Sins of the Flesh

by Caridad Piñeiro

  Bright droplets of yellow-green phosphoresced into luminous life. Bending, he inspected them for a moment.

  Memories came speeding back of hot summer days and the twinkling of hundreds of lightning bugs in the woods behind his home. His cousin Ramon used to trap dozens of the flashing bugs in a rusty-topped Mason jar. When Ramon tired of watching the insects crawling around the inside of the jar, their asses shining light against the glass, he would spill out some of the insects and squish them against the sidewalk.

  The drops on the ground reminded him of those squashed bugs, their guts glistening in the night.

  He removed his glove and stuck his index finger into one small glob. The phosphorescent yellow-green liquid was warm and grew sticky on his finger as it slowly dried. Bringing his finger up to his nose, he inhaled.

  Shock filled him as he smelled blood.

  Human blood.

  He rose slowly, examining the area around him. Flashing the light more closely into the equipment to try and find what had left such blood behind.

  The shadows were devoid of life.

  With one eye on the ground and what he now realized was a trail of blood, he kept on the lookout for his buddy Franklin or any other unwelcome visitors and proceeded down the hall, constantly swinging the beam of light and the muzzle of his weapon along the hall, ready to fire.

  The trail of blood droplets brought him to a stairway leading to the areas beneath the trapdoor in the stage. On the jamb by the stairs a bigger splotch of lightning bug color gleamed as he shone his light on it.

  Had Franklin’s man hit something?

  Make that someone, he thought as he neared and realized the splotch looked like a partial human palm print.

  Too weird, Mick thought as he headed to the lower level. Much like the floor above, scattered bits of equipment lined the hall. Gun ready, he examined the floor for any telltale signs. A few steps from the stairs, the iridescent droplet trail stopped.

  Mick paused, his movements cautious as he considered what he might find at the end of the trail. The words from Caterina’s medical report flashed through his brain, suddenly becoming more urgent.

  Full expression of the gene.

  Could that be the weird-looking blood? He wondered as he slowly panned the flashlight along one wall, finding nothing.

  Seizures, he recalled a second after something fell behind him and landed with a faint thud.

  Rage. Rage. Rage, he warned himself as he swung the beam of the flashlight to the opposite wall and trained his gun on the space.

  An even bigger blotch of firefly green caught his eye. The bright radiant color stained a large area on a commonplace grey T-shirt. What wasn’t routine was how the shirt seemed to be suspended against the wall and above a pair of jeans.

  A jolt of adrenaline raced through him. What he was seeing was illogical. Something beyond belief was staring him in the face.

  Steadying the flashlight and gun on the glowing green, he took a step closer.

  Sneakers peeked from the legs of the jeans, which possessed too much shape and bulk to be empty.

  A body? Mick thought; except, as he trained the flashlight above the neckline of the shirt, he saw nothing but the duller grey-painted brick of the basement walls until…

  A pair of startlingly blue eyes popped open suddenly and glared back at him in the midst of all that dim, deceiving grey.

  Human eyes.

  Caterina Shaw’s eyes.

  Just the sight of them made him catch his breath, and he jumped back before reason returned.

  This wasn’t possible, he thought.

  With a hand that now had a bit of a waver, he targeted a spot smack between those amazingly human, but haunting, eyes.

  “Don’t move,” he said and kneeled beside one of the legs of the jeans. Laid his hand on the denim to confirm that what he was seeing was actually real.

  Beneath his fingers came the feel of a human body, but he was still having trouble believing his eyes when a hand of that indeterminate grey stained with yellow-green covered his.

  A woman’s hand beneath the inhuman skin.

  A warm soft hand that squeezed his gently as the thing that he believed to be Caterina Shaw finally spoke.

  “Help me.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Even in the murky light, Caterina perceived the battle of emotions on his face: confusion, disbelief, disgust. But she had to try to reach him.

  The blood on her palm and fingers had grown tacky as she moved them over the top of his hand and gently squeezed. A shudder shimmied across his body before he pulled his hand away.

  He wasn’t going to help her, but would he send her back?

  She surged to her feet, knowing now she needed to get away from him, but a wave of wooziness weakened her knees, forcing her to lean against the rough brick wall.

  “Easy,” he said, holding up his left hand the way a cop might while directing traffic as he kept his gun trained on her.

  “Can’t go back,” she warned, but then he urged calm with a slow dip of his hand and said, “I know you can’t go back.”

  Did he know? she wondered, battling for purchase against the wall as her knees wobbled. She dug the tips of her fingers into the soft brick wall and stabilized herself.

  His gun snapped up at her action and he muttered, “Holy shit.”

  He didn’t understand.

  How could he when she didn’t understand?

  She had to do something to make things right with him. She had to focus. As she had more than once before that night, she began her mantra, focus, focus, focus. She fixed her gaze on the barrel of his gun and experienced relief a moment later when he finally lowered it.

  “You’re Caterina Shaw,” he said.

  She raised her gaze to meet his. His earlier emotions lingered there, along with a new one: pity.

  Steely determination strengthened her knees. She didn’t want him feeling sorry for her. She had never wanted anyone’s pity, she remembered, along with another word, “Cat.”

