“Give it!” the man demanded, but her paralysis held, and a struggle ensued. It was as if she’d lost control of her body, which stubbornly clung to the bag, and then the man decided that he would end the scuffle easily. She saw the blade—thin, dirty, and three inches long—grasped firmly in his meaty hand as it penetrated her side, and then the world disappeared.
Pain didn’t feel the way she’d anticipated it would: sharp or numb and seeing only red and black across her vision. Instead of seeing those colors, she saw a network of impulses—the spark of combustion in the passing car engines, the incandescent glow of the streetlamps, and the electric snap of a failing outlet—and felt fire. She reached toward the burning filament in the lamp above them and brought it down onto them. The dark man disappeared in a flash of orange that was brighter than a bonfire, and her vision returned to normal. It was only when she saw the smoking heap at her feet and the weak flesh still clasped in her hands that she realized that there had been two sets of screams. His had ceased, receding into pain-filled moans, but hers continued. Then the ground came rushing up to meet her, and the cement eagerly provided her with a pillow.
- - -
Pierce Starr hacked into the flesh expertly, splitting the cartilage from the bone and separating the limb from the rest of the body. He had always hated this part of butchering; even with the blood drained and the organs removed, splash was still likely to occur, and there was only so much a plastic tarp could do to protect the surrounding surfaces. Later, he would spot clean the offending drops of blood or hunks of flesh with bleach and industrial cleaner, but there was always a chance that he could miss something, and he hated disposing of his clothes unnecessarily. Unfortunately, that was part of the deal: He and his wife, Madeleine, would kill the animal; he would clean and prepare it for storage; and she would cook it. She had gotten very good at dealing with the beast’s flesh and had become adventurous with preparation, substituting normal meat with that of the animal, and he had become very fond of her newest recipe for roast, which incorporated apples and peaches.
Separating the fat and bone from the flesh was much easier. He enjoyed slicing beasts into the appropriate cuts and had studied butchering techniques especially for this purpose. Not all of his cuts corresponded perfectly with the traditional charts, but he liked the variety in tastes and tenderness that the creatures provided. While the methods that he and his wife employed necessitated the most vulnerable and sometimes sickly targets, he relished the idea of slaying a fit or well-muscled animal. Those tended to eat the healthiest, and this was reflected in the quality of their meat. Unfortunately, beggars could not be choosers, and he would rather be careful and fed than be bold and caught.
His wife appeared at the door quietly as he sliced their latest kill into pieces. She crossed her arms and wore concern on her face. She had been a real beauty once—trim and healthy with a heart-shaped face and hair that fell in soft, golden ringlets. Her nose didn’t quite suit her face—it was too aquiline—and he had discovered over time that the gold came from a bottle and that her hair was naturally more ashen. But she had captured his heart with her morbid humor, she shared his interest in astronomy, and most importantly, they had the same taste in exotic foods. Her introduction to his favorite food had been their most intimate moment and had led to many more.
Regrettably, the comfort they felt around one another had nearly led to disaster. Until Orion was six, they had captured, slain, and butchered beasts in their home, but one fateful night, an animal escaped and fled into Orion’s path. The creature’s futile bleating roused Orion from his slumber, and he tumbled from his bed to investigate, inadvertently setting up a pending collision. The sight of the small child in his pajamas halted the creature in its tracks, and Orion naively tried to comfort it. This feisty beast was slowly bleeding out instead of having a swift death because its unnecessary struggle had prevented Pierce from inflicting the proper killing blows. The animal embraced Orion, perhaps making an attempt to carry him off in its panic to escape, but it was too wounded. Madeleine scooped up their frantic son to soothe him, and Pierce was able to finish off the beast without further incident. They cleaned up the gore once their son had fallen asleep and prepared to confront him the next morning with the truth of their habit, but he seemed to have no memory of the previous night’s events. Nevertheless, it was decided that their exotic appetite needed to be curbed. Live animals were never again allowed inside the house, and after a few years of diligent work, they were able to secure a job at an observatory in Mason, which allowed them to resume their habit without the fear of being discovered.
In fact, Madeleine was supposed to be adjusting the telescope and making calculations while he did the butchering. He noticed her troubled expression, put down his tools, and removed his mask. “What’s the matter, Maddie?”
“Cassie’s in the hospital,” Madeleine answered. “Ryan is with her, but the police want us down there as soon as possible.” When Madeleine spoke, it was with a distinct detachment. Pierce had learned early on that Madeleine had been abused as a child and that subsequent caretakers had remained distant. Consequently, she had developed an unsentimental personality, which complemented Pierce’s cultivated aloofness. He had acquired his exotic taste from a mysterious mentor who had shown him that it was the way to immortality. While Pierce was fifty-five years old, he appeared to be casually navigating his mid-twenties at most; in fact, generous observers often thought him to be in his late teens. Conversely, despite following the same diet faithfully alongside him, his wife found that it only retarded rather than stilled her aging. They would need to eventually part company, and he had always planned to lay the blame for their crimes at her feet. It was a partnership—a beautiful partnership that he would miss—but it was not meant to be a long-lasting one, and the unspoken distance at which they kept one another would allow him to execute his eventual escape plan without remorse.
