The Killing Jar

by RS McCoy

  His tone caught her off guard. She tightened the arms crossed at her chest. She was wary of his tricks.

  “Each recruit gets their own room. Eventually, you’ll move forward in the program and be given assignments offsite, but for now you’ll live here. Boys on the right, girls on the left. You’re the third. Dasia arrived only yesterday.”

  Mable perked up at the mention of living offsite. In the right circumstances, she could get out, could go find Hadley, could make sure she was safe. It might be possible, if she played her cards right.

  “This is you, number six.” Arrenstein turned the knob and let her in but never moved past the doorway. “The bathroom is there on the left and the closet is on the right. I’m sorry we don’t have your tablet programmed quite yet. Should be ready by the time you’re done with cleaning. Can you find your way back?”

  Mable shot him a cocked eyebrow. “Of course I can.”

  “Good. You’re expected there at 1300. Welcome to CPI.” Arrenstein pulled the door shut and left her alone in the room, in her new home.

  Mable set her bag on the foot of the bed before she took a turn about the room. The comforter was pure black with silver threads woven in a paisley pattern, complete with matching pillows. She would have liked it had it not been draped over the bed in her new prison cell.

  Everything else in the room was white and metal, standard issue, hotel-type furnishings. A nightstand with one drawer, a dresser that came up to her shoulders, a writing desk with a black office chair. Cold white tiles covered the floors and every surface in the bathroom. Would it kill them to put some color in here?

  Mable sat on the edge of the bed and stripped off her heavy boots. Her feet ached from two straight days in them. She rubbed the soles, massaging out the fatigue as she waited for the minutes to go by.

  She had nothing to do. Nowhere to go. No one to take care of. Mable didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

  She rolled over and lay across the bed, one foot hanging off the side. It was pretty comfortable as far as beds went. Still she wanted to go home, back to the cave, back to her friends.

  Her eyes flashed open when she heard a quiet meep-meep-meep. She had fallen asleep, only to be woken by some strange noise coming from her room.

  Upon inspection, she found an alarm going off above the door, complete with modest flashing light. She had no idea what such a thing might be for. Surely it wouldn’t alert anyone to evacuate in case of fire. It was so quiet, she doubted you could even hear it in the next room.

  Then she knew, it was a timer. She was late.

  Mable forced her feet back into the boots and laced them up with no real effort to hurry. She wasn’t here to impress anyone.

  As she emerged from her room, two girls walked down the hall. The first, the girl from before. The other, a gorgeous red-head. Mable couldn’t help but notice the emptiness in her eyes, a look she’d recognize anywhere.

  Then Mable realized she was staring.

  The two stopped talking when they saw her. The first girl said something to the other as they darted into a room.

  Mable retraced her steps since Arrenstein found her and arrived back at the cleaning station minutes later.

  A woman with a pressed lavender shirt and matching pants waited for her. “Good afternoon, Ms. Wilkinson. We’ve been expecting you. I’ll be conducting your cleaning.”

  The nameless woman led her to the first of three rooms and instructed her to strip naked, don the white bra and panties provided, and put her clothes on the chair. Mable did as she was told, leaving her clothes in a haphazard pile before opening the door.

  “Please, lay down. We’ll start with a preliminary examination,” the woman said as she turned off the lights. Mable crawled onto the cold metal table that turned out to be scanner. A hoop hovered around her, starting at her head before moving down to her toes and back up.

  A holograph projector illuminated the figure of her body on the far side of the room. Several areas shone a dull red, a few spots on her torso, her feet, her head, her hands. The top of her head was pale blue. The entire length of her arms were an ugly brown, along with her entire left side along her ribs, the patch of skin beneath her belly button, and her right thigh.

  Everywhere she had a tattoo.

  “This is going to be a long day for you I’m afraid. We might as well get started.”

  She told Mable to lay back on the table as she called in a pair of women with identical purple suits. They pulled peculiar devices out of hidden cabinets and set to work.

  At first, it was strange. So many women touching her, hovering around her. They began with her feet, treating her soreness with some sort of humming device. She could almost feel her body repairing itself as the minutes went on.

  When she realized what they were doing, when she felt the pains and aches fading, her body recovering, Mable let herself sit back and relax. They moved on to the next area, addressing the large bruise across her chest, the one Rowen had inflicted the day before. A lifetime before.

  “It heals?” Mable touched her chest and marveled at the lack of pain there.

  “It’s a cellular repair prototype. It can fix anything except brain cells. If necessary, it can administer immunizations, though of course you don’t need any.”

  One by one, the team of women worked on her injuries, from the scrapes and wounds across her back to the raw knuckles she earned from the last match.

  By the time the holograph version of herself showed no more red, Mable felt renewed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so well.

  Then the woman said, “We’re going to start on your tattoos. It won’t leave any scars, but I warn you it will be quite painful.”

  Before she could protest, the women descended upon her. They used their hands, their arms, even their knees to keep her in place as one pushed a cool metal object against her forearm.

  A blinding, searing pain ignited like flames, spreading up her arm like burning death.

  Mable had never known such pain. She screamed with the agony of it.

