutes I began to scrutinize my own face, trying to find the monster behind my eyes. But soon my appearance derailed my intentions and got me to thinking. If we were to escape this godforsaken place, we needed to attract as little attention as possible. A man in rags, covered in blood, just wasn't going to do. I was the only one in our group who still looked like I'd just walked out of a slaughterhouse.

  I decided to strip out of my tatters and bandages and jump into the shower. Strangely, the cut on my brow had healed almost completely, yet I chose not to even question why. As I saw the murky water running down the drain, I thought of all the blood that had been shed in vain. A sudden burst of anger caused me to drive my fist through the shower wall, carving a hole into the white fiberglass, which in return cut my knuckles in several places. I saw my bright new blood run down and spiral into the drain with the clear water.

  The pain, along with the act itself, reminded me to keep calm. The frequency of these outbursts, as well as the intensity of them, was an obvious sign that I was running out of time. The more I felt this dark energy growing inside me, the more difficult it became to reject it. The truth was, my anger was the only thing soothing my pain now—or at least, that's how this dark energy was making me feel. Yet the thought of losing Yvette kept me from choosing this seductive escape.

  Quickly, I drenched my head under the gushing hot water and tried to regain complete control of my feelings. But something was wrong. Fighting my anger wasn't easy, but it was doable. Pain, on the other hand, proved to be a different proposition. I shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. Steam engulfed the entire bathroom. I wrapped a towel around my waist and panted distressfully over the sink, fighting a smothering sensation of hurt and anger that I was finding difficult to shake. The mirror was too clouded to show my reflection, so I wiped my hand over it to clear the fog. An electrifying shiver stroked my spine when I saw the reflection of my own eyes.

  The unnatural gray that had tainted my eyes at Damian's cabin had returned, along with the same evil expression that screamed out for hate and revenge. I could've sworn I even saw a disturbing smile jeering at me from the mirror. Th
e shock forced me to shut my eyes tightly as I staggered backwards against the wall. By the time I'd built the courage to open my eyes again, the steam had covered the mirror with another coating of fog, which I frantically began to wipe way. I never thought I'd be so happy to see the stupid expression of my good old self again.

  Did I imagine it? I wondered. Maybe it was just another trick of my rapidly evolving dark side, trying to make me lose my grip on reality. I couldn't know for sure. But whatever it was, it was growing stronger, and becoming more difficult to control.

  I stepped into the bedroom, trying to shake the frightful experience. The change of temperature in the room helped me to do that. It was cold—freezing! I couldn't understand how this place could have hot water but no heating system. It must have been at least thirty-five degrees outside, and all we had for warmth was an old fireplace in the living room. I threw another towel over my shoulders and began to look around the room, searching for something fresh to change into.

  The closet door in the room caught my attention; it contained a laundry basket overflowing with clean, unfolded laundry. Digging through it, I found a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, which I slipped into right away. A nice jacket and a pair of boots that I found at the back of the closet complemented my new outfit—I guess I was lucky that everything fit as if it had been meant for me. The jacket was a brown leather bomber; the label read Trapper Alaska, and it had one of those removable faux-fur collars that reminded me of those black-and-white war movies I used to watch with my father when I was a kid. The initials D.J. had been laser-engraved on the front of the jacket. It took me two seconds to realize what they stood for: Denali Johnson, of course.

  Then there were the boots: Durango. Brown leather, rubber soles, with harnesses around the ankles. I have to admit, it felt great to look decent again. After combing my damp bicolor hair, I decided to go back and rejoin the others, who had taken it upon themselves to bury Roger's body in the backyard next to Denali's.