by Nathan Wall
“Yes, my dear.” He held her hand inside of his and kissed it. “Everything couldn't be more perfect.”
* * *
Jarrod entered the procedure room. Immediately, his eyes shot up to the large window overhead. He winked, knowing others would be sitting in the observation room watching him. His focus shifted to his immediate surroundings. Jackson, in all his decked-out purple armor glory, stood nearby at full attention.
“Not a fan of the spectator seats?” Jarrod smirked. He followed Shah's instruction and laid down on one of the tables. Shah moved around him, tightly securing the straps. Jarrod chuckled. “Is all this necessary?”
“Yes,” Jackson replied, still not moving from his pose.
Jarrod tilted his head back, rolling his eyes to the left in an angle, attempting to see Jackson. Shah put his hands on Jarrod's cheeks and pointed his head back in a straight direction.
“I'll need you focused squarely on the ceiling, please,” Shah said, securing Jarrod's head to the table.
“I feel like Frankenstein's monster,” he joked, eagerly waiting for those around him to laugh as well, but they didn't. He let out a low grunt and wrinkled his nose. “Hey, Iceman. You, in the corner. I have an itch on my nose. You mind scratching it for me?”
“You'll live,” Jackson groaned.
“C'mon dude, give a guy a break.”
Jackson looked over to Shah—who nodded—and walked over to rub Jarrod’s nose.
“Oh yeah, that's the spot.” Jarrod sighed contently. Jackson quickly snatched his hand back and walked over to the corner. Jarrod laughed. “Thanks for the scratch.”
“He's prepped,” Shah said, pressing the button on the intercom. His foot tapped nervously on the floor, awaiting a response. It finally came.
“Administer the dose, Dr. Shah.” Elliot's voice sounded like it was coming through a drive-thru speaker.
Shah nodded. Another scientist walked over to the dividing wall and opened a chamber that connected the two rooms. Inside was a vial placed on a plastic-like gun. The scientist walked over to Jarrod, hand trembling, and slowly put the tip to Jarrod's neck.
“I'm sorry, but this guy's Parkinson’s is freaking me out...”
“Shah. You administer it.” Elliot's voice came through the speaker again.
Shah slunk forward in his chair and looked at Jackson who nodded. Shah stood, and much to the other scientist’s delight, took the dose in his hand. He put it to Jarrod's neck and inserted the needle. The serum taken from the catalyst shot into Jarrod's blood. The markers, which were placed earlier, attracted the catalyst and the two bonded. A sharp pain ran up Jarrod's spine. His teeth clenched together. His muscles constricted as he grunted and then laughed.
“Oh, that wasn't so bad,” he chuckled, his eyes going around the room. He looked over at Shah, smiling. “Seriously, that kind of tickled. That it? Can I get up now?”
“I-I don't get it.” Shah shook his head, stepping back.
Jackson leaned forward, the armor on his face retracting as he too looked bewildered. He stepped closer, staring into Jarrod's eyes. Jarrod smiled and winked back. Jackson looked up to the observation room, shrugging his shoulders.
“Let him go.” Elliot's voice called out again.
Jackson nodded. As he unfastened the head strap, Jarrod grimaced. The veins in his head throbbed. When his eyes opened, a blue light shot out of them. He screamed and the armored glass overhead shattered, exploding over everyone in the procedure room.
The sound knocked everyone out, except for Jackson, who was shielded from the noise by his armor. The aurascales slid over his face. Jarrod broke free from the restraints. He lunged forward and held Jackson to the ground.
The aurascales moved from Jackson's body and onto Jarrod's. A cold spike shot through Jackson's back. His heart rate slowed, the color fled from his skin, and a white light beckoned him to follow. Suddenly, Jarrod fell to the floor, unconscious. The aurascales returned to Jackson. The two lay there, unable to move.
Lian sat up, rubbing her head. Taking note of everyone’s unconscious forms, she crept over to the window and looked down. Jarrod and Jackson slept calmly on the floor. Her feet swung over the edge and she dropped to the level below.