  Careless to others that might hear, Mable let her voice ring out, her only outlet for the horrific heat in her arm.

  “There, that’s one.” The women released her but the fight had gone out of her. She lay limp on the table, only lifting her arm to see the damage.

  As the woman had said, there was nothing. No scar, no burn, no tattoo. Only clean, smooth skin where there had been a maple tree before.

  Mable stared, her hand retracing the area over and over. She had liked that tree, enough to put it on her body anyway, but it was hardly her favorite piece. Instead, she felt robbed. They had taken it from her without her consent.

  Mable felt violated.

  “Now you know how it feels. Ready to keep going?”

  No. In fact, she wasn’t ready at all. Her fist flew out and caught the woman in the face. She swung her legs around and pressed her feet to the table before she kicked the other two in one swing. Unexpectant and clearly untrained, they were sent to the floor in seconds.

  Then she ran from the room.

  She was back in the main corridor before she realized how little the white outfit covered. Still, she wasn’t about to go back.

  Instead, Mable ran. She didn’t know where to go, where she was. Each hallway looked the same as all the others. Her feet smacked against the floor. Her arms pumped as she raced. She was lost, but she couldn’t go back. She could only run.

  Around a corner, she ran smack into a man’s shoulder. Fucking Arrenstein.

  “Christ, Maggie. What are you doing?”

  She held up her arm. “What the hell is this?”

  “Let me take you back. I’ll explain.” He put a warm hand on her back and tried to walk her down the hall.

  Mable spun away from him. “I’m not going back there!”

  “Well you can’t stay in the corridor. My office is upstairs.” This time, Arrenstein didn’t wait. He turned his back to her and started wa
lking.

  Mable had no choice but to follow as he entered the elevator and brought them to the third floor. Arrenstein chose the open door on the left, an office with a large black couch, metal desk, and walls covered in preserved insects. He had everything from massive, vibrant butterflies to row upon row of beetle bodies. On the desk, his tablet holograph still hovered with some sort of spreadsheet.

  He’d left in a hurry.

  After she entered the room, Arrenstein closed the door but didn’t latch it. Mable was suddenly aware how bare she was, alone in his office, alone with the monster.

  “What is this?” she asked again.

  “Just sit down.” He motioned to the black leather couch as he fetched a suit jacket hanging on a hook by the door.

  Once she was seated, he tossed her the jacket. Mable pulled her knees to her chest and hid her body beneath it, eager to be as concealed as possible.

  “Answer me,” she insisted.

  Arrenstein poured himself a drink before collapsing into the large, official-type chair in front of the desk. “Part of our program is being invisible. When you go out on assignments, we have to know you won’t be captured. You can’t have any distinguishing marks. No birthmarks. No scars. No tattoos.”

  “I can cover them up.”

  “Not good enough. You’ll have an alias. Your safety will depend on making people believe you’re someone else. We’ve tried it your way before. It didn’t work. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but it does.”

  It made sense, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. She could feel her anger subsiding, or maybe it was the faded memory of the pain. “You could have just asked,” she said.

  “Does it matter? To be in this program, you can’t have tattoos. They have to be removed. It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference if you like it or not.”

  Mable’s heart pounded in sudden fear. There were some—one in particular—she would never remove. “What if I don’t want to get rid of them?” She tried to keep her voice even.

  “You have to.”

  “All of them? Can’t I keep a few?” Mable hid her mouth under the jacket waiting for his answer.

  “No.”

  Mable closed her eyes and thought. What was she willing to risk more? Could she let them remove her tattoos? Could she risk Hadley’s safety?

  She opened her eyes and stood, laying the jacket over the arm of the couch. “Then I quit.”

  “That’s not how this works.”

  “I can get out. You know I can.”

  “What about your friend? I can find her.”

  “I know. But I think I can get there first. Take her somewhere you can’t find us.”

  Arrenstein sat up in his chair and leaned his arms on his desk. His eyes narrowed as he asked, “What’s so important? Why are you willing to risk her now when you wouldn’t before?”

  Mable’s heart pounded so loud in her chest she could barely hear her own voice over it. “There are some things I’m willing to do, things I’m willing to give up. Most of these tattoos can go. I can get new ones. But there’s one I want to keep. One I will keep. And I’m not willing to compromise. So I’m leaving.”

  Then she turned to go. She was going to do it.

  But then he asked, “Which one?”

  “Like you said, it doesn’t matter.”

  Arrenstein sighed. “I’ll consider letting you keep one. Only one, if you can keep it hidden.”

  Then she knew she had him. Mable lifted her left arm to reveal the tattoo across her ribs, no larger than the palm of her hand.

  “That one? A sun?”

  “Yeah. I can keep it?”

  “If that’s what it takes to make you stay, then fine. But you’re putting yourself at risk. If you ever got caught, I couldn’t protect you. I hope it’s worth it.”

  “It is.” She stepped into the hallway, but returned to his office a moment later. “Thank you.” He’d done her a favor, for reasons she didn’t understand.

  Arrenstein only nodded. “Take that jacket.”

  Mable ignored him. She returned to the hallway and started walking, only to hear, “And no more punching people!” from his office. In the empty corridor, she let herself smile.

