The doubt lasts one, two, three breaths, then it’s gone. Gone, because I’ve always known something about Luke isn’t right, because the way he treats me sometimes is creepy, so unlike a sibling. Because the way he looked while talking to that woman revealed yet another side of him; one that fits him perfectly, more than any of his other favorite costumes. The jock and perfect son, even the womanizing bastard disguise don’t quite cut it. They strain, ready to rip at the seams, or are too loose, leaving him indefinite and shapeless.
He’s not what he pretends to be, nothing like it.
Nothing.
Fake.
Three dollar bill.
Bogus.
I point straight at his face. “I know about you.”
“W-what are you talking about?” he asks, but only halfheartedly. More than anything, he seems surprised I’ve finally decided to confront him.
“Tell me something, Luke. It’s the only thing I want to know, then you can leave, can get the hell out of my life, or I swear I’ll kill you.” I pause, then point in the general direction of my head. “Why, why can’t I sense you? Just answer me that.”
His perfect blue eyes tighten at the corners, his blond eyebrows press together. “What do you mean?” The question, at face value, still makes him sound clueless. His expression, however, is a different story. He knows precisely what I mean. Yet, alongside this understanding there’s also confusion; the discovery of some puzzling piece of data that doesn’t fit his scheme.
I shut my mouth, determined not to unwittingly give away something that may provide an advantage. I wait for his answer. He offers none. Instead, he takes a deep breath and paces in front of the kitchen table, staring at his titanium sports watch.
After pondering for a moment, he says, “Karen will be here any minute.”
“‘Karen’? What happened to ‘Mom’?” I ask, feeling as if the walls around me are cracking and will soon begin to crumble right over my head.
Luke shrugs. “I’m afraid the act isn’t necessary anymore. Besides, I really have the hardest time thinking of her as my mother, in spite of it all.”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“I guess it’s your turn to be confused,” he says with a perfect smile and a flick of his head that makes his blond hair sway to the side. “It’s all so puzzling, even for me. I’ve known all along that something was wrong with you. You can really sense others?” He sounds as if I just told him I can fly. “We just assumed you couldn’t, because I can’t.” He adds the last two words as if they should explain everything.
For a moment, my brain goes perfectly still, like the calm before a storm unleashes hell on Earth. Then a million questions sprout, mature, take shape. I gather everything I know, try to see patterns in hopes of puzzling the answers to some of my most demanding questions. But what I come up with looks more like an exam rather than the bullet point facts I want to find; an exam with a few true or false questions, a fair number of multiple choice entries, and a hell of a lot of essay-style doozies.
1. Luke is an Eklyptor True False
2. Luke is my brother True False
3. I’m supposed to sense Eklyptors
a) Always b) Never c) Sometimes d) The hell if I know
4. Explain what the heck is going on?
He takes a step closer. “We can make it all better, Marci. We can fix whatever is wrong.”
“And by we, you mean Hailstone?”
He nods once, looking very gracious, as if he’s referring to some altruistic society and not a group of freaks trying to exterminate humanity.
“Have you been with them since the beginning?” I ask, as a great hole opens inside of me, letting my newly formed concept of family fall through a depthless crack.
“If I had known you could sense it,” he says ignoring my question, “I would have never allowed them to …” He shakes his head. “I’m afraid it will upset you.”
“What? What will upset me?” I demand.
He sighs and is about to explain when we hear the front door open.
“Hello,” a voice calls out in a sing-song.
Mom is here? Luke sighs again and runs a hand through his hair, a weary expression on his face. The tap, tap of her heels sounds against the foyer’s floor. I’m trying to figure out how we’ll play this out when a low hum begins in the back of my head. I step back, imagining a hideous creature walking on clawed feet, getting ready to burst into the kitchen and attack me. I look over my shoulder toward the glass panel door that goes from the kitchen to our small backyard. If it’s locked, would I have time to unlock it and escape? I eye the Coke can on the table, my brain performing all kinds of calculations that could facilitate my escape. Except some part of me is stuck on Luke’s words and they play again, as I struggle to understand them.
