Liquid Death (The Edinön Trilogy Book 1)

by C, Mitzi

  I am also too weak to move.

  I wonder if Kandi and Eliza are still alive. I know Eliza would have escaped long ago had she not been under heavy medication. She could only remain invisible for a few seconds, just as Brock could rarely emit puffs of flame. However, now that the Theratocin supply is running low, I hope the Patients at Blue Skys are taking advantage of the opportunity to flee. I fear that it may already be too late to save Kandi.

  Right now, I am so miserable that the mere notion of moving hurts. I'm shivering and burning. I can't decide whether to bathe myself in ice or light myself on fire. I'm sweating so badly that, even lying down, sweat is rolling into my eyes and scorching them.

  What should I do now? Do I dare get up to find something that will abate the pain? I'm not sure. My head's pounding so hard that I can't think.

  Hours pass. The sun is setting. I can see the oranges and pinks in the sky through the tiny cracks in the cellar's exterior entrance.

  A thud on the other side of the cellar abruptly startles me. I shrink into myself on the couch and cease breathing, hoping whoever made the noise doesn't discover me here. Whoever lives here – I'm speculating an old man – would likely shoot the likes of me on the spot.

  “Okay, let's see...” mutters a young woman with a Southern drawl. She trips on something and cusses. “Stupid Ned. He needs to clean up this dump before I kill myself.”

  She is talking to herself. How funny.

  I hear the clattering of glass bottles. “Ah, here it is,” the girl brightly remarks. She is behind the couch, and it sounds like she's inching way too close for comfort. Her footsteps are light and delicate. I hear her shallowly breathing for a moment, and then she begins walking slowly around the couch...

  Nukes erupt in my head. Crap! What should I do?

  I close my eyes as my conscience commands.

  I feel a soft, round pair of buttocks press against my face gently before they suddenly fly into the air. The girl screams more profanity and steps back a few feet.

  I quickly open my eyes and sit up, but realize the moment I do this that I just made a terrific mistake. I'm going to vomit.

  “Who are you?” the girl squeals, clutching a bottle of wine in her hands as she looks at me with wide cerulean eyes.

  I cough and groan, unable to speak. My head falls back to the arm of the couch.

  “Oh, my gosh,” she gasps, cautiously walking toward me. “You don't look well.” She hesitates before placing the bottle of wine down on an old coffee table. “I'm... I'm going to fetch Ned. Stay right there,” she orders before zipping off into some fairytale land where someone named Ned might exist.

  I close my eyes and remember darkness.

  “Open his mouth.”

  I choke and sputter when a thick, bitter liquid seeps between my cracked lips.

  “Hold his chin. Make him swallow.”

  My throat feels stretched as small hands cup my chin and force the foreign substance down my esophagus. I gasp and struggle to inhale; warm basal tears leak from my eyes.

  “Fetch me the cloth, please. Thank you, Sam,” spoken by a gruff, elderly man. Strong fingers press the cloth around my mouth and eyes. My eyelids unwillingly split to reveal obscured faces, one of the man speaking, and one of the girl who raided the cellar. Information begins soaking into my mind – the girl’s name is Samantha. She is nineteen and temporarily living with her grandfather due to... unconventional and tragic familial circumstances. Her grandfather is dying of lung cancer, but he has agreed to house his grandchildren until they can sustain themselves. His name is... Ned.

  “Son, you need to sit up,” Ned says hoarsely, coughing briefly into his arm. I feel his hand on my back as he assists me in this task. Funny, I knew he was going to say that before the words left his mouth.

  “Do you need anything else, Ned?”

  I knew she was going to say that, too. “Just some water, dear. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem.”

  I think I am officially insane.

  While the girl is momentarily absent, Ned presses a wet cloth against my forehead. After a few more blinks, my vision clears slightly so I can make out more of his features. He is in his seventies, but he looks at least eighty years old. His cancer is progressing quickly. How the heck do I know any of this? Did I overhear them conversing in my sleep?

