Eden

by Nathan Evans

  The hallway was dark and empty but for the flickering glow from the room nearest him on the left. His heart dropped at the sight of the open door. A sorrowful mewl, whether for himself or his next victim, he did not know, escaped his lips. He passed the weight of the gun from his damaged hand to his off one and slipped his trigger finger through.

  He shuffled over to the door, repeating the trick he’d used going up the stairs, the wall shouldering his weight. He peered in: the room was dark, it was always dark. His neighbor sat on his tattered sofa, it looked as if he hadn’t moved since the last time Akio had seen him all those days ago.

  Carnage was splayed across the man’s holoscreen. A tall, chiseled man in a trench coat opened up an assault rifle nearly twice his size, sending a car careening into a tanker truck placed conveniently in its way. The ensuing fireball engulfed the screen, bathing the man and his coke bottle glasses in brilliant orange.

  The cords at the back of the man’s cranium tensed as he sensed someone was watching him. Akio recognized the sudden awareness and shifted the gun behind his back. His neighbor turned, his face expressionless as he stared at the strange man with a face like hamburger.

  He smiled, a wide, giddy grin.

  Akio nodded and stayed still until he turned back. Within seconds, he knew the man had forgotten he’d ever been there. Akio slipped the gun into his waistband and stepped away from the doorframe. He shuffled to his bed, then collapsed.

  CHAPTER 15

  As the cab drew further from what she had always known, Yuki Tukiko became increasingly uneasy. The large, glittering juggernauts of the financial district gave way to ash and tenements. Out here there were no AdTech billboards assaulting the senses. The sidewalks were bare but for the trash littering them. With every alleyway she passed, she caught glimpses of those desperate enough to reveal themselves; those desperate enough to seek sustenance amongst the filth. All the while, rain came down in deliberate sheets; a blanket of depression.

  The longer they traveled the more Yuki came to feel as if this place were swallowing her up. She began to imagine the very clear border between this section of town and the financial district as a wall, one that could be traversed from the other side, but not from this one. The tale of Akio’s past repeated in her head, and she shuddered to imagine what lay even further on. Here was a sort of functioning desolation, she didn’t want to see what happened when even that fell apart.

  Her mood, which was already dark, grew darker. The satchel that housed all of her work materials sat beside her. She took up the strap and put it back over her shoulder, clutching it close, attempting to salvage some of the comfort she was used to.

  In the pale grey of the afternoon, the perpetual rain came down in a weak drizzle, a light tapping on the roof of the car. The beating of windshield wipers filled her ears. The tiny motors that powered the wipers whined at full power, causing the rubber to bleat and scrape out an unpleasant symphony.

  Yuki looked to the driver: “I’m sorry, could you turn those down?”

  There was no response. The driver, an old man whose face she was just beginning to realize she hadn’t even seen, stared ahead, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. His brow was obscured by a checkered soft cap; no way to tell if he had even heard her request. Rather than repeat it, Yuki pressed herself against the back of her seat and stayed silent.

  The whine of breaks joined the symphony as the taxi came to a halt in front of a particularly depressing brownstone, a faded red door at the center. Yuki palmed the reader and paid. The driver never turned around, not even to make sure she was clear before he sped away.

  Alone on the street, she felt exposed. The smart, rather frumpy, outfit she wore may as well have been a neon-red bull’s-eye painted clear on her back; a clear signal she wasn't from here. She ground her heel into the pavement and closed her eyes, gathering her courage, letting anger take the place of fear.

  She’d opened herself up to him and he’d taken advantage. If the matter had lied solely in her bed, she could’ve handled it; swallowed her pride and taken the lesson. But, unfortunately, her charity and her folly had extended beyond that. It had been a full work day—he hadn’t shown.

  Anger had kept her from visiting him in the mines. Part of her, the part that seemed incapable of not wanting to help him, had spent the day insisting that he must’ve had a good excuse. Some private emergency that had drawn him away from her. Even that wasn’t enough. If he’d truly cared, he’d have found her upstairs—apologized.

