Liquid Death (The Edinön Trilogy Book 1)

by C, Mitzi

“So soon?”

  Kyle pauses. “Should we have stayed longer?”

  “Uh... no, um... No, it’s fine. Send Kandi straight to bed. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes or so.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” He ends the call and pockets his cell. “Doctor Hendricks wants you to go straight to bed when we get back, okay, Kandi?”

  I gaze out the window, praying one of these days I will see a UFO that can fly me out of here.

  Kyle pulls into the lengthy driveway and shuts off the coupe. He steps around the car and opens my door. I follow him inside the house. Ms. Hendricks wants me to go straight to bed, huh? Then straight to bed I will go.

  And not because I’m obedient. I’m simply dead tired.

  As I begin my ascent up the white staircase, Kyle asks, “Do you need anything before I leave? Water? An extra blanket?”

  Aw, how cute. He actually cares. I look approximately in his direction and shake my head. The whites of his eyes nearly explode. I turn back around and press upward to my room, where I may sleep perchance to dream... until the school counselor/Director of Blue Skys injects me with more Theratocin, which will knock me so deep into sleep I will not dream at all.

  ***

  Since Saturday night, something has changed in Kyle. He won’t stop looking at me, and his cheekbones are ruddier than usual.

  During study hall, he jabbers continuously about his life instead of tinkering on his phone. He smells stronger as well, like he sprayed extra cologne this morning. I attempt to draw a picture, but end up scribbling meaninglessly, distracted by Kyle’s altered behavior. My focus bounces between Henry playing alone with toy trucks on the floor and Kyle’s garrulousness.

  “I never asked for this position. I mean, look at me, Kandi, I can’t even…”

  The phrase “look at me, Kandi” elicits a knee-jerk response. I look at him.

  For the first time, our eyes meet, and the meager contents of my stomach perform a fast clogging routine. What is going on?

  Kyle’s eyes glaze over, and his face inches closer to mine. Before I can process what he’s doing, his hot, wet lips connect with my own, and the dance in my stomach halts mid-tap.

  I leave my body, and I do not return until Kyle disconnects his mouth to catch his breath. His eyes are no longer glazed, but widened with terror.

  “Kandi!” he pants in surprise, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “I am so sorry! I don’t know what happened!”

  Too late. He’s done it. Just like every other aide before him. My mind spreads its wings and soars to Dreamland while my body endures unquenchable hellfire. I keel off the chair and vomit blood, horrifying Henry – and Kyle even more so. Blood leaks like tears from my eyes. I heave again and again onto the floor while more blood pours from my ears and palms, and heave even after there is nothing left. Over the discord in my head I hear Kyle dial a number and spout panicked orders into his phone.

  “I need an ambulance… lots of blood… I don’t know what’s wrong… soon as you can…”

  I scrawl ‘Juan’ in blood on the floor. He calls Ms. Hendricks, and I lose consciousness.

  ***

  Jan. 10, 2017

  I detect disinfectant before cracking my sore eyelids apart. My memory is fuzzy, but I know I am in the hospital, bound by a myriad of wires and tubes and surrounded by beeping machinery and muffled voices. This setting is far from unfamiliar to me.

  “You never should have called for an ambulance, Kyle,” Leyla Hendricks admonishes in a hushed tone near my bed. “You could have exposed us.”

  “I apologize, Doctor L. I didn’t know what I was thinking. I lost control for a moment. It will never happen again.”

  “You’re right, it won’t,” she snaps. “You should be undergoing treatment as well. You shouldn’t be anywhere near Kandi until you have recovered.” She sighs. “Kandi isn’t supposed to exist, Kyle. You must understand what is at stake, here.”

  “I understand, Doctor. I never meant for this to happen.”

  “Stop looking at her. You’re only prolonging your condition.”

  “Right.” Kyle straightens. “Sorry.”

  “Now go… check yourself into Blue Skys and have Doctor R report to me when the addiction wears off.”

  “Yes, Doctor L.”

  A doctor employed at the hospital enters the room soon after Kyle leaves. He is in his mid-forties, balding, and portly.

