by Ethan Cooper
This. I don’t remember this. I shut my eyes tight, and I know for certain that I’ve seen my back before and this wasn’t there. The lines are anything but random. It’s an intricate, intentional design, and somebody tattooed it on my back. This is new and scary. It’s not pretty. I don’t like it. I can’t stop staring at it. I can’t stop staring at the monster somebody drew on my back.
“What is it?” JACK asks again.
I grab her shoulders, leaning down to put our faces close. “Are you sure that was on my back the first time you saw me? Are you sure?”
JACK opens her mouth to answer, but I hear the door opening, and some reflexive part of me tries to turn around. JACK gives me a push that sends me stumbling into the alcove.
“Shouldn’t you knock first?” JACK demands.
“Sure, when I’m entering somebody else’s room.” Tam’s voice has a smile behind it.
It’s endearing how JACK’s protecting me, as if she’s the big sister, but the persistent reversal of our proper roles is not a good thing.
“Are those for her?” JACK asks.
“Of course. Are you okay, Syl?”
“She’s fine,” JACK says. Her hand appears, clutching clothes.
I take them from her, calling out, “I’m here.” The bra is black and fits well enough. The shirt is red, matches my pants, and I’m having trouble getting it on. It has tapered sleeves at my shoulders. The lower hem ends right above my bellybutton. I guess I can’t be picky right now. Maybe when I get back to my backpack, I’ll see if I can work up the stomach to put my skinsuit on. Maybe I’m ready for that, maybe I’m not. Gotta cover up that tattoo somehow.
I exit the sonic shower alcove, forcing myself to ignore the mirror, but finding my hands are already running through my hair, combing as best as they can.
“It fits,” Tam says, and there’s really no mistaking his eyes giving me a once-over. To his credit, he doesn’t linger.
“Somebody else,” JACK mutters.
“Thank you,” I say, forcing my hands to my sides where they don’t really have anything to do, but at least Tam doesn’t have to watch me fiddle with my hair like I’m thirteen.
Tam nods, removing his trench coat, sitting down on his bed. “I know it’s not perfect, but—are you really okay, Syl?”
What gave me away? Was it my expression? My stance? The slump of my shoulders?
“I don’t—” I begin, but realize I have no clue what I’m going to say. Was probably about to lie.
“What is it?” Tam asks. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
(how does he know? why is he being so nice? what does he want?)
I look at JACK, half expecting her to jump in and say something, but she’s decided to just stand beside me, cross her arms, and glare at the two of us.
(tell him don’t)
(tell him)
Fuck. He’s gonna see it anyway.
“Can you tell me anything about this?” I ask, turning around, crossing my arms across my chest and carefully pulling the hem of my shirt up in the back. Not all the way, but enough.
JACK sighs loudly.
I can’t hear or see Tam’s reaction. Probably a good thing.
“He’s seen tattoos,” JACK says. “He’s a Guardian.”
“I haven’t seen one like that,” Tam says. His voice is right behind me; his proximity sends a shiver racing all around my torso. He moves fast, and quietly. “If it’s some sort of symbol, I don’t recognize it. Do you mind if I take a closer look?”
“Go ahead,” I say.
I feel a finger on my back, and I can’t help it, my muscles recoil, tightening. The finger goes away. He’s bent down now, getting his closer look. Even though it’s being filtered through his breather unit, his exhales are warm against my skin. The sensation travels along the track of my spine, too much like a caress for my comfort.
“It’s not a tattoo,” Tam says.
I yank my shirt back down as low as I can get it, spinning around on one foot. Tam hasn’t moved, so we’re completely in each other’s personal space. I’m not ashamed of being short, but right now I’m angry that I have to tilt my head back so I can look him in the eye.
“Of course it’s a tattoo,” JACK says. “What else could it be?”
“It could be that her skin is actually that color.”
“You can’t see that.”
Tam grunts. “I have optical implants that enhance my vision in numerous ways. I can see her skin in more detail than either of you can. Even modern arc etching can’t produce detail like that. And laser inscribing creates scars that I’d be able to see. The skin is flawless, as perfect as I’ve ever seen. That’s not a tattoo…it’s a—”
“A mark,” I say, and even as I say it, I know I’m partially wrong. It’s not just a design formed of discolored skin. It’s more than that.
“Yes,” Tam says. “Were you born with it?”
“I don’t remember. I was hoping you might recognize something about it.”
“If you’ve never seen it or anything like it before,” JACK says, “then we’re done. C’mon.” She grabs my hand, moves toward the door. I don’t resist, so she takes me with her.
“Wait, Syl,” Tam says before JACK has a chance to pull me through the doorway.
I wriggle my hand out of JACK’s. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
She’s not thrilled—I can see that—but she shrugs and sighs and walks away.
“Do you want to talk?” Tam asks.
Alone with him, I’m resisting that inexplicable urge to run my fingers through my hair and adjust my shirt—pull it down lower or something. “Talk?” I should probably know what he’s referring to, but I don’t. I’m not sure my brain is working right now. How long have I been up? I know it’s still morning out, but I feel like I need to lie down and sleep again.