  He hadn’t. It wasn’t until she’d gotten a call from Simon that she’d even found out he’d never come to work. A fresh flush of anger coursed through her. She’d put her impeccable reputation on the line to get Akio that job, for him to not show up was the final straw. Once she’d finished at Han’s side, she’d immediately hopped a cab and ended up here.

  With a final huff settling the matter, she made her way up the stoop. There was no doorbell or communication panel built into the frame. She felt strange rapping her knuckles against wood. Oddly, the door clacked closed. She reached out for the handle, splitting her attention between the peep hole and the area behind her as if it were some kind of trap. When no one came to stop her, she pulled and the door came open, revealing several heavy, intimidating locks; all of them unlatched.

  The first few steps inside the building were tentative. It was dark, the open door and light from an unseen window providing the only sources of visibility. A staircase lied directly ahead of her, its wood rotting. The boards looked as if they’d been chewed through; as if the whole thing might collapse if she stepped on it the wrong way.

  Beside the staircase was a hallway shrouded in shadow. Though she knew it couldn’t possibly recede very far into the building, the impenetrable darkness made it appear as if it went on forever. She chose the lesser of two evils and headed for the stairs, the irrational fear of disappearing down the hallway driving the decision.

  As she ascended the steps, she assured herself that there was no way the rest of the building could be as devastated and foreboding as the lobby. When she reached the second floor she realized how wrong she was. This hallway looked no more welcoming than the one downstairs. Though light poured from the window on the far wall, the same deep darkness that had caused such unease downstairs filled the empty apartments up here; at least, the ones that weren’t rendered completely inaccessible through rotting planks of wood nailed to their frames.

  The only exceptions were the apartment on the far right, which seemed to be the only apartment with an actual, functioning door, and the one to her immediate left. She peeked into the one on her left and found it empty; nothing more than a cot and what looked to be a set-up for a rather large holoscreen.

  She moved past it. Her heels didn’t clack on the floorboards so much as crack them. Once again she found herself worrying over the structural damage her slight frame might inflict upon this weathered place. She reached the next door, practicing the speech she’d been running over and over again in her head since she’d awoken alone; the impassioned tongue lashing that would put him in his place; that would make sure he knew he hadn’t hurt her.

  She rolled her shoulders back and reached for the door handle before realizing it was already open. A feeling like the tips of spider legs on her neck took hold. She nudged the door inward with the toe of her shoe and found the living area empty. Lying across from where she stood, skewed slightly to the left, was yet another doorway. This one was thrust wide open, a mass of deli wrappers and other assorted garbage splayed across the floor. She gasped when she peeked in for a better look.

  A man who she knew must be Akio Yowamushi lay on a thin, stained piece of material, more cot than mattress. Though the familiar leather jacket that lay crumpled at his side confirmed his identity, his face no longer resembled the one she’d kissed the night previous. Splotches of dark purple marked both of his cheeks, the swelling beneath his right eye so severe his lower eyelid was no longer visible.
/>
  Her bag fell. She made to rush toward him, the sight of a gun on the floor stopping her in her tracks. Her hands shook as she leaned down to pick up the weapon.

  It was cold. It rattled as she shifted it in her grip.

  Akio stirred.

  Her voice was faint, her eyes unable to look away from the steel: “Akio… what—what is this? Why do you have this?”

  Akio opened his eyes slowly, the effort arduous. He stared up at her for a time, his black pupils swimming in a river of red. His mouth gaped wide and so did his eyes. As if it pained him, he let out a croak: “No,” and reached for the gun.

  Reflexively, Yuki stepped back and Akio’s grasp arched as he twisted in bed. His hand, the area around his main finger somehow more bruised than his face, brushed against the floor. He hissed with agony and his arm snapped back, the hand retreating into the solace of the other one. His body jerked in the other direction, tears of pain streaming down his face. It was hard to tell in the dim of the room, but Yuki could swear they were tinged with pink.