  “You’re Miss Levinson’s guardian?”

  Ms. Hendricks nods and shakes his hand. “Yes, temporarily. Her previous guardian abandoned her recently, and I am providing for her until we can find a more permanent residency.”

  The doctor cringes slightly. “Yes, well, I have scanned Kandi from head to toe and can’t find anything wrong with her. But, due to the circumstances that brought her here, I would like to keep her another night for observation to be sure.”

  “No, I need to take her home. If you can find nothing wrong with her, there is no reason for her to remain another second. Thank you, doctor.”

  The note I found in my hand upon regaining consciousness reads:

  I’ll get you out.

  – Juan

  I stare longingly out the window of Ms. Hendricks’ sedan. I recall memories of riding with my mother and my younger sister, wishing I could join them in heaven, or wherever they are. I should have joined them a long time ago, considering how many times I have attempted suicide in the past.

  We drive into the city, where the buildings grow taller and closer together, and humans living separate lives meander to and fro, oblivious to my existence. If it were not for my own eternal suffering, I would feel sorry for them.

  I am so tired.

  “I’m sorry it had to be this way, Kandi,” Ms. Hendricks says. “Sunny Days is beneath you. Not everything is within my control. I hope you know that.”

  I gaze at my reflection in the window, tears streaming down both sides of my face.

  “I am doing this to keep you safe.”

  Yes. My father killed my family to keep me safe as well. Ironically, I am the last being on Earth who requires such an effort. Thanks, anyway.

  Traci balled her tiny fists and pounded the dining room table in frustration. “This math is hard!” she declared.

  I stepped behind her and ruffled her pigtails. “Six times three is eighteen, Trace.”

  She grumbled incoherently and erased her work. I moved into the kitchen to chat with Mom, who was busy baking a cake for my twelfth birthday.

  “Are you okay, Mom? You seem sad,” I stated worriedly.

  “I’m fine, honey.” She smiled, but the gesture didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “Where is Dad?”

  She sighed and stepped toward the sink to wet a rag. “He… may not come to your party. I’m sorry.”

  “No, that’s all right.” I was actually relieved. My parents couldn’t fight if they were apart. “Can I help you with the frosting?”

  “Kanidie, I can’t let you frost your own cake. Why don’t you go help Traci finish her homework? Then you can go play in the basement while I get everything ready.” She stuck out the tip of her tongue as she set the time on the oven and wiped flour and sugar from the countertop.

  I left her to help Traci, only she was already finished and had tucked her homework away in her folder. She peered up at me with big brown eyes and grinned, revealing deep dimples on either cheek. “Want to play downstairs?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

  I partly smiled and tucked my thumbs into my pockets. “Sure. Let’s go.”

  I realized something was wrong when Traci blanched and stared at someone behind me. A knife suddenly dug against my throat, and I gasped in fright. “Dad!”

  “Don’t move, Kandi,” he commanded in a soft, deep voice.

  “Please, no,” I pleaded, eyes blurred by tears.

  Traci shrieked, “Kandi!” Mom rushed into the dining room at the sound and screamed when she saw my father holding a knife under my chin.


  “Don’t move, Talia!” Dad warned.

  “Jeremy, why?” Mom demanded, tears filling her coffee-brown eyes.

  I reached up to intercept the knife, but his grip was solid. He pressed the blade further, drawing blood.

  “Jeremy!” Mom screamed. “Let her go!”

  “I can’t.” He sounded defeated, like he truly had no other choice. He lifted the long knife and impaled my chest with a loud crack. I collapsed like a sack of flour.

  “Kandi!” Traci and Mom shouted simultaneously. Mom held her own knife shakily toward my father, determined to end him where he stood, but unable to move.

  I watched from the floor, struggling to breathe as blood flooded my throat and seeped past my lips. He took Mom first, clasping her wrists and forcing her to drop her last defense. “I’m sorry, Talia. You know too much.” Traci wailed as it clattered on the tile, followed by a trail of crimson gushing from Mom’s severed neck.

  I raised a bloody hand to summon the knife from the floor, but was unable to keep it up for more than a second. I croaked, “Run, Trace,” before her wails were promptly silenced.