Tam’s tone is gracious. “Sorry, do you want to talk some more about all this? With me?”
“About my mark?”
“About anything.”
“Oh.”
“You look like you could use somebody to talk to.”
“I have JACK.”
“She’s a kid, and she’s a wirewitch.”
“She listens well enough.”
Tam takes a step back, and I’m able to take deeper breaths, but if anything, his eyes are more intense. There’s no threat in the way he’s looking at me, but that nagging sensation of just being hunted prey is back. “I listen better, and I give really great advice. I’ll be honest with you, Syl, I just want to sit down and talk with you.”
Oh. Not sure what to do with that. What does that mean?
“You haven’t eaten yet,” Tam says. It’s not a question; he knows. “Are you hungry? We can get something…if you want. We have food here. You can eat, and if you have anything you want to talk about, I’ll just listen. No advice. I promise.”
I’m hesitating. But why? I mean, I have to eat sometime. He’s been nothing but nice, and we’re in one of the safest places in the city. We’re already alone in his bedroom, so why does eating food with him seem so much more intimate? Why are words so difficult right now?
bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!
“Okay,” I say, trying to blink away the static and the headache that’s manifested along with it. Doesn’t work. “I—I can do that.” Dammit. I meant to say I’d like that, but it came out all different. I step past him, avoiding his eyes, pulling the door open, turning over my shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
He lets me go, doesn’t say anything.
The sound of the door closing behind me as I step into the hall is drowned in the bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!! of static that discharges in my mind. My knees go weak, sending me slamming into the wall. God that hurts. But it’s not just a brief burst this time. The noise continues as I use one shaky hand on the wall to steady myself, carefully moving toward the room where JACK and I were sleeping. Lots of footsteps in hall. I’m looking at the floor with my palm against my forehead, so I don�
��t really see any of them—just glimpse their feet as I stumble past, gleaning brief snippets of their conversations. Nobody tries to stop me or offer assistance.
Think I found the right door. Pushing through it, I don’t see JACK, but I see my backpack and the rest of our stuff. The static is a constant buzz echoing around inside my skull as I lurch forward, stumbling, then collapsing onto my mat. Shutting my eyes decreases the intensity of the pain, so I just lie there trying to think about something else, anything else but the grinding noise inside my brain.
Tam. Well, if I was looking for some sort of excuse for not eating with him, then a nuclear headache works, right? A headache is always a good excuse. I should go back and tell him I’m not feeling well. I really should.
How long I drift in the blackness behind my eyelids I’m not certain, but eventually the static lessens and then fades to near nothingness. Oh, that feels good. There are a few seconds where I’m as peaceful as I’ve ever been.
No sound. No pain. Perfect bliss. Please let me stay here forever.
I drift longer, unsure if I fall asleep or not, but when my eyes open, I’m still at peace. There’s no static and no pain. Stomach growls, no surprise there. Not sure how long I’ve been here, but if it hasn’t been too long, and if Tam’s not too mad at me for ditching him, then maybe I can bring myself to sit down with him and eat. Stomach growls again. I push up, half expecting the static to flare back up. It doesn’t so I go all the way to my feet.
Everybody in here is looking at me, and there’re a few moments there where I can’t figure out why. A quick check confirms that I’m all covered up—well, except my midriff—and I’m not bleeding or anything…oh wait, the mark.
My damn mark.
I’m in a bad mood, which probably means I need to eat.
One step out the door, and the static is back, just a faint buzzing, but loud enough that there’s no way I can ignore it. What the hell is going on? Am I just hungry? Haven’t see the kitchen in the place, but I’m sure if I wander around, I’ll find something.
bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!
Ouch ouch ouch! I’m right in front of Tam’s room. Oh, if it hurts that much to just stand out here, I can’t imagine what it would be like to step inside. What the hell? I will my legs to move me down the hall, the intensity of the static fading with every step. The hall turns to the right, so I follow it until it dead ends.
Static isn’t consistent now, alternating between a low rumble and a distracting roar, a cresting wave that causes my vision to go blurry at its peak.
BLINK.
I spin around, looking for another doorway that might lead to a place where people are congregating, hopefully around some food. I’m not finding it. I follow hallways that I didn’t know existed, making left and right turns at random, hoping to get lucky. I don’t. The Haven is a maze despite its size, or maybe I just don’t understand how big it really is.
BLINK.
How long have I been doing this? My mind tells me it’s only been a couple of minutes, but my body says it’s been longer. I’m tired, and my breathing is labored. The static is buzzing loud in my skull. I’ve been going in circles, through the same few rooms over and over. I keep walking, trying to make my way back to where I slept last night. I don’t need food. I need sleep. I need the static in my head to stop.
pleaseoh
pleaseoh
pleaseohbzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!
Reflexively, I press my back against the nearest wall to avoid going down to my hands and knees. Hands on forehead, but I don’t have a defense against the static. Massaging my temples with my forefingers isn’t providing any relief. It’s like the static is a caged animal that wants to escape the prison of my head. It wants out, and it’s going to tear apart all that spongy gray matter inside my skull to do it.