If I had known you could sense it. I would have never allowed them to …
“Mom?” my lips move in an involuntary murmur.
My gaze drifts toward the threshold.
I peer over Luke’s shoulder. He moves out of the way to let me witness this next horror in its full glory: Mom, or the body that used to host her consciousness, walking into the kitchen, destroying what little was left of a life that’s almost never been worth living.
The only person I had left in the world is now one of them.
Chapter 17
My cheeks are wet. I thought my tears were spent for the rest of my life, but I was wrong.
“Is something the matter, kids?” Mom … it … asks.
Luke shakes his head. “There’s no need for pretense. She knows.”
“Oh,” she says.
My head hums, and I want to turn and find someone else to blame for it, but it’s coming from Mom. She looks the same, her blond hair long and smooth, her nails red-tipped and manicured to perfection. She has on a blue tailored suit, like the many she owns and wears to work. But it’s not her, no matter how identical. Mom has been pushed aside, imprisoned in her own mind, replaced by a parasite that, for some reason, signals its presence to its kind. Or has she? Is there any hope she could be a Symbiot?
“Mom?” I ask.
Luke cocks his head to the side. He’s probably wondering why I called her Mom when I can sense she’s been infected. He doesn’t know about Symbiots and that’s something I can’t give away.
I search Mom’s eyes, reaching, hoping to find that nothing has been stolen from her.
“Oh, Marcela,” she says. “You must be so confused, honey.”
I take a step back. “What have you done?” I ask Luke, breath drifting through my lips in a cloud of hatred.
This is not my mother.
Tears stand frozen at the corners of my eyes. This can’t be happening. It can’t. I have to go. I have to get out of here.
Back door.
Key in my pocket.
“Please don’t be upset,” Mom says, making a pacifying gesture with her hand. “Take a breath. Think. Don’t act on impulse and without all the facts.” She takes a step toward me.
“Yes, we can help, Marci.” Luke nods and gives me an understanding, sympathetic look.
“We can be a family, just the way you’ve wanted all this time. The way we’ve never been since your father died,” Mom adds.
How dare she mention Dad?! I should scratch her eyes out for thinking she can use Mom’s old memories against me.
“We’ll explain everything and it’ll all make sense. I promise.” Her words seem to drip with caramel. She never talked to me this way, not even when I was little. And this creature should know that, but it thinks I’m vulnerable.
But I’m not! I shake my head. “Stay away from me, you f-freaks.”
I snatch the key from my pocket, whirl and run up to the back door. I try the knob, but it doesn’t turn. My ears ring with panic. I fumble with the key, my breaths erratic and shallow. Darkness presses against my eyes, making the lock appear and disappear from view. The keychain slips from my fingers and hits the floor with a
metallic ding. I spin on my heels and press my back to the door. My heart booms in my ears as it knocks against my ribcage. I look at them the way a laboratory mouse might look at an approaching hand.
I blink and blink, so blinded by panic that it takes a moment to realize they’re simply standing there, looking at me as if I’ve gone insane.
“Please, Marcela,” Mom begs.
“We don’t want to hurt you,” Luke says in a quiet voice. “On the contrary, we want to help, take away the pain. You’ve lost your way, somehow. Please, let us fix it.” His tone is the type of tone that inspires trust and comfort. It’s tempting, so tempting, to be rid of the hurt, to feel, for once, that everything is right with the world, with me. To at least have my family back, to save it somehow. And why not trust him? Why not, when I feel this strange connection with him, some shared invisible bond?
He approaches, tentatively, his feet barely making any noise on the tile floor. Taking my hand, he locks his blue gaze with mine. I look up into his eyes and am overwhelmed by the need to believe him.