  My father grunted, dropping Traci’s body next to Mom. “It is almost time to go home.”

  ***

  CHAPTER 8 – Juan

  The Sacrifice

  Jan. 9, 2017

  Gran sets a plate of roast beef under my nose. Normally this would stimulate my salivary glands, but I have no appetite. It smells wonderful and unenticing at the same time.

  I don’t know what to do with my life, and with Kandi… She must have reached out to me for a reason. Perhaps I should find her so we can run away together – from Doctor Hendricks, Blue Skys, Sunny Days, everything. We could hitchhike to San Diego and find my mom. She would have loved to raise a daughter. Mom could help us rebuild our lives and create new identities. We would be free. Maybe that’s what Kandi wants. Maybe that’s why she wanted me to see those files, so I would be aware of what we’re up against and devise a plan of escape.

  I don’t even notice the awkward silence at the dinner table until Grandpa clears his throat. “What’s on your mind, son?” he inquires, peering over his spectacles and frowning.

  I take a few gulps of water as I determine which question to ask first. “Why haven’t I heard from my mother?”

  Awkward silence. Exchanged glances. “Well, I don’t know,” Grandpa lies, swiping his upper lip with a cloth. “She’ll call soon, I know it.”

  “Have you been blocking her calls? Emails? Letters?” My tone transforms from nonchalant to accusatory.

  “Of course not!” Grandpa scoffs, chuckling nervously. “Why would we ever do such a thing? Hasn’t it occurred to you that we want to hear from our daughter as much as you want to hear from your mother?”

  I stab my fork into the table. They both jump in surprise. “Tell me the truth! Are you working for Blue Skys? Doctor Hendricks? Doctor Eddington?”

  Gran waves her hand over her face like she’s on the precipice of fainting. “What are you talking about, Juan?”

  “Why is there surveillance outside our house?”

  “Dear, haven’t you heard? Jeremy Levinson broke out of prison a couple of weeks ago. The police suspect you may be one of his next targets.” Gran is nearly hyperventilating. “I know we should have told you, but I didn’t want to frighten you. We’re just trying to keep you safe.”

  That name sounds familiar. “Who is Jeremy Levinson? Why would I be on his hit list?”

  “He was a business acquaintance of your father’s,” Gran replies.

  Now I know where I read that name. Kandi’s file. Levinson is Kandi’s surname. Jeremy Levinson is her father… Kandi’s father conducted business with my father. Huh. What a coincidence! I pull the fork out of the table and crumple it in my fist like paper. “I have some homework to finish.” I excuse myself and make a beeline for Grandpa’s office. Time to consult the Internet with my inquiries.

  Searching “Blue Skys” brings up all kinds of results. A majority of the articles make Blue Skys sound like the new “Area 51” of conspiracy and intrigue. To my consternation, many articles state that either Blue Skys doesn’t exist, or it is a cover for a secret government project. Nobody has any real details on the purpose of Blue Skys, the origin, or the date it was constructed. I find no photos of Blue Skys or its patients, only of Doctor Hendricks, who used to be a popular surgeon until one controversial case landed her unemployed approximately twenty years ago. No details of the case are disclosed on the Internet, as far as I can tell.

  I type my mother’s name into the search bar and find nothing but other women with the same name and news articles about my father and me. According to the world, I brutally killed my father, thereby bringing down his methamphetamine operation, and committed suicide in juvie a week later. The Internet celebrates me as a hero! Sweet!

  …But who staged my death? Why? This is my most troubling discovery yet.

  I search Kandi’s name, and no results spring forth. I search “Sunny Days High School,” and a warning flashes across my screen that a virus has infiltrated the computer.

  I quickly press ‘escape’ and shut it down, heart pounding. What the hell?

  The phone by Grandpa’s computer rings, ceasing my heart palpitations instantaneously. I grab it on the second ring. “Hello?”

  The voice of a man says, “Juan, listen to me.”

  “Who is this?”

  “That doesn’t matter. Kandi is in the hospital.”

  My trachea collapses. “What? Why?”