Pierce glanced at the carcass on the tarp at his feet. “We won’t be able to travel tonight. I’m halfway done with this, and I still need to store it. Plus we have to monitor the telescope. I’m not going to abandon that experiment for some fleeting family issue.”
“I’ve already contacted Dr. Harper. He’ll head up from the university in a few hours,” she replied. “He’ll cover us for as long as we need, but he needs to contact the administration to cancel his classes tomorrow.”
He sighed in disgust; if he didn’t finish his butchering, it would be a waste of perfectly good meat, and this would mean that they had risked discovery for nothing. However, he could hear his wife’s unspoken reasoning. They had stayed below the radar by acting like a normal, loving couple, even if a bit absorbed in their work, and to stay in Mason now might draw suspicion. Any attention from the authorities, no matter how minute, was an unnecessary risk compared to any they took when hunting. He replaced his mask and relented. “Then help me dispose of this. We can’t use the normal sites when we have this much meat left intact.”
She nodded and started pulling her hair up into a ponytail. “How about that little alcove by the dam? The bears haven’t gone into hibernation quite yet,” she suggested as she pulled on a hairnet and tucked the last bit of ashen curls beneath the hem. She loved her long hair, even if it was a liability, but she was meticulous about controlling it. She tucked her trouser legs into her shoes and tightened any loose clothing before pulling on a pair of latex gloves.
He shook his head. “The rangers started patrolling more up there since the bear attack last year,” he replied as he carefully stacked the meat into a pile. He would transfer it to a new tarp and wrap it in a bundle in a moment. He was mentally retracing his steps, trying to erase any possible evidence that might escape them, as he reviewed his memory for an appropriate dump site. “I think I saw a funeral in Bristol as we were driving up here. We might be able to dump the bones there if the soil is still loose. I might be able to sa
lvage some meat first.”
She smiled. “Try not to worry too much, dear. We’ll be back up by next week, and we’ll get another one,” she assured him. She picked up a bundle of clothes and artifacts that had come from the beast. “I’ll put these in the furnace and be right back to help you finish.”
It was easy for her to tell him not to worry when the effects had clearly not worked for her, but if he didn’t consume the creature at regular intervals, he was certain that he would start aging again. It was what his mentor had warned him about, and after seeing the results of consumption, he never questioned his mentor’s advice. But though Madeleine’s words frustrated him, they did not anger him, and he focused on the task at hand. He could never afford to become careless.
- - -
Orion’s phone startled him when it rang as he left class. Hardly anyone ever called him, and he usually forgot to switch the phone to vibrate due to its lack of use. He wore an amused expression as he answered it because he didn’t recognize the number and expected his sister to make an unreasonable after-hours request from a borrowed phone. But his face fell when it registered to him that it was the police station calling to inform him that his sister was in the emergency room and needed to be picked up. As his parents were three hours out of town, he was the nearest responsible agent who could assume custody of her.
The emergency room was a harrowing experience. First, because he looked like a crazed druggie due to his unkempt and gaunt appearance, he couldn’t convince the night nurse that he had the right to be there. Then, when he finally obtained a room number from his sister, it was for an ICU patient who was recovering from twenty-seven stab wounds. Cassie’s injuries were less severe: Between the gash in her side and the laceration from cracking her head on the pavement, she’d received twelve stitches. She also had some minor cuts and bruises, and the doctor stated that she was very fortunate that the fire had not harmed her as well; in fact, it hadn’t even singed the hairs on her arms.
The policeman who had been stationed outside Cassie’s room had a few words to exchange with Orion. Cassie had already given her statement: She’d been walking home from the subway station when a mugger had pulled a knife on her, and they’d struggled for a bit, resulting in her side being pierced, before the streetlamp had exploded and somehow set the mugger on fire. He was in intensive care with burns over eighty percent of his body and was not expected to last the night. A thorough investigation would be launched, and although the cop didn’t say it, Orion inferred that Cassie would be interviewed further. After all, “No one lights up like that without some kind of accelerant,” the cop asserted. However, he seemed particularly concerned about Cassie: why she was traveling home alone so late and why their parents were not present at the hospital. Orion explained their home situation as best he could, trying to put the cop’s mind at ease, and he promised to look after his little sister. While the cop did not seem entirely convinced by his explanation, he was appeased and left, allowing Orion to finally see Cassie.
“Hey, Pickle,” he greeted, using a nickname from their childhood. She had been a smart child, speaking early and expanding her vocabulary, but as soon as she had learned the word “pickle,” she’d developed a fascination with it and had communicated using only that word. She spoke it in different intonations, as if it were different words, and responded only to “Pickle.” So, for three months, she was “Pickle,” and the name stuck.