“Marci, I promise you won’t regret it. Give us a chance, give … me a chance”
The last few words are charged with a meaning that slithers around me and makes my skin crawl. He’s my brother. He can’t possibly mean I would give him that kind of chance. I stare at him with disgust and slowly push my confused panic away. Whatever he can offer, however tempting, I could never accept it. Even if he possessed the last lifeline to ever be cast my way, even if the most torturous of deaths was to become my fate, I would never go with him.
Xave died fighting this evil. To give into it would be to dishonor him, to make his life mean nothing—even for my family, even if there’s the slightest hope to get it back.
I look at Mom one last time, saying a silent farewell inside my head. Even if she was but half the mother a child deserves, I loved her and it hurts to think she’s gone forever. A part of me wants to mourn her, but I can’t allow it. I push away my sadness and shove it behind one of the many doors I’ve built through the years, doors I’ve always used for secrets and compartmentalized emotions. And it’s so surprisingly easy to do that it scares me, makes me think I’m irreparably broken, because no one should be able to stop grieving a dead parent so easily. Except I know this isn’t true. I’m not broken. Not irreparably, at least. I still mourn Dad and doubt I’ll ever be able to push my memories of him past any doors.
As all doors shut on my mother, my gaze returns to Luke’s. He’s watching me, expectant, waiting for the chance he has begged of me.
A satisfied smile stretches one corner of my mouth. He thinks it’s that easy to convince me. His eyes search my face, then focus on my lips. I shudder, repulsed by the hungry quality of his gaze. The smile freezes on my face, a rictus that must show how dead I feel inside.
Luke lifts his free hand and presses it to my cheek. “I knew you would—”
Unable to stand his touch one more instant, I grab his wrist and, in one swift motion, twist his arm behind his back and push him face first against the door. One of the glass panels cracks. He groans and tries to break free, but I move fast and elbow his kidney with everything I’ve got. With a howl, he arches his back and falls to his knees.
I turn and face the thing that once was my mother. She digs in her purse.
“Don’t even think about it,” I growl, snatch the bag from her hands and shove her away.
Rabid, she launches at me, teeth bare, blood-red fingernails ready to claw my eyes out. But this thing hasn’t anymore fighting ability than Mom did, so I just step out of the way and watch her stagger past. Unbalanced in those stylish, auburn stilettos, she falls on top of Luke.
I stare at them for a moment, watch them get untangled as they struggle to their feet. I swore an oath to make Luke pay. I just wish I knew what I could do to make him hurt to the fullest extent. I may not know what that is right now, but I’ll figure it out.
Snapping out of it, I look around. I have to get out of here, have to run away from my own house. Staying isn’t an option, not seeing how determined Luke is to “help” me.
Taking a few backward steps, I move away from them. As I pass by the dining table, I snatch Luke’s Coke can and, as an afterthought, the hoodie that hangs on the back of the chair. That and Mom’s purse should give James what he wants. I step backward into the hall and look both ways, trying to decide what to do. My bedroom lays to the right, the front door to the left.
“Marci, wait!” Luke calls in a pained voice. I look in his direction. He’s on all fours, still trying to get to his feet.
I should head for the front door as fast as I can, but all I have are the clothes on my back. To survive, I, at least, need money and—
“Marci!” Luke is now standing, one hand against his lower back and the other one on the table for support.
I curse and run toward my bedroom. I push the door open, rush inside—throwing a regretful look at the shoebox by the foyer—then click the lock behind me. I look all around, trying to remember where I left my backpack. After a desperate moment, I spot it lying by the side of the bed and fall to my knees next to it. I unzip it, make sure my laptop’s there, then stuff the Coke can, hoodie and small purse inside. Sliding toward my night table, I throw the top drawer open. A money envelope rests under Dad’s copy of Neruda’s book of poems. I snatch both and put them in the pack. After securing the zipper, I sling the bag over my shoulder and stand.
The doorknob rattles. I turn. A loud pounding makes me jump.
“Leave me the hell alone or I’ll crack your skull open,” I yell.
