“What about the lady?” Gordon asked.
“She never knew.”
Aside from the feed, Cole had not touched her; nor had Johnny. Cole did not know what Johnny whispered to her or how much he paid her when she walked away.
Cole hadn’t looked at Gordon at all while he talked; it took some work to dredge up this memory from under the layer of years, and even more work to separate the pertinent facts from all the feelings. But now, as Gordon said nothing, he turned to see that the boy’s head was down, his face in shadow.
Cole could have let it go, he knew. But prying his own memories loose seemed to have loosened something else in him as well; he could feel the unhappiness that radiated from the kid almost in the same way the scent of chlorine now rose from his own skin, his own pores.
“What was your first time like?” Cole asked.
Gordon shook his head.
“You said it didn’t go well,” Cole remarked—not pressing exactly. Just putting it out there in case Gordon wanted to pick it up.
And finally, after a few more moments of silence, he did. “It was nothing like yours,” Gordon said in a flat voice. “She was my girlfriend. I hurt her. I was like this animal, this sick animal.” He kept his face turned away from Cole. “Listen. I—I have to tell you something.”
Whatever it was, it seemed to stick in his throat.
“Go ahead,” Cole said. “It’s very difficult to surprise me, Gordon,” he added. He wasn’t trying to be encouraging. It was just a fact.
Gordon nodded, but it still took him a moment to find words. When he did, they all came out in a rush. “What I felt, that first time—I mean, I wasn’t thinking about killing exactly, just wanting…you know. Blood. I was crazy for it. I didn’t want to stop till I’d taken every drop she had. But that’s the same thing as wanting to kill, isn’t it?”
“It’s not the same thing at all,” Cole told him.
“No, no. You don’t get it.” Gordon raised his head to look directly at Cole. “I’m not like you. You’re always cool and controlled. But I—” He hesitated, then went on in a rush. “You didn’t see what I did to her. And I care about her! I—I love her, you know? But it didn’t make any difference. I got going, and nothing else mattered. I’m sick.” His voice was intense with self-hatred. “I’m a monster. I liked it, I liked doing that to her. And there’s too many things—feeding makes me want too many things,” he added, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t want to be this way anymore.”
“You aren’t a monster,” Cole said firmly. “What you did to Jill—we all start off that way. Like animals.”
“You didn’t start off like an animal.”
“I did. It’s like you said, I got going and nothing else mattered. I wanted to keep going until I’d taken it all. Exactly like you said.”
Gordon gave him a quizzical look.
“My first time was controlled, but only because Johnny was there all the way through. If I had been alone, I wouldn’t have stopped. I remember that clearly: It wasn’t enough. We all would have done the same thing you did. We’re all one step away from being animals. Every time I feed, I want to keep going till I take it all. Every single time. And every time Sandor feeds, he feels the same.” Cole leaned forward. “Gordon,” he said, “what happened to Jill was not your fault. It was not in your control. Do you understand?”
Gordon nodded. He did understand, Cole saw. And he wanted to believe it. Cole wasn’t sure the kid quite did believe it yet but hoped he was starting to.
“You had no idea what was happening to you,” Cole went on. “Now you are beginning to understand. And you don’t have to deal with it alone. Sandor and I are here, and our job is to keep you safe until you become familiar with your new limitations. Which, I might add, are the exact same limitations that the rest of us have.”
Gordon was meeting his eyes now. Not a darting omni glance but the steady, penetrating gaze of a heme.
“You’ve already experienced your breaking point,” Cole told him. “You know what it feels like. The object now—and for the rest of your life—is to never get to that point again. Never. To always stay in control.” He waited a moment, but Gordon remained silent. “Any other questions?” Cole asked, sincerely hoping there were not. He didn’t want to do any more explaining tonight.
“No. Just…thanks.”
“For what?”
“For…I dunno. When I talk to Sandor, he tries to make everything sound upbeat and better than it is, so, you know, what am I supposed to believe? But you tell how things really are. It makes everything feel more…solid.”
“Good,” Cole said. “That’s what I’m here for.” He rose from his seat. “Shall we go in?”
“Sure.”
They walked together back toward the hotel entrance. “Hey, listen,” Gordon said, as they approached the metal gate, “you guys should call me Gordo. That’s what my friends call me.”
To Cole it sounded like the label on a can of beans, but he didn’t say so. “Gordo,” he said, trying it out, and to his surprise it seemed to fit the kid.
“We’re friends, right?” Gordo asked him. The heme was gone again, and the boy seemed bashful and needy.
No, they were not friends. Friendship implied equality. Cole was here to teach, Gordo to learn, Cole to give, Gordo to take. But he couldn’t bring himself to deny it, to be so brutal as to throw the kid’s overture back in his face. He just gave Gordo a brief smile, then lifted the latch and held the gate open.
As Gordo walked through, he gave Cole a grateful glance. He’d taken the small gesture to mean yes.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GORDO fed on the first try the next evening. Cole could tell he was pleased with himself—as was Sandor.
But Cole felt that any success at this point was mostly due to luck, not to intelligently applied skill. Something about the kid’s attitude still hadn’t quite clicked yet.