Cassie smiled weakly, showing her naked emotions rather than her usual veneer of teenage arrogance. She was pale, despite the heavy makeup she wore, and there were dark lines beneath her eyes from where the mascara and eye shadow had run before being wiped off with a tissue. There was also a patch of clean skin on her forehead where she had been prepped for surgery, and a bandage now covered her stitches. She was wearing a borrowed set of clothes, which was most likely because hers had been ripped. She looked terrible, especially under the harsh hospital lights, but her expression turned to relief once she saw him. “Hey,” she reciprocated, still shaken.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. He took a seat by her bedside. She chewed her lower lip and glanced out the door, looking for her escort. “They’re gone,” he assured her.
“I did something bad,” she confessed ruefully. “I didn’t mean to, but he had a hold of me, and I panicked. I… I don’t know what happened.” Tears started to flow down her cheeks, renewing the dark circles and tracing new lines through the foundation and blush. He took her into his arms, as he had done many times before. She was trembling, and he held her tighter as she buried her face into his chest, producing an expanding wet spot in its center. When they were little and she would awake from a nightmare, she would rouse him by crawling into his bed, and he would comfort her in this manner. But as they’d grown older, they’d also grown apart; he’d become more responsible, and she’d discovered rebellion.
The last time he had held her had been three years ago, shortly after her thirteenth birthday. He’d known that she would be offered drugs and that she would experiment, so he’d chosen to allow her to do so in an environment he could control—their apartment—with him present. One afternoon, he’d bought a dime bag of weed, locked the doors, and taught her the fine art of rolling a blunt. She’d been far from believing he was the coolest older brother ever—this was when he’d first begun to mature and become the man of the house—but she’d still respected him. Unfortunately, the experiment had ended unexpectedly when the blunt had neared her lips and had immediately gone up in flames, temporarily blinding her. They’d decided to try again, but the second time, his lighter had exploded as soon as he’d snapped the flint wheel. The tiny explosion had singed Orion while leaving Cassie unscathed, but her animal mind had nonetheless felt threatened. Before he’d been able to react, she’d reached toward the nascent flame and manipulated it subconsciously, shaping and stretching it until it became a flash fire that scorched every surface in the room.
That was when they’d realized that she had a gift. Knowing that his parents would never understand, and because her powers had scared her, Orion had forbade her from using them again. This was one of the few edicts of his that she’d willingly followed. After this incident, she’d thrown herself into being “normal”: the popular cheerleader who all the guys wanted and all the girls wanted to be. It was also when she’d turned her back on him.
“It’s okay. You were scared,” he comforted her, stroking her hair.
“I think I killed him.”
There was nothing he could say. The mugger might survive, but his concern was for his vulnerable baby sister, who feared herself. Her gift was unique; it wasn’t as if he could hire a tutor for her. “We’ll get you help,” he promised.
“From who? It’s not like it’s a medical condition, Orion,” she retorted, pushing him away, and she reclined on the bed again, separating herself from him. “Can we leave?” she asked, all vulnerability squelched in favor of sullen resentment; it was as if she were suddenly embarrassed to have lowered her defenses. “I don’t think they said I’d have to stay overnight.”
Orion sighed and nodded, tolerating her usual aloofness uncomplainingly. “Yeah. I’ll find a nurse and see about getting you out of here.” He patted her leg gently as he rose to leave the room. He hunched his shoulders, lowering his head as he reflected on the surfeit responsibilities he bore at his young age. He shouldn’t have to deal with things like this as a college student—not until he got married and had children of his own.
“Ryan?” he heard a small voice whisper and turned around immediately.
“Yeah?” he responded. His sister studied her hands as she fiddled with the flimsy blanket that was draped over her. She seemed to want to say something, but her eyes were distant, and after a long moment of silence, she just shook her head. He hesitated before attempting to leave again, and when she made no move or sound, he left for the nurse’s s
tation. Cassie was released within the hour.
He did not own a car, so they needed to take public transport. Since taking the subway had caused the incident, he believed taking a cab would be the more sensitive course of action, and though the friendly cabbie tried to make conversation with his passengers, he was met with stony silence. Cassie stared out the window, completely withdrawn; she ignored Orion’s further attempts to comfort her, leaving him to simply stare into the distance and retreat into his own thoughts. When they arrived in SoHo, she didn’t even wait until he paid the fare; she simply ran up the stairs and into their apartment. He paid the driver and then followed his sister, but once he discovered that she had locked herself in her room, he gave up on trying to communicate with her any further that night.
His emotions and thoughts were too active to allow him to rest, and he didn’t think he could concentrate on his homework. He threw his backpack into the space beneath the bar and crossed into the kitchen. If he couldn’t sleep, he could at least still be useful and prepare food for the next day. It had been a late night, and he doubted either one of them would be cognizant enough to fix breakfast or lunch the next morning.
He retrieved fruit, carrots, and jelly from the refrigerator and peanut butter, bags, and a knife from the cupboard. He also grabbed a cutting board from the counter and placed the assembled ingredients next to it. He doubted Cassie would want a simple sandwich or vegetables, especially since they were healthy and good for her, but it was the thought that counted. Likewise, he doubted she would eat the fruit for breakfast, and he doubted he’d want strawberries in the morning either. Maybe all the food would end up in the trash can. Still, he started slicing the fruit as he considered cleaning the apartment to drown out his thoughts.
Operation Blackout Page 2