I’m in front of Tam’s door.
Which means I know exactly where to go to sleep.
(just turn left angel and walk)
(away go lay)
(your head down)
I open the door and step inside.
bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!
BLINK.
The static intensifies. The entire world is shaking.
BLINK.
Tam’s breather unit rests on the floor.
BLINK.
In the corner, almost on the bed, Tam is embracing somebody, his lips fused with theirs. They don’t appear to have noticed my entrance, and I catch myself before I say anything. Reversing, stepping back, I turn to leave.
Almost.
I don’t leave because my static-afflicted brain is finally processing information that’s being fed to it. My eyes saw immediately, but my brain didn’t properly interpret. There’s only one word that describes what I’m seeing.
Witchkiss.
BLINK.
It isn’t JACK. This wirewitch has a woman’s body. She’s bent backward, pulling Tam’s head down, his body arcing over hers, their mouths fused, her hands at the sides of his face, hairstalks wrapped tight around his shoulders, his arms limp at his sides, fingers like claws, their bodies supported by the wall next to the bed.
BLINK.
I can’t stop this.
BLINK.
I think that one thought, and then I’m rushing at the two of them.
Static is deafening, but I think I might be screaming as I plant one foot on the side of the bed, place my hand on the wirewitch’s shoulder, and pull with every ounce of force I can summon. She comes away from the Guardian in a violent motion, her limbs and hairstalks flailing. Her foot catches on mine, and she goes down, her high-pitched wail somehow cutting through the thick blanket of static filling my ears. Tam doesn’t really move. He’s just standing there, leaning against the wall, like a puppet with nobody to pull its strings.
The wirewitch is on all fours, pushing herself to her feet. She looks over her shoulder at me.
BLINK.
The wirewitch is JACK.
BLINK.
There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that it’s JACK. She no longer has the body of a thirteen-year-old teenager, but the curves of a woman. Only it can’t be her, because the JACK I know—the JACK I’m friends with—she’s thirteen. No, this is somebody else.
“JACK? What the fuck?!?” I scream, spittle dotting my chin. I don’t actually hear myself say those words due to the static, but I know I said them.
“It can’t be stopped now, Syl,” she says, using JACK’s voice, only doing it from a body that can’t be JACK’s. Those long legs aren’t JACK’s. Those are not JACK’s hips, and those are definitely not JACK’s breasts. She looks hungry and sensuous. I think she’s wearing my skinsuit. The exposed flesh of her arms appears to be glistening, shining almost as if she were made of metal instead of technosite-infected cells. Her breaths are deep and heavy, rattling in her throat, her whole body shaking with each cycle. She turns back to Tam and shoves her lips to his, the witchkiss resuming before I can react.
“Get away from him!” I shout as I move in on her, yanking on her arm hard enough to disengage her mouth from his.
The fluid in her eyes has gone still. She’s angry, of course she is, but she doesn’t move to attack me. She presses her whole body against Tam’s, her hairstalks encircling his ankles like twin serpents. Their lips touch for a third time.
I try to move forward, to stop her again, but JACK yells, “GET AWAY FROM ME!!”
bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!
My whole world becomes a blue and black blur. I’m sliding backward across the floor, spinning and rolling. She threw me! I collide with the opposite wall, unable to completely prevent my head from smashing into it. Pretty sure I black out there, because the static winks away for a second. It returns a moment later, joined by a sharp pain in my shoulder. I roll over, intent on trying again. I can’t stop this.
I must stop this.
Tam’s on the ground now, crumpled in a ball, unmoving.
JACK stands over him, out of breath, her chest heaving as she sucks in air like a perso
n who just ran for an hour. Her hairstalks twitch with abandon. She has her head bowed, watching Tam, ignoring me. It only takes a few seconds before Tam starts to moan, his body twitching.
As I bear witness to a most horrible transformation.
28/Descending (ii)
2195.12.13/Morning
I need to get closer.
It’s an impulse without thought of the consequences. Not sure what JACK might do to me. If Tam’s going to die, I’m going to be there with him. It’s a desperate, fleeting thought.
Somebody should hold his hand so he doesn’t go away all alone.
The static is an onslaught, like a spike through my brain, a haze of darkness threatening to shroud my eyes. Shoulder hurts too. And my knee. Must have banged it when JACK threw me to the floor.
I try to stand but can’t. I settle for crawling on my hands and knees toward Tam’s writhing form. His limbs hit the wall and the bed, dull thumps, like the sound of an irregular heartbeat. JACK watches me as I approach.
She has but one word for me: “Watch.”
I watch…
because it is…
all I can do…
Tam’s biceps bulge as he wraps his knees in his arms, like he’s struggling to contain something that wants to get out. His face is covered in sweat, his breathing shallow and getting shallower, as if the air in this room is poison, and every breath brings him closer to death. His eyes are open, but unfocused. Then, for a few precious moments, he looks right at me. He’s scared.