For one thing, on every single feeding attempt, Gordo had gone after young females exclusively. And if he said anything at all about his feeds, it was in terms of appearance: figure, weight, face, hair. He seemed to see hunting as a type of sexual conquest rather than an issue of nourishment and safety.
For another, the boy did not ask any questions about feeding techniques. He’d asked about the Colony or where certain people came from—and more than once he asked about heading toward Missouri—but never about anything to do with the process of getting blood out of an omni’s body and into his own. He was brusque and impatient when Cole pressed him about any of the mechanical aspects of feeding.
To Cole, Gordo seemed to be tap dancing around the fact that he now got all his sustenance by latching onto other people’s veins and arteries.
On top of that, the kid’s packing techniques definitely left something to be desired.
Cole was the one who lifted the luggage out of the trunk when they stopped for the day at a motel just outside Philadelphia. As he picked up Gordo’s suitcase, he immediately noticed that it had a strong smell of something like soap or shampoo. Cole handed it over to Gordo with distaste, certain that sloppy packing had taken its toll. And sure enough, once they checked in they discovered that Gordo hadn’t put a cap on tight, or it had worked its way loose—in any case his clothes, which had been crammed in like so much tossed salad, were now coated with a slimy layer of Herbal Essences.
Sandor thought the mess was funny, and Gordo merely held up bits of clothing, saying “Ew” and “Gross.”
It wasn’t that Cole minded having to take time for laundry, because he didn’t. It wasn’t that the suitcase was ruined, because it wasn’t. It was just that he had the feeling he had missed something without meaning to. It might be a small thing, but he’d let the Ziploc situation slide one night too many, because—he had to admit it—bugging the kid about sealing his toiletries just seemed too much like nagging.
But that’s what this trip was for: to teach Gordo the finer points of life on the road. And Gordo had a lot t
o learn; they hadn’t even started on the more aggressive feeding methods, and of course Cole was holding off on the worst-case emergency procedures such as lock-bumping and picking pockets for keys or cash.
Gordo had a long way to go. Cole needed to pay attention and keep up with the details all the way through if he expected his teaching to have the proper outcome.
So he gave Gordo a quick reminder about proper packing, about double-checking the tightness of lids and his Ziploc seal. And early the next evening he found a Laundromat not far from the motel. It was in a tiny strip mall, with the Laundromat, a dentist’s office, an electronics fix-it shop, and a bar.
“This is fortunate,” Sandor said, as Cole fed dollar bills into the change machine. “We can go next door and feed while we’re waiting for the clothes.”
Cole wasn’t at all sure that a place called The Poop Deck would be teeming with omnis, even if it was a Friday night. “You can’t put that red shirt in with the rest of the load,” he informed Gordo. “It’ll turn all your whites pink.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. Didn’t you do any laundry at college?”
“No, I went home on weekends,” Gordo said with a pointed look. “My mom washed my clothes for me.”
Cole ignored the hint. “You should just get rid of that shirt. It’s going to be a pain.”
“I don’t care,” Gordo said, stubborn. “Jill gave it to me, and I’m keeping it.”
The last quarter rang into the tray, and Cole scooped up the handful. “Then don’t waste a whole load on it. Just wash it in the sink later,” he said, walking over to put quarters in the slots. “You forgot the detergent,” he said, as Gordo shut the lid on the filling washer.
“Okay, okay.” Gordo picked up the tiny box and turned it around in his hands, trying to figure out how to open it.
“Pull the—”
“I see.” Gordo sounded annoyed. But he ripped off the top and poured the soap into the machine.
“And now,” said Sandor as Gordo shut the lid again, “shall we away to The Poop Deck?” Sandor thought the name was funny and had worked it into conversation four times already.
So they left Gordo’s clothes agitating and started next door.
“Go put your shirt in the car,” Cole told Gordo, handing him the keys.
Later, Cole reflected that this statement was the defining moment of the evening. His fault: He should have known that the kid needed an escort for a two-second drop-off.
He and Sandor walked on into The Poop Deck. The reason for its name was immediately apparent; the dark-painted walls had a nautical theme, being hung with oars, life rings, and ships’ wheels. The clientele seemed to be mostly blue-collar types, meeting with friends after a hard week’s work.
Sandor went straight to the bar to order. Booths lined the edges of the room; all the tables were in the middle. Cole chose a booth at the back.
Sandor was still at the bar when Gordo slid in opposite Cole, who did not bother to look around. He was already scouting for feeds and had singled out a group of middle-aged ladies in blue jeans. He didn’t say this to Gordo though; he merely asked, “So, what do you think?” meaning that Gordo should look around for himself and suggest a possibility. He had been doing this for several nights, asking Gordo to consider the qualities that might make for a good feeding prospect, to verbalize them and weigh them against one another.
“What do I think about what?” Gordo asked. Then, as Cole gave him an exasperated glance, he added, with great pride, “I already fed.”
Cole focused on him. “You what?”
“I already fed,” Gordo repeated, triumphant. “Outside. Just now. Don’t worry, dude,” he said, seeing Cole brim over with disapproval, “I was totally smooth.”
“Outside? In the parking lot?”