  He took a step forward as he said, “Your friend Elizabeth calls you Cat.”

  An image flashed through her brain of bright blond hair, icy blue eyes, and a smile that came quickly and honestly.

  “I’m Cat,” she repeated, but gasped with fear as he took another step toward her.

  He recognized her distress and paused with his approach.

  “You’re hurt. I want to help you, Cat.”

  I’m hurt, she repeated in her brain and finally permitted herself to recognize the agony in her shoulder. A deep burn combined with a pulling pain whenever she moved. Wooziness when she tried to walk.

  “He shot me,” she said, dragging the words from untrustworthy memory.

  “Yes, you’ve been shot, Cat,” he said, the tones of his voice surprisingly kindhearted as he took another half-step toward her. “I will help you,” he added with a conviction that penetrated the last remnants of her fear.

  “Okay.”

  Though Mick heard the word come from Caterina’s lips, the only features that seemed arguably human were her intense blue eyes and her hesitant voice. It was as if she was a young child searching for the right words to say, unaware of who she was.

  What she was, he thought and heard her whisper, “Focus.”

  Focus? he wondered, but immediately realized what she was attempting to do and joined in.

  “That’s it, Cat. Focus,” he said, using her nickname to try and build trust.

  Her head dipped down in what he suspected to be a nod and then in gradual stages, all the remaining bits of indistinct grey faded and were replaced by the pale tones of human skin.

  He controlled his reaction to jump away at the unbelievable change, taking a moment to examine her. He had no doubt she was Caterina Shaw although she was paler and thinner than the photo he had been given. Her hair was the same deep ebony, but tangled, with bits of leaves and dirt caught in the thick curls. A purpling bruise marred one cheekbone, as if she had been
recently struck.

  Someone had hurt her, but that was not of his concern, he thought, remembering why he was here. He had an assignment to complete. He had to return her to Wardwell’s labs.

  But then she pulled her fingers out of the brick wall and held out her bloodstained hand to him once again. She repeated her earlier plea. “Help me.”

  Mick almost wished she had attacked him instead; gone into one of those rages warned about in her medical history. Violence, he could deal with. He considered himself a master in how to respond and protect himself and his men.

  Sympathy and compassion? Normally not within his skill set. Yet that’s exactly what was needed here.

  Fuck.

  CHAPTER 6

  Mick lifted up his gun hand and Caterina flinched as he did so, obviously assuming he intended to use force.

  “Easy, Cat. I’m just putting it away. See.” He held the Glock loosely before her and then tucked it into his waistband beside the gun he had taken from Franklin’s man.

  Slipping off his jacket, he took one more step toward her, closing the distance between them. She leaned precariously against the wall, the effects of her blood loss taking a toll.

  “I’m going to put my jacket over your shoulders to keep you warm. Do you understand?”

  A bobble-headed nod confirmed it and he moved quickly, helping her slip into his lightweight leather coat to both provide warmth and hide the weird luminescent blood from prying eyes. His car was only blocks away, but he doubted she had the strength to make it that far. Hopefully she could make it out onto the street where they could hail a cab.

  Aware that any sudden movement might frighten her, he once again explained his actions.

  “I’m going to put my arm around your waist. You can put yours around mine to help you walk out of here.”

  He didn’t wait for her assent, fearful that each passing second created the risk of discovery. Easing his arm around her waist, he sensed the fragility of her body beneath his hand.

  Shaw was way too thin, and it made him wonder just how Wells and Edwards had been treating her while she was in their care. She mimicked his actions, wrapping her arm around his waist, her grip surprisingly strong against him.

  Turning her away from the stairway leading up to where he had left Franklin’s man, he urged her down the hall, keeping his pace measured, since her every woozy step spoke of weakness. Her body trembled beneath his hand and he admired the effort she was making to keep up with him.

  At the next set of stairs, he paused, uncertain she could make it up even with his assistance and fearing how slow their progress had been so far.

  Meeting her gaze, he noticed that she was struggling to hold on to consciousness. He cupped her jaw with his hand and she jerked back even though his touch had been gentle.

  “I’m going to carry you up the stairs and to the exit. You need to stay awake because I’ll need your help once we’re on the street.”

  Another wobbly nod of her head confirmed her understanding, but he worried for a moment if he was reading too much into her actions. Even animals seemed to nod on occasion, prompting him to consider that there might not be much left of Caterina’s brain. He tamped down the odd sense of loss that thought brought and bent, eased his arm beneath her knees, and swung her up into his arms.

  Carrying her, he found his trip up the stairs and to the back door where he had entered was much faster. As he exited into the back alley, he peered into the darkness, but detected no other presence there. Lucky so far, he thought as he eased her upright once again.

  He took a step toward the mouth of the alley and she stumbled, but he urged her on. “Come on, Cat. I know you can do this.”

  She straightened beside him and tightened her hold on him.

  “I’m trying,” she said in a pained exhale as she took a step and he moved with her.