“Please, come peacefully, Marci. I promise everything will be all right.” A pause. “Tauro, I need some help here,” he says in a different tone. “Yes, Marci’s house. She’s not seeing reason.”
He’s on the phone with someone?
“Marci, c’mon!” He pounds on the door, clearly trying to bring it down.
Peacefully, huh?
Stepping on the bed, I jump to the other side, push the heavy, black curtains out of the way and slide the window open. Daylight pours into my ever-dark dungeon. I throw my leg over the sill just as the door flies open and Luke bursts into the room. He squints at the bright light, then rushes in my direction. Glad the house only has one level, I jump into the backyard and, without a backward glance run around the corner, thanking Clark for rescuing my Kawasaki and bringing it back.
I hop on the bike. The engine roars to life as I key the ignition. I ride away, this time allowing myself a passing glance toward Xave’s house. It looks nothing like the way I imagined it a few minutes ago. The trees cast too many shadows and the shabby front door suggests that only emptiness and sadness can be found behind those wooden panels. Funny how the same paint-chipped surface used to look so inviting.
I ride without a compass, just away from here. The urge to give up resurfaces. I don’t even have a home anymore, so why try? What point is there to living and fighting now that every aspect of my life is destroyed? I speed up and hold the image of Xave’s smile. He tells me he admires my strength as he holds me.
You’re strong.
You can take care of yourself.
I will the heaviness in my eyelids to go away.
The shadows don’t hold any power over me, not today, not ever again. I will hold Xave’s memory like a torch and its brightness will keep away the specters that hunt me. Nothing will ever eclipse the fact that he was and is a great part of my life.
For him, I will fight. For him, I will be strong.
Chapter 18
Four hours later, I plug in my laptop and collapse on the lime green beanbag that sits in one corner. I’m miles from home, in a bright internet café. In spite of their fluorescent harshness, I welcome the overhead lights, as well as the cheery, modern decor of greens and yellows.
Eating a croissant turkey sandwich accompanied by a kiwi smoothie, I wait for the battery to charge just enough to power my computer on. I haven’t used it in a while and
it’s completely drained. I watch the attendant as he makes an espresso for a college girl. Several tables are occupied by patrons who type away on their ultra-quiet keyboards and wear huge headphones.
My fingertips tingle, eager to get online and set my life on track. I need to find a place to stay. Somewhere I can rent temporarily, nothing fancy, just a place to crash and not freeze at night. For the nth time, I consider telling James what happened, but I don’t want him to take me in as some charity case. If he doesn’t think I can add value to IgNiTe, I will do this on my own, prove him wrong, and make him invite me back.
I finish my food and lick mayo off my fingers. I started eating without appetite, just because I knew I needed it, but I can already feel my energy levels increasing. I fire up the laptop and walk to the counter to order a cup of coffee while it boots to life.
After dumping several packets of sugar and cream into the steaming cup, I sit back on the beanbag and use a padded lap desk to rest the computer on my legs. I’ve never been to this internet café, but I have to admit they have a comfortable setup, good food and reasonable prices. And no Eklyptors, which is the main reason I chose it.
Determined to change my current situation, I crack my fingers and begin typing at the speed of light. First, I perform a few searches until I find a small motel that rents rooms on a weekly basis. It’s in a sketchy part of town, along the northern side of Aurora Avenue where many such motels exist in abundance to support the numerous prostitutes and their trade. But it’s the best I can do, considering my limited cash reserve. Three hundred and twenty dollars looks like a lot less when you find yourself on the street.
Feelings of panic and despair rear their heads every few minutes, but I push them down, shutting myself to all the recent memories that want to keep playing inside my head like cheap horror shows.
Instead, I immerse myself in a world of zeros and ones, the bits that somehow seem to float in front of my eyes every time I sit in front of a computer. The cyberworld presents itself like a series of switches and paths. The decisions are easy: ON or OFF. Everything makes sense. There are no emotions, just cold logic.
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