  “I don’t know. She wrote your name before she passed out. I…I think you should come see her. She’s returning to Blue Skys tomorrow.”

  I lean my head back against the chair and exhale roughly. “Not until I get your name.”

  Pregnant pause. “Kyle Smith. Do not tell anyone I called you.” And the line dies.

  I hang up the phone and rub my face in both hands.

  A moment later I dash into the kitchen and slam Grandpa’s keys beside his plate. “You’re taking me to the hospital,” I say. “Right now.”

  Grandpa doesn’t question me. He simply nods, drops his fork and knife, and snatches his keys. Before we depart, he tips his head to Gran. “Be back in a jiff, Marie.”

  On the way there, he asks, “So what is this about?”

  I can’t relax. “A friend from school.”

  “What friend?”

  My mouth is dry. I shrug.

  “What happened?” He seems sincerely concerned.

  I fail to swallow. “I don’t know.”

  “It will be all right, son.” He stops at a red light, and I almost force his foot off the brake, too nervous to stop.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and inhale deeply. I don’t want him to think I still suspect anything, so I choke out an apology. “Sorry about the fork… and the table.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Gran and I understand your frustration.”

  Funny. My dad would have gutted me if I ruined any of his lesser possessions. I look out the window as we enter the city. “Do you think I’m a freak?”

  “No. But you certainly aren’t normal. To be honest, I don’t know what to make of you.” He breathes. “Regardless, you are my grandson, and I am proud of whom you’ve become.”

  I don’t know how to respond to compliments, so I say nothing the rest of the drive.

  Two officers, one African-American man and one Caucasian woman, are guarding Kandi’s door when we arrive.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the man tells my grandfather. “No visitors are allowed in this room.”

  Grandpa looks at me and bobs his head. “Do you want to reconsider that, officers?” I inquire, ready to leap into action.

  “We have our orders,” the man remarks stoically.

  Very well. I latch onto their collars and smash them against the wall. Plaster dust from the ceiling rains on their heads. “Now do you wish to reconsider?”

  “Five minutes with the girl,” the wom
an gasps. “Then we’re calling backup.”

  I relinquish their uniforms and thank them, then tell Grandpa to wait for me before I sneak inside.

  The room is softly illuminated by a lamp above her head. She lies on her back, tightly tucked beneath a few layers of blanket, her arms at her sides, her platinum tresses sprawled across the pillow. I approach her slowly and think twice before clasping her hand.

  “Kandi, it’s me,” I murmur, memorizing the shape of her lips and nose and the length of her lashes. Her creamy skin appears to be glowing. Though I knew her face was flawless when I initially laid eyes on her, this is my first opportunity to truly appreciate the sheer perfection of her features. She is the golden section: a perfectly petite, round nose; symmetrical nostrils; sensual pink lips; long, thick eyelashes; smooth, unblemished skin... Her face would make the perfect painting.

  I don’t want to wake her, so I hastily scribble a note on the pad next to her bed and tuck it into her hand.

  That’s when she opens her eyes. Her heart monitor detects rapid beating. “The time is nigh,” she whispers.

  Holy. “What?”

  Her eyelids hover. “Home.”

  “It’s me. Juan.” I kneel beside her and clasp her hand. “Where is ‘home?’”

  She squeezes my hand and smiles as a tear streams down her temple. “Run, Trace.” Her head lolls to the side, her heart decelerates, and she’s gone.

  ***

  The following day, I don’t spot any familiar faces. Eliza is absent. The counselor is absent. Kandi is absent.

  Through the halls I feel like I’m dream-walking. In Blue Skys I used to hallucinate the strangest scenarios. I saw Destiny cheering for me while a nurse brushed my teeth one morning. I thought I saw my dad smiling at me while I was prepping for experimental surgery once (and I had never seen him smile before in my life).

  This feels like a hallucination. Sunny Days can’t be real. Who would name a school ‘Sunny Days’ anyway?

  By lunch I have convinced myself that I will wake up any second and realize this was all a dream. No one like Kandi can exist. I have never met my grandparents. My death was not staged before my admittance.