  Samantha returns with a clear glass of H2O, dressed in tiny shorts and a form-fitting spaghetti-strap top. Her strawberry blond hair is secured in small pigtails beneath each ear. Large loop earrings flutter upon the edge of her jawline.

  I am in a room illuminated by a fire crackling in the marble fireplace. The flame casts shadows upon the sturdy wooden walls. Am I in a cabin? I can’t recall how I ended up in this place.

  The girl passes the water to her grandfather, who then clinks the glass against my teeth. “Drink,” he orders.

  My mind is cluttered with voices that I cannot organize. I hear Sam and Ned speaking, even when their mouths aren’t moving. It is very disconcerting.

  “I don’t know if I can swallow,” I breathe, chest heaving with the mere effort of speaking.

  “Drink anyway.” He pours the water into my mouth, forcing me to either spit or swallow. Despite my warning, I mostly accomplish the latter. As Ned again wipes my mouth, I glance at Sam. She reminds me so much of Destiny, it frightens me. Ned looks at her as well, “Sam, why don’t you go to bed? He needs to rest.”

  She nods slowly and departs, her bare feet smacking against hardwood flooring the last thing I remember that night.

  The following morning, I am awoken by activity in the kitchen and the heady aroma of breakfast. Is that bacon? Oh, please...

  “Hello, stranger,” Sam drawls blithely as she heads into the room with a tray of heaven. “How long has it been since you’ve had a decent meal?”

  Ten. Thousand. Years. I lift my head and emit a groan when my brain fizzles out.

  “Here, let me get you another pillow.”

  When she returns, she helps me sit up and props my back with the second pillow she promised, which smells of her: vanilla and almonds. She then places the tray upon my lap and stabs a slice of pancake with her fork, bringing it up to my lips. I open them and moan with unforeseen pleasure. The pancakes are perfectly fluffy, soft, and buttery. I am going to die.

  I allow Sam to continue feeding me, simply because I enjoy her redolence and her affectionate aura. When the food is gone, she hands me a glass of milk, and I down it greedily. She giggles softly as she raises a napkin to my upper lip and dabs the leftover milk away. “Feel any better?”

  Sam may not have the prettiest face, by unfair comparison to Kandi’s, but her accent is adorable, and the whole package incredibly endearing. I nod gratefully. “Thank you,” I whisper, my throat still tender and sore. “This feels like a dream.”

  Her face brightens. “So, um...” she licks her lower lip. “What were you doing in my grandfather’s cellar?” She sets the tray aside.

  “Hiding.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Oh? From what?”

  “Everything,” I sigh. “I’m sorry I intruded. I was going to leave sooner, until I got sick, and I couldn’t move if my life depended on it.” I am already exhausted after being awake for five minutes.

  I can sense she is slightly suspicious, but also intrigued. “What’s your name?”

  I think for a moment. “Juan.”

  “And how long have you been staying here?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a month.”

  Sunshine from a distant window emphasizes her best facial features: the crystal blue of her eyes and the sleek curve of her chin, as she leans against the back of her rocking chair and crosses her arms. “Where are you from?”

  “San Diego.”

  Her expression and posture changes. “How did you end up here?”

  “I...” Think, genius. “I... um...” Brilliant!

  She has downgraded from suspicious to skeptical.

 
I throw up my hands. “Okay, truth is, I never had a home. My parents left me when I could barely walk, and I have been living on the streets ever since. I was raised by a homeless man named Brock.” I want to slap myself for the stupid story, but my mind is still groggy from illness and excessive consumption of carbohydrates, so I cut myself some slack.

  “Hm.” She chews her lip and visibly gulps. She sniffs and stands up. “Would you like me to show you to the bathroom? You’re filthy.”

  “Ah,” I hadn’t even noticed, “sure. Gracias.” I take her offered hand, and she lifts me up. I am too weak to laugh at the irony.

  The shower is a kind of bliss I hadn’t realized I had been missing. I almost don’t want to step out.