  Slowly, carefully she set the weapon down, a mix of fear and morbid fascination preventing her from doing it quickly. When she was positive it wouldn’t go off, she rushed around to the other side of the bed and fell to her knees. “Akio, what’s going on? What happened to you?”

  Akio, still on his side, still cradling his damaged hand, spoke through gritted teeth: “How did you find me?”

  “I pulled up your work file. You disappeared last night… When you didn’t show up for work I…” She thought of her speech and felt foolish. “I was worried.”

  Akio’s mouth twisted into an expression of lipless sorrow and his gaze fell away from hers. He shifted himself so he sat up on the cot, his back pressed against the papered wall. His white undershirt had been soaked through. Bands of purple marked the flesh around the short sleeve’s cuffs. “Akio…” Yuki reached out, her fingers barely grazing the bruise on his right arm. He gave another hiss of pain and wrenched his arm away. “Who did this to you?”

  Akio clutched where she’d touched, his eyes boring through her as his mind worked behind them. His mouth remained shut, his breathing ragged. His pupils, which seemed darker when juxtaposed against the sea of red, twitched between her and the floor. Without speaking, he reached past her and took up his jacket and put it on, covering the bruises.

  Whatever he was searching for behind his eyes, he never found. “I don’t want to lie to you.” It came out in a short clip, as if he had meant to say more but the words had gotten lost somewhere along the way.

  The pity Yuki had always felt for him bubbled to the surface. She let out a nervous chuckle. “I don’t want you to, either.” She said.

  “Last night I, uh… went to help a friend. She was in trouble. This guy he—he was hurting her.” He said. “He hurt me too.” Nothing came after that. Akio merely quieted and turned away.

  As silence settled in, Yuki’s pity fell away. She deserved more than his shoulder. “You know, I’ve always tried to help you.” She took a deep breath, wondering if she even had a right to say what she was about to say, deciding that she did. “And it bothers me that, after everything… you still won’t let me in—not really.” She hung her head low.

  There was no response. She could feel his eyes on her—she couldn’t bring herself to look. Pain swelled up behind her features—she wouldn’t allow him to see it. For once, she realized, she wasn’t helping him, she was protecting herself. She didn’t turn to face him until she was positive she could do it without betraying emotion. Even then, she looked past him and at the gun before turning her slate eyes back on him. “Did you help her with that?”

  This time Akio looked her straight in the eye. “No,” he said, the word coming out tight, “not yet.”

  Yuki was used to seeing embarrassment, even self-pity on Akio’s face. She wasn’t used to rage. His mouth compressed as if it wanted to lock in whatever words might try to come. His eyes bulged. They swelled and reddened, the color infecting even the skin around them, shading the cracks at their corners a deep purple.

  Yuki realized that she hadn’t imagined pink tears. “What have you been doing, Akio?”

  A loud bang, the sound of wood splintering and snapping, echoed outside the room. Yuki jumped at the noise. Just as quickly, Akio was on his feet. Before she could get on hers, he was scooping up the gun and shoving it into his right jacket pocket. “Akio, what’s going on?!"

  He didn’t answer. Once he’d secured the weapon, he turned on his heel. Yuki followed. When she emerged from the apartment he was at the window at the end of the hall, his fingers fumbling clumsily with the lock.

  The wooden floor shook beneath her. The sound of thudding footsteps and hushed voices were on the stairs.

  Fear found her as the pieces began to come together. She grabbed Akio by the shoulder, her fingernails biting into his jacket, “What’s happening?” Her voice was hollowed by panic. “Who’s after you?”

  Akio turned, gripping her by the shoulders. He was still shaking, his voice a hushed warble, “There’s no time. Okay? I did something, something bad, but it was for a good reason.” His eye moved past her to the landing—it was clear, but the sound of footsteps grew louder. “I have to go. They…” For a moment his panic subsided. He had the same far off look as before, as if his mind was working through a complex calculation. Yuki instantly knew that she was a variable in that calculation.