She rolled Jarrod onto his side and pressed her fingers to his temple. His eyes moved rapidly. Attempting to see his dreams, she peered into his mind, but was unsuccessful. She slapped the ground, the frustration burning inside her. She tried once again. This time, it worked.
In his vision, she watched from an invisible third person perspective as Jarrod knelt before another man. The man—dressed in transparent and white aurascales—and Jarrod spoke to each other, but the language was jumbled, sounding like a delicate song. A metallic cocoon formed around Jarrod's body, while the other man disappeared. The ground opened up and swallowed the cocoon whole.
The sky split apart, forming a sea of red, yellows, and oranges. Everywhere she turned, millions of phantom voices called out to her, pleading for second chances, explanations, and mercy. Transparent figures wandered toward her, their eyes hollow and their hands stretched out. She stumbled backwards and into someone’s arms. When she looked up, Jarrod stood adorned with spiked metal wings, holding her. He spoke.
“You see what I am cursed with...”
Lian shot forward, waking, and sat up in her bed. She looked around the room, noticing Jarrod seated at her bedside.
“You look the same,” she said under her breath, rubbing her forehead. His features hadn’t changed like all the others’ did.
“You're awake.” He smiled, walking over to her. “You must have fallen and hit your head when the window shattered. Elliot said it was a tremor.”
“A tremor?” She shrugged, not able to keep from staring at his face. “What, no, it wasn't that. Don't you remember?”
“The last thing I remember was Shah injecting me.” Jarrod looked at his hands and then at her. “They said I was the best ever. I think I also freaked them out a bit.”
“What? How?”
“Watch this.” Jarrod crossed his arms at the wrists, putting his fists to his shoulders. He closed his eyes and flung his arms out wide. A white light shot over him, blinding Lian. When her vision returned, Jarrod was dressed in aurascales like Jackson's, except this armor wasn't purple and silver. It was blue and black, constantly shining as if the sun glistened on it at all times. Jarrod laughed, his eyes glowing from behind the ghoulish, skeletal face. “They've never seen these colors before.”
* * *
Seventeen Years Ago
A classical record spun in the background. The mundane drawl of wave-like sounds emanating from the speakers hovered below standard talking volume. Sanderson dimmed the lights of the tiny basement room to the point where both his and the boy’s skin resonated in a dark orange hue. He made his way over to the record player and moved the needle to the middle of the spinning disc. Quietly, the music of a string quartet danced out of the speakers and drowned out the humming from the space heater in the opposite corner of the room. He sat down in his leather chair, nodding as the boy sank back into the fuzzy multi-colored couch that smelled of cigar smoke.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked. The boy—his would-be son—nodded in reply, folding his hands into his lap and twiddling his thumbs. “Good. Would you like a cookie or something to snack on?”
Ryan nodded again and reached forward, taking a fruit-stuffed treat off the coffee table. He sat back and quickly gobbled up the treat.
Sanderson took out a pack of cassette tapes and drove his pen through the plastic wrap. He placed one cassette in the tape recorder which sat next to the fig cookies and pressed the record button.
“I'm going to tell a quick story, count to three, and then you're going to release control to me. Just like we've practiced.” Sanderson leaned onto the edge of his seat and ran his right hand through the boy’s thick, dark hair. Ryan leaned back onto a few pillows and plopped his feet on the couch. “There once was a bo
y who would walk into the light, not afraid of what he would find. There were voices and visions and hands that grabbed, but still he paid them no mind. Finding his home amid the past, he set out to make it right. He fought the voices and visions and things that grabbed all day and into the night. One, two, three.”
The boy gasped, arched his back, and the veins in his head bulged. With force, he exhaled, and his eyes closed tightly. His breathing sped up into sporadic bursts. Sanderson looked at the record player as the music morphed into strange sounds. The record spun slower. Each thud of the second hand on his watch rang out like a hammer against concrete until it stopped ticking.