  When I am finished, I ruffle my hair with a towel in front of the foggy mirror, scarcely recognizing my reflection. My eyes appear crazed and glassy, and my hair has grown past my ears. I notice some crops of hair on my chest that had not been there before, and though I have been utterly inactive the past several months – heck, years! – I still appear supernaturally fit. If I could shoot webs, I’d be America’s first half-Latino Spiderman. Scars on my abdomen remind me of the stitches Doctor B sewed in the Torture Room. And I’m sporting more facial hair than I thought I could grow.

  I quickly shave and dress in the black t-shirt and jeans Sam’s brother is letting me borrow, then exit the bathroom.

  I explore the cabin for a few minutes. It has a master bedroom, master bath, two regular bedrooms, another bathroom, a living area (the room with the fireplace), an entertainment area (room with the television and computer), a cellar, and a kitchen with an island. The cabin has a rustic vibe to it, though it can’t be far from the city. Ned owns a small hardware store adjacent to the house, and he also owns a twelve-acre ranch complete with horses, cows, and sheep. I have never seen these animals up close before. They are bigger than I imagined as a kid.

  Ned mostly works in the hardware store while Ned’s grandson, Isaac, works both the ranch and the store. Samantha labors in the garden, where she plans to grow corn, peppers, squash, cucumbers, onions, and tomatoes over the summer. When she is not gardening, she is a waitress at a nearby café. Ned generously offered me a place to stay until I can get back on my feet, and I shall earn his trust by working on the ranch.

  Knowing virtually nothing about animals or plants, I spend the next few days learning all that I can from Isaac. I learn how to ride a horse, how to sheer sheep, how to shovel manure, and how to look great in a straw hat.

  Isaac is a friendly vaquero, and thankfully he isn’t inclined to chat like Brock was. He is a few years older than Sam and completely opposite in appearance. He has an African-American father, though they share the same mother. He is bald and beastly. I could see him employed in Blue Skys’ ridiculously brawny security. He makes his five foot seven sister look like a mouse.

  Each morning when I wake up on the sofa in the living room, I am stricken with terror at the thought of Kandi’s ongoing tribulation. Along with recurring nightmares of my father murdering my mother, I have nightmares of the various ways I could have rescued Kandi. In spite of my own subconscious doubts, however, I believe Patient 1 will recover from the withdrawals and regain sufficient dynamism. My only hope is that she will escape as I did. Why wouldn’t she? Perhaps I am placing too much faith in her. Perhaps I am overestimating her abilities.

  But how could I return to Blue Skys? I don’t even know where I am. I can’t infiltrate the building again. They have likely doubled their security by now. They could have patrolmen out there at this moment looking for me.

  I know I must revisit Blue Skys eventually. I simply do not know when.

  ***

  1 month later...

  Every day is hotter than the last. Years spent in Blue Skys’ gelid chambers have caused me to forget what the summer sun feels like. It is gradually coming back to me.

  Isaac reverses Ned’s pickup until the bed is close enough to the fence that I can throw the bales of hay over my back to the animals. I signal for him to stop before he squashes me. Rather than use a pitchfork like Isaac, I ingenuously heft the bales via one arm. The cows and sheep are the first to mosey toward us. Isaac steps out of the truck.

  “You mind watching the store for me today while I take Ned to the doc?” he asks in the same Southern drawl Sam speaks, but ten times deeper.

  I shield the sun from my eyes with my left hand and wave with the other. “No, you go ahead.” The store is never very busy, anyway. We receive on average ten to twenty customers per day.

  After feeding and watering the animals, I head to the store to carry out Isaac’s assignment. It is stuffy and unbearably toasty inside, with only a small fan at the desk to provide semi-relief. Bugs and dust like to collect on the shelves, so when hours are slow, I take the time to dust each shelf and sweep the entrance. This is one of those times.

  Fortunately, today is also one of Samantha’s days off. I am leaning over the desk with my face in the fan when she ambles into the store in an azure sundress and strappy sandals. Her hair is in two tiny braids entwined with matching ribbons. She is wearing a hat and carrying a spare.

  She sets a plate and glass in front of me. I feel pressure on my head. “You forgot your hat,” she says.

  I move away from the fan to face her and readjust the straw hat on my head. “Thank you.” I glance at the food she brought. Two peanut butter and honey sandwiches on homemade bread. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting this.”