  “They won’t hold you,” he said, almost to himself. His fingers tightened on her shoulder and he repeated: “They won’t hold you. You don’t know anything. You don’t… Tell them. I need you to go, distract them, but tell them everything. Please.”

  Despite herself, Yuki began to nod, her mind trying, and failing, to make sense of everything. He kissed her with the same passion he’d had in bed. “Please,” he said, “go.” Before Yuki could even comply with the order, he was back at the window, wrenching it open.

  Yuki turned from him slowly. Not knowing who or what she was turning to. Not knowing why she was even doing it; why she was running towards the voices on the stairs. She reached the bannister and looked down. Men, several of them in white armor, rifles leveled ahead, swept the lobby.

  Someone was grunting beneath her. She looked down to find one of the officers dragging something away from the darkness. A scream formed. Her hands went to her mouth to silence it. The officer let what he was dragging fall.

  The dead, dark skinned man’s bald head cracked when it hit the floor. A stair step creaked and she turned to face the noise.

  A horrible red brow was the last thing she saw before her hands were wrenched behind her back and a canvass sack enveloped her head.

  CHAPTER 16

  The fire escape swayed and groaned beneath Akio’s weight. As the sky darkened the light drizzle of the afternoon gave way to the brewing tempest of the evening. The rain drops were heavy and fat and made it even more difficult for his damaged hand to get a grip on the slick, corroded railing. He’d closed the window behind him, but could still hear the commotion on the other side. Amongst the metallic clank of armor and the sway of weapons, Yuki screamed.

  His pace never slowed.

  He leapt past the last three steps of the fire escape, landing on the bottom cradle of the structure with a thud; the iron groan now a screech. An open panel was built into the latticework of the floor, the remains of a track bolted into the side of the wall feeding a long destroyed ladder through it.

  Akio felt as if he might hyperventilate. His grip tightened on the railing and he contemplated the drop, allowing the pain shooting through his damaged hand to keep him focused on the problem. He relinquished his grasp, and like a caged animal, frantically paced the length of the platform, trying to think.

  He became aware of the blood red strobe illuminating the alleyway and of the sound of voices around the corner. The window he’d escaped from banged open. The sound thundered in his ears like a gunshot and forced his decision. He launched himself ove
r the railing.

  The mass of garbage he landed on did little to cushion the blow, the impact driving his breath away. Choking, he attempted to stand, managing only to writhe ineffectually amongst polyethylene. The thud of his landing drew attention. The voices around the corner grew louder. Boots slapped against pavement.

  He stammered to his feet, his wounded hand clutching his chest. A painful wheeze escaped his lips with every step, becoming a ragged huff by the time he reached the end of the alleyway. He chanced a look back at his pursuers.

  The alley was clear.

  He drove on faster. His limp transformed into a sprint by the time he reached the mouth of the alley. Elation took hold as he turned left to round the corner.

  They'd sent a small team to capture him. Once he was out of sight, he could slip to the other side of the street. The mass of structures behind his building formed a desolate maze. He’d spent many long evenings shooting up and wandering, he knew the space like the back of his hand. It would be easy to lose them.

  No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a hand gripped his forearm like a vice, another clamping down on his chest. The air went out of him. The trauma spurred him into a thrashing fit. He struggled, his elbows bruising against armor. His boot connected with his captor’s, at the same time he wrenched his arm free. The effort threw him off balance and the world shifted as he fell backward.

  His elbows connected with pavement. He wheeled backwards; a crab struggling in the sand.

  A glowing brow pulled the sidearm mag-locked to his hip and leveled it at him. “Halt!” Even through the synthesized reproduction of the man’s voice, worry made itself clear. For one impossible second, Akio realized that whomever he was facing was just as afraid as he was.

  The thought frightened him even more. Before he could realize he was doing it, his damaged hand found its way into his jacket and wrapped around the weapon that laid there. The officer inside the shell repeated: “HALT!” Akio responded with a pained scream and an explosion from his pocket.