  Together they made it to the curb. Luck seemed to be with him, since an empty cab made the turn off Broad. He picked up his hand and the cab pulled up to them. The cabbie rolled down his window and said, “Lady had too much to drink?”

  Perfect, he thought.

  “Way too much. We need to go to South and 11th.”

  “Hop in,” the cabbie said and popped the locks on the car.

  Mick eased Caterina into the backseat and climbed in beside her. He had barely closed the door behind him when the cabbie peeled away and, with a few sharp turns, they were headed down South Street.

  Mick counted the blocks and the minutes, shooting an occasional look back to see if they were being followed.

  They weren’t.

  Caterina’s head sagged forward as her body collapsed against him, and his gaze collided with the cabbie’s in the rearview mirror.

  “She’d better not yak in my cab, mister,” he warned.

  “She won’t.” Mick tucked her head close in case she decided to go all camo on him again.

  Caterina murmured an indistinct protest and released a warm sigh that bathed his skin. A human breath with a slight chemical smell, warning that she might be in some stage of ketosis, possibly due to a lack of nourishment.

  Anger rose up in him once more as he considered the treatment she might have been receiving in the Wardwell labs. Had such treatment brought about enough rage for her to attack? he considered as he kept a firm but nonthreatening hold on her.

  It took only a few more minutes before the cab reached their destination and Mick played up the role of a solicitous date.

  “Come on, love. Time to head home,” he said as he handed the cabbie a twenty and slid to the door, pulling her along with him.

  He opened the door and, with all his strength, extracted her from the car. As her feet hit the ground, she roused. Her body tensed, clearly ready for flight mode until her gaze lifted to his. Then calm settled on her features, unsettling him.

  Mick hadn’t expected any kind of trust so quickly. He wasn’t quite sure he deserved it.

  With little wasted motion he had her buckled into his SUV. Once within the car, however, he took a moment to peel away the shoulder of his jacket to examine her wound.

  Still bleeding, but substantially less than before. The wound even appeared partially healed. At least enough that he could transport her without worry on that count, although now her condition troubled him for a number of other reasons.

  First, the “Is she human?” question.

  Second, there was no exit wound, which meant the bullet and any stray bits of cloth were still in her body. Both could cause more serious physical complications if they weren’t removed.

  A hospital was out of the question.

  So were his office/apartment and any of the regular contacts he used for medical emergencies which he wanted to keep private. With Caterina in her current state, there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t morph before a stranger. Plus, Franklin was too familiar with all of those places, and if his old friend was that intent on securing the bounty for bringing in Caterina, he would be sure to come after Mick there.

  Mick couldn’t risk either of those two scenarios, which left only one choice.

  With a last quick tug on Caterina’s seat belt to ensure she was secure, he retrieved his cell phone from his jacket pocket and hit speed-dial.

  His sister immediately picked up. “Hola, hermano. What can I do for my long-lost brother?”

  It had only been a month since his last attendance at a family gathering, but he knew that for Liliana, a month was thirty days too far removed from family.

  “I need a big favor, Lil,” he said and shot a look at Caterina as she slumped against the side passenger door.

  “You name it,” Liliana said easily. Family always came first with his little sister.

  “Meet me at the shore house. I’ll be there in about an hour and a half. Bring your medical bag.”

  A heavy sigh came across the line.

  “I should have known a call at this ungodly hour wasn’t because you missed me.”

  Damn. His sist
er had sure learned the guilt trip well from their mami.

  “You should know by now how much I love you, Lil, but if you don’t want to help—”

  “You’re mi hermano. Of course I’ll help.”

  A rare smile broke out across his face. “I knew I could count on you.”

  “Always, Miguelito,” she said, using his boyhood nickname as she usually did when she wanted to annoy him.

  Little sisters, he thought, his smile broadening as he turned his full attention back to the road and the drive home.

  Home, he thought, and contained the pang of longing.

  Home was not the place for a man like him. He didn’t deserve that kind of life. Not when he had been responsible for others never making it to their homes.

  Hands tightening on the wheel, he shot a quick look at his target. From what he had gathered in his investigations so far, Caterina had known little of a home life.

  Mother dead at an early age. A cold and distant father who had not approved of her.

  With the exception of Elizabeth, most of the people with whom he had spoken had been more acquaintances and business contacts than real friends.

  Could she count on them the way he relied on his family? Did they bring her the same sense of joy and belonging?

  He suspected not, and reminded himself of his one objective—return Caterina to Edwards. But as he shot a quick look at his target once again, the niggling voice inside his head warned him that he needed to do more, while the voice of the realist warned, “You can’t be everybody’s hero.”

  CHAPTER 7

  At that hour of the night, the trip across the Ben Franklin Bridge was quick. The roads through New Jersey and up to Bradley Beach were free of any kind of volume, but not completely deserted. Even in this part of the state there was always a fair amount of activity from cars and trucks, which tonight was both good and bad.

  Good because it gave him a way to get lost in case there was a tail.

  Bad because it would make any kind of tail harder to notice.

  Mick had been vigilant for the first twenty miles or so, always checking the rearview mirror for any telltale signs that he had been made. The roads had been clear of any suspicious vehicles and had remained so for the entire trip.