  Sam simpers. “I already ate, so have at it. I’ve decided to keep you company today.”

  I am already halfway done with the first sandwich by the end of her second sentence. “This is great. Thanks,” I say with my mouth full. I swallow and ask, “I’ve been wondering for a while, and I hope you don’t take offense, but... Do you have any sort of... life outside of work or family?”

  “Well, truth is I haven’t been here much longer than you. We moved up from Georgia the beginnin’ of April. I haven’t made any friends so far, ‘cept you. Why do you ask?”

  She thinks we’re friends? Yeah, I guess I’m okay with that. I shrug. “It was just an observation.” Lately my mind has been so overcrowded with voices that my own thoughts have become muddled in the mess. The past few days, however, I have been getting the hang of sorting others’ voices from my own. I have also come to the realization that the voices I am hearing originate from the minds of those around me. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I was already a freak before. So I can hear people’s thoughts? Big deal!

  Speaking of thoughts, I wish I knew where Sam’s were headed. Her glossy lips curve into an impudent grin. “But, now that you mention it... going out with friends does sound kinda fun. And since you’re my only friend...”

  I smile, though my gut twists painfully at the thought of being alone with her in any sort of... romantic setting. “Sure, we could go to Ray’s, or that one place on Hackberry Street.”

  Sam taps her mouth in thought. “Maybe. I’ll have to think about it.” She watches me eat for a moment. “Just don’t tell Isaac, okay?”

  I chew slowly. “Tell him what?”

  “Don’t tell him we’re going out anywhere.”

  “Why not?”

  He will hurt you like he hurt the others. “Just don’t. Promise?”

  My gaze narrows suspiciously. “Okay... I promise.” Apparently Isaac has “hurt” other male acquaintances of Sam’s in the past. Odd. I have never heard nor seen any indication Isaac distrusts me. Why would Sam want to keep something as trivial as a casual night out a secret from her brother? Heck, he could come with us!

  Though I have a distinct feeling Sam would disapprove.

  Samantha and I sneak out of the house while Ned is asleep and Isaac is watching TV. She is almost attractive in a short black dress and heels, with her medium-length hair scrunched into tight curls and her lips and eyes enhanced with makeup. And, because I am a gentleman, I offer her my arm on our journey down the steps to the car, th
en open the driver’s door for her.

  I am dressed in a black dress shirt and jeans – the best Sam could find in her brother’s closet. I have never worn anything so formal before.

  Is this really a date? What have I gotten myself into? Sam’s thoughts are no comfort, either: I hope he doesn’t hate me. I hope I don’t wreck this crappy car on the way to Ray’s. Gosh, he probably hates me. He’s just being nice as always.

  To ease her emotional turmoil, I give her a genuine smile as I buckle my seatbelt. She glances at me nervously before turning the key in the ignition. I run a hand through my hair, nerves jumping as she kicks the ’85 Impala into gear.

  Despite Sam’s lack of aptitude behind the wheel, we arrive at Ray’s in one piece. I rush out of the car so I can open her door before she does.

  She smiles nervously as I help her out of the vehicle. “Thanks, Juan.”

  On our way inside the restaurant, I cast furtive glances around the parking lot to ensure we are not being watched or followed. My internal organs instantly recede to their original places when I see nothing unusual.

  Ray’s is a colorful little Mexican grill between a gas station and KFC. Since this is a Friday, the restaurant is especially swamped with customers. Sam and I stand in line for five minutes before a hostess escorts us to two seats near the restrooms.

  “Are you sure this is okay?” I inquire across the small table.

  Sam nods. “Yeah, this is fine. I love the food here.”

  “No, I mean... what will Isaac do to me if he finds out?”

  “Oh.” She licks her teeth and purses her lips. “Nothing good. We must be quick.”

  After ordering our food, Sam leans forward with her arms on the table, emphasizing her womanhood beneath the dipping neckline of her dress. Sweat beads on my hairline. The temperature in the room ratchets up twenty degrees. I focus intently on her glittering blue eyes, reminding myself that I am not interested in her.