“Where are you now?” Sanderson asked, lifting his eyes to Ryan whose skin was now shining like a car with a fresh coat of wax. The boy grimaced and shook his head, unwilling to answer. “Remember, you answer to me, not them. Where are you?”
“I'm...” the four-year-old’s tepid tone made the hairs on Sanderson's neck stand. “I'm everywhere and nowhere. It's all happening and I can't get away. I can see what's happening to them.”
“Can you tell me what you see?” Sanderson flicked the cap off the pen and scribbled some notes. He pressed further. “Can you tell me?”
“I see people riding horses while fire falls behind them. A man with red wings guides him.”
“This man with wings… what is his name? Is this the same one from before?”
“No... he—” the boy paused and a single teardrop rolled out from his right eye., “—he is nice.”
“What's his name?”
“I dunno.”
“You do know.” Sanderson became agitated and looked at his notepad. Down the middle of the page was a line dividing two groups of tallies. The first group was labeled aggressive. The second group was labeled kind. The tallies under the first heading numbered well over six hundred. The tallies under the second heading now numbered just one.
“I can’t talk to you.”
“Who says? The angry voices?”
The boy sat up and opened his eyes. They beamed with a pale blue light. Everything in the room floated in midair, including Sanderson, as the boy slowly lifted his right hand and pointed at the dark figures swirling around.
“They don't,” the boy said, but the voice wasn't his own. A dark figure opened its mouth and exposed its jagged teeth. It soared toward Sanderson, driving him into the wall.
When Sanderson awoke, the boy sat in Sarah’s arms. She held him firmly, rocking him back and forth as he slowly played with her hair. Disoriented, Sanderson pulled himself up. He grabbed the cassette, put it in his pocket, and stumbled over to the staircase.
“How long?” he asked.
“Two hours,” she said, looking at him, but only turning her eyes. She move Ryan to the side and covered him with a blanket while he slept. She walked over to her husband, stared at him blankly, and then proceeded up the stairs past him.
“Sarah, please...”
“No, William. Don't try and spell it out again.” They entered into their kitchen. Sanderson shut the door to the basement and locked the bolts. Sarah fell to tears at the sight. “When are you going to stop locking him away in there?”
“Probably never,” he said, his hands trembling as he turned the key. Sarah placed her fingers on his hand and steadied it. “I made a mistake with him—with the project. I have to get rid of the research.”
“When are you going to call him by his name?” She tried to move around and look in his eyes, but he avoided her gaze. “Look at me, damn it. Say his name. It's Ryan. Say it.”
“That name is not befitting of him… Not this abomination.” He pulled his arm from her grasp and walked over to the fridge, grabbing a soda. “I thought I could do it. But I can't. We're not suited for him.”
“And who is, Billy? Elliot and the Agency? You know what they'd do. They're always trying to force the issue. What if they find out what you were able to do?” She sat down at the small round table, resting her head on her arms. “You can't do that to him.”
“He's not our son, if that's what you mean.” Sanderson's jaw got tight as he shook his head. “The visions are getting stronger and the powers greater. We can't control them and eventually people will find out. This is for the best.”
“He's my son.” She turned and her words shot through him. “My son. You may not want to claim him, but I still love him. I'm able to control him with my powers.”
“I regret that I made you a part of the project. You should have never been involved.” He walked over to her and rested his hands on top of hers. “I hate what he did to you. He can never really be yours. This isn't real...”
“I carried him. That seems real enough.” She pulled away and stared out the window. “And he didn't do this to me. This curse, I hear you call it in your head. He didn't inflict me with it. You did. And you're the one allowing it to drive a wedge between us.”
“I told you to never read my mind...”
“Get over it.” She walked past him. “You lost the right to hold secrets from me when you lied to me about all of this. Had you been honest about me losing our child, I might have been able to move on. But Ryan is here now and I love him.”
“His name's not Ryan,” he yelled, grabbing her tightly and bending her backwards over the sink. He let her go, his hands shaking. “I've got to go.”
“Where? Where are you running to now?”