“No, on the sidewalk. That chick over there—see, the one that just walked up to that table? She didn’t even know!” he added with glee, as Sandor came up with three tall glasses. “Hey, guess what, Sandor? I’m already finished for the evening. And I did it all by myself,” he added, with another glance at Cole. “Just grabbed a girl and went for it. And you two haven’t even—”
“You grabbed her,” Cole repeated. “On a city sidewalk, you just grabbed someone.”
“Nobody was around!”
Sandor eyed them both as he passed out the drinks. He sat down next to Gordo.
“Nobody?” Cole asked. “There were no cars passing? No one in a parked car? No one across the street? No one looking out a window?”
“I didn’t see anyone.”
“You are treating this too lightly!”
“I’m sure it’s fine, Cole,” Sandor said. “No harm done.”
“He is not ready to—to…” Over Sandor’s shoulder, at the front of the bar, Cole saw someone come in the door, and his voice died off.
It wasn’t an omni at all. It was a heme Cole had never seen before.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HE was pale, thin, rather small as he stood looking around the room. Blond hair, cut short…and black eyeliner—not good. Dressed too much like the Building omnis—that wasn’t good either: black jeans, black leather jacket over a black shirt.
As Cole looked him over, he saw that the index finger of the heme’s left hand was covered in shiny metal, the tip coming to a sharp point.
Good God.
A finger guard. Hinged at the joints, usually decorated with filigree or sculpted designs, it was worn solely by omnis who enjoyed playing at being “vampires.”
Something was very wrong with this picture.
Cole had not moved; he sat perfectly still, but Sandor knew something was up. He kept his eyes on Cole and did not move either. Gordo didn’t notice that anything was wrong; he stirred his straw around in his drink, still sulking at the rebuke.
Cole thought quickly. The heme had to be a stray—a heme who had been abandoned soon after creation. No sensible heme would use any tool so blatant as a decorative finger guard. No normal heme would dress in such a way.
He had no doubt that this heme had seen Gordo feeding outside and had followed him in. Strays were rare; it was terrible, terrible luck.
Cole’s mind was working like crazy. He must not allow Gordo to interact with any stray. Not now. Gordo hadn’t had a chance to develop a proper and secure view of his place in the world. Strays were not known for their tight grip on reality. Left to shift for themselves without guidance, they tended to build some pretty bizarre explanations for their own nature.
They also generally didn’t last long aboveground.
“Do not turn around,” Cole told Sandor quietly. “I think Gordo’s attracted a stray.”
Gordo looked up from his drink. “Don’t move,” Cole said.
Something in his voice or face must have showed his tension. Gordo didn’t ask why, but obeyed.
Sandor’s attention was sharp on Cole’s face. “You’re kidding, I hope.”
“This guy is dressed like Count Chocula.”
“Are you sure it’s not just one of those omni wannabes?”
Cole gave him a withering look. He’d met lots of wannabes. He’d have to be utterly stupid to mistake one for a real heme.
“All right, all right,” said Sandor. “I’m sorry; of course you’re right. But maybe he’s just from somewhere else, some other country?”
“Transylvania, maybe. Crap, he’s not doing anything; he’s just leaning against the wall by the door staring at us. He’s not even sure what we are.”
“What’s a stray?” Gordo asked.
“Shh. Not now.” They could just leave, Cole thought, walk out and perhaps the stray would never know for sure what they were. But what if he followed them? Cole did not want any stray to know where he and Sandor and Gordo were staying. Not until he knew what the heme’s mental state was.
Think, think. He had to keep Gordo safe—but he also had a responsibility to the rest of the Colony. He ought to at least find out
what kind of person this was. And, perhaps, who had created him?
Cole’s hand was on his drink, and he kept his head turned toward Sandor—but his eyes watched the stray closely. The fellow had a look of age; he was not as new as, say, Gordo.
Maybe he was a weird sort of accident; maybe someone hadn’t known that they’d killed. It was unlikely, but possible. The only alternative, as far as Cole could see, was that whoever created him had shirked their responsibility. Had just left him to make it or not on his own.
But who? No one in the Colony would do such a thing. It seemed even less likely than someone not knowing they had killed.
He decided. “I’m going to go over there and talk to him,” he told Sandor. “I don’t want him to approach us.” He turned to Gordo. “But if he does end up over here, do not mention the Building at all. Say nothing about the Colony. As far as this guy knows, we’re the only other hemes in the universe. Sandor will explain,” he added quickly, seeing Gordo opening his mouth to ask more questions. “Just follow directions for now. Please.”
He slid out of his booth and made his way toward the heme, who watched him approach. Cole could see the stray’s puzzlement. He still wasn’t sure whether Cole was a heme. He’d obviously seen Gordo feed, but he was still undecided!
And he was staring openly. He didn’t even know enough to be wary.
Damn, damn, damn.
The heme tensed as he approached.
“May I have a word with you?” Cole said quietly.
The heme stared at him. His eyes were round and blue—they would appear innocent, even childlike, to an omni, but Cole saw the depth of years in them, as well as that piercing quality unique to hemes. And there was something else, too, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
The stray inclined his head. “You may speak,” he said, as if granting permission.
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