  She had won this one small battle. Maybe it wouldn’t be the prison sentence she imagined.

  The elevator brought her back to the first floor, the doors opened to reveal Osip and another guy walking toward her. They were about as opposite as two people could be. Osip was short where the other was tall, fair where the other was dark. He still wore the body suit that marked him as Scholar, though she would have known without it. He reeked of Scholar. She found his conformity grotesque.

  The way he walked, the way he held his shoulders proud, as if he’d earned them. The way his eyes scanned up and down her body as if he had the right.

  Too late she remembered her lack of clothing. She wouldn’t cover herself for them, wouldn’t let them make her feel ashamed.

  “Whoa, nice tats Mable,” Osip said with eyes that traced over her whole body. His Scholar friend was even worse, making no attempt to hide his shock. His grey eyes bored straight through her. She felt disgusting, like a trophy animal hanging on the wall.

  When she was close enough to the pair, she cocked her arm back and slapped one and then the other, then headed back to cleaning to have the rest of her tattoos removed. All but one.

  THEO

  CPI CORRIDOR, NEW YORK, NORTH AMERICA

  AUGUST 9, 2232

  A hand held his stinging cheek as he watched the girl walk down the hall and disappear through a set of doors as if she owned the place.

  “Hey man, I’m sorry. That was totally my fault. I shouldn’t have even said anything.”

  “Who was that?” Theo asked. He’d never seen anyone like her. Half-naked, tattooed, violent, stunningly beautiful in a criminal sort of way.

  Then again, Theo was the only murderer here.

  Over and over again he saw flashes of the boy. The thud repeated in his head until it was all he could hear.

  It was an accident, he told himself. I’m not a killer.

  But he didn’t really believe it. He was responsible for taking the life of a child.

  It ate at him like a parasite.

  “Her name’s Mable, but she’s pretty much a cactus. Oh well, come on.” Osip shrugged and led him down the corridor.

  Theo bit back his anger. No one had ever dared strike him before. He may deserve nothing but pain for the rest of his life, but not from her. She didn’t even know him.

  The day had been the worst of his life even before he encountered the human cactus known as Mable.

  Theo could still feel the boy’s blood on his hands, the way the fluid made his body suit stick to his torso where it soaked through. He could hear the screams of the mother that found him in the street clutching the boy’s body.

  He walked down the hall behind Osip and tried to forget, to wash it all away and pretend it hadn’t happened.

  His arrival at the facility was supposed to be his fresh start. It wasn’t a prison nation after all. Not ten seconds in the door and he’d been assaulted.

  So much for his fresh start.

  “Jane usually gives the tours but Dasia just got out of cleaning so I think they’re hanging out.”

  A series of violent screams reverberated down the corridor, shrieks of pain and horror. Theo shot Osip a weary look, but he pretended like he didn’t hear it, though he obviously could.

  He froze in his steps and his eyes widened before he recovered.

  “What is that?” Theo asked when it became clear Osip wasn’t going to offer up an explanation.

  “Oh, Mable’s in cleaning. Sometimes they scream like that. I don’t know why. I thought it was nice. Like a massage.”

  “Do I have to do that?”

  “Yeah, everyone does. You hungry?” Osip turned and walked backward as he spoke.

  “Yeah, starving actually.” If anything, he was
intent on getting away from the sounds that made his blood pressure jump.

  “Great. Knox is our resident chef. He’s the best. Seriously, best food of your life.” Theo doubted it. Nutritional provisions would suffice.

  They turned down another featureless hallway and found a series of metal tables spread out, much like the café at Lanc Central. Theo headed toward one of the tables in the middle when Osip stopped him.

  “No one really uses this side. There’s a big table around the side here.” The walked around corner and sure enough, there was a huge table with a dozen silver chairs. In the center, three platters were piled high with foods he didn’t recognize.

  “Knox, you back there?” Osip called as he leaned over the table and popped a bite into his mouth. Half-chewing he asked, “You like ham and swiss rolls? They’re amazing. Here, try one.” He picked up the pink and white item by the toothpick and handed it to Theo.

  As he bit in, a massive man emerged from the kitchen doorway with yet another platter of food, this one with some assortment of fruit. Between the savory, earthen flavors that soared over his tongue and the giant before him, Theo could only stand and stare.

  It was so much to take in at once.

  “You’re the big new nut,” the giant bellowed with a hearty laugh. He set the platter down and picked off a few pieces of some green fruit.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m Theo,” he said once he’d swallowed the ham and swiss roll. “These are really good.”

  “No good starving a camel.” Theo didn’t know if he referred to the accident or if something worse was coming. He wasn’t sure he could handle worse.

  “What’s this one?” Osip asked with a mouth already full.

  “Watermelon. Gotta stack it to snack it.” Knox picked up a red, juicy triangle. He grabbed a white square of cheese off another platter. Last, he added a leaf.

  “This mint?” Osip asked.

  Knox nodded. “Green as a sky.”

  Following Knox’s example, Osip and Theo built the strange concoction of foods they’d never seen and put them in their mouths in unison. Theo couldn’t believe the flavors. Sweet, savory, cool. He’d never had anything like it.