“Read my mind.” He grabbed his coat and keys, slamming the door as he ran out.
He called Elliot and left a message on the voicemail, instructing him to meet at the lab. Sanderson quickly arrived at the office and stormed in. When he entered, he found Elliot already waiting.
“You said it was urgent,” Elliot said, unfolding his arms and walking over to Sanderson. “Did you figure it out? You did... The missing link?”
“I need a drink.” Sanderson rubbed his head, the sweat causing it to shine. Elliot nodded and motioned for Sanderson to follow. They walked into Elliot's office. Sanderson took a glass of scotch from Elliot and quickly downed it. “I needed that.”
“Forgive me for being rudely persistent, but you said you had something important to tell me?”
“I do.” Sanderson nodded. He opened his mouth, about to tell him of the boy he'd been masquerading as his son for the past four years, but something stopped him. His eyes fixated on a picture atop Elliot's desk with the both of them and their spouses at a dinner function. He grabbed the picture and his fingers caressed over Sarah's face. He looked at Elliot. “We have to stop trying to create a live copy. It'll never work. We're wasting time.”
“That's a load of crap.” Elliot wiped his mouth, shaking his head. He walked around the back of his desk and slammed his chair on the ground. “I don't accept that. You've been holding out on me for a long time. Tell me the truth. I want to know, now. Why are you saying this when for years you've been dangling the carrot in front of the donkey's mouth?”
“I was wayward. I am sorry.” Sanderson stood, placing the glass on the desk just to watch Elliot swipe it off and shatter on the wall. He started walking out of the office when Elliot stopped him.
“I won't rest, you know.” Elliot laughed in frustration, rubbing his head as he lifted his chair up to sit in it. “I'll find out what you did with Subject 21 all those years ago. Hours of video feed just... poof... gone.”
“You're right.” Sanderson nodded, turning around. Reserved to give him something, he told him of another theory he'd been working on. “Not only does the source have the ability to unlock and enhance powers in people, but I think we can find individuals with a similar makeup to the pure source and imprint one set of DNA sequences onto a host.”
“Interesting, but your news is just the latest in an onslaught of news I've received today.” Elliot grabbed the scotch and drank straight from the decanter. “We're being bought out. The government is sinking its teeth into us.”
“What? Why?”
“Mainly to keep us out of prison, that
's why.” Elliot took a big gulp. “But they want our research. It also seems they came across another pure source. A cocoon, like ours. Don't worry, they don't know about ours. I intend on keeping it that way. However, they do expect us to work out theories for them... or else. We're moving to Washington.”
“I've gotta go home...”
“Of course, and tell Sarah. Tell her I said hello and that son of yours.”
Sanderson drove home thinking of the past few years and how he'd slowly let his inability to trust Sarah and her growing abilities poison his life. Every time he looked at the boy Sarah called her son, seeing the sparkle in his eyes, he couldn't help but feel he didn't really have any hand in his creation. But that was his own fault and he was determined to change. He meant it this time. If she said she could control him and put a wall up to the voices and entities which clamored to exit through him, then that's what they would do. Even though he feared that putting up a wall would be like building a dam to hold out the rising tide, he knew Sarah would be strong enough to keep the dam plugged.
He pulled into their neighborhood, thinking of how he would apologize. There was nothing he wanted more than to have a family with her and see her happy. As he pulled onto their street, the flashing lights in the distance sank his heart. At first, he denied that anything was wrong and insisted they were at a neighbor’s house. When he got closer to his home, it became increasingly clear that the people who watched the sky glow with an orange shine were actually looking on as everything he held dear in life was taken from him.
The people parted as his car approached. He stepped out and fell to his knees, watching his home evaporate in flames. The firemen were reserved to containing the damage and watered down neighboring houses, hoping the flames wouldn't spread. He fell to his face, unable to contain the cries. Those who knew him tried to lift him to his feet and console him. His grief soon gave way to anger as he tore his way through the people, thinking of the hell he brought upon his wife.
“It won't happen again,” he muttered.