Blind World (The Onyx Fox Saga Book 1)

by H. M. Rutherford

  Crash!

  She gasped and froze, eyeing the double doors. Frank had to have been in there. And if he was, there was trouble. The continuous wrestling sound only made it more real. Her concern rose and she faced the door, taking the mace out of her purse. She wasn’t sure she could do much, but two against one seemed better odds. She had a few fighting moves up her sleeve, and she could always spray the other guy if she had to.

  As she stood there contemplating, the shouts and cries morphed from anger to horror. Then there was a long silence.

  The eerie quietude floored her for a moment. Is Frank okay? She hoped for the best as she moved toward the doors.

  —

  Henry’s heart pumped painfully as the chemical reached it. He gasped and buckled over. But as he exhaled, he closed his eyes and let out an airy chuckle. When he opened them, he looked down and examined his glowing, veiny arms.

  “Henry! What have you done?” Frank cried, his voice torn between fury and concern.

  Looking up at Frank, Henry felt a burning hatred for his own comrade’s ignorance. “What have I done?” he spat. “What have I done?! I’ve done what you cowards couldn’t! I—”

  His arm caught his attention. Staring down at it, his sentence caught in his throat. The glow of his veins started to creep back to the place of injection, but with every inch the light squirmed away, it left behind unnaturally pale skin. He watched in terror as his fingers began shriveling, following the path of the chemical. The muscle on him seemed to melt away, leaving him with bruised flesh that clung tightly to bone. As the infection spread, he heaved over and grabbed his shrinking stomach, breathing heavily.

  “No,” he breathed. Cringing in pain and fury, he gnashed frail teeth together. “No, no, no, no!” As he cried out in agony and anguish, he felt himself deteriorating further, along with all his hopes and desires.

  All his hard work—all his precious experiments. He had failed. The deteriorating sensation ended as his heart palpitated. He stumbled to his knees as his pounding heart seized control. Failure, he thought.

  No.

  No, he hadn’t failed.

  No, Henry had failed.

  Henry…that poor, weak, ignorant human.

  Stupid human…

  Just the thought of Henry made him wild with rage.

  “Henry?”

  He sneered at the name and turned to the sound, only to find Frank watching him cautiously, a look of concern on his face. Frank probably had a hard time recognizing a trace of his friend. Hunched over, what remained of Henry’s body turned toward the intruder. Wringing his loose clothes in his hands, he smiled at the imbecile. “I’m not Henry,” he sang, baring his jagged teeth. “Henry is weak…” He eyed Frank in disgust. “…like you are weak. Weak human…” That was funny! Giggling madly, he leaned forward and let his head hang low.

  “Geez, Henry!” Frank gasped, setting a hand on his shoulder. “We need to get you to a hospital before this—”

  Frank’s sentence was stopped short by the small man’s hand, gripped on his throat with an abnormal strength. The shriveled man enjoyed the look of shock and the gagging sound Frank made as he sought air. “My name. Is not. Henry!” the man screamed, throwing Frank across the room like a ragdoll.

  Frank collided with the oven, his body collapsing in just like the metal that met him. As the explosion erupted, the creature of a man held his ground with ease and smiled wickedly at the flames.

  He took a step back to soak in his glory when a piece of paper stuck to his shoe. Curious, he picked it up. It was singed at the edges and damp with a light blue liquid here or there but very much intact. As he flipped it over, he smiled at the formula.

  “Come, Henry,” he said with a smile. “We have work to do.” The whole scene made him merry and he almost hated having to leave. But he worked his way out the back doors of the lab and into the hall of offices. Cackling insanely, he skipped down the carpeted hall to the backdoor. Flinging it open, he began humming to the crackling of flames in the background, the sound melodious in his ears. “Well, Franklin, old friend, let this be goodbye.” Something about that was entertaining to him and he chuckled happily, letting the door close behind him.

  —

  Suzette watched in horror as Frank collided into the oven with an unnatural amount of force, causing the whole thing to collapse inward. There was a spark and the oven exploded, setting a good half of the lab ablaze.

  The swinging door flew back from the blast and flung Suzette back into the hallway. There she lay, struggling to get up, fighting against pain and dizziness. Her ears rang with a white noise and she held her head. When the noise began to fade, she could open her eyes and focus once more. After a few stabilizing breaths, she staggered back onto her feet.

  “Mr. Stein?!” Suzette cried. She flung open the door and rushed in, holding her arms up to guard her face from the heat of the flames. Hoping she didn’t see what she thought she saw, she called out, “Frankie?!” Maybe it was the second person she had seen in the room. It was too quick to see what either of them looked like.

  As she looked around, she noticed something blue glowing in the flames of the fire. The smoke made it hard to see and was getting thick fast. Pulling her arm up, she coughed into the crook of her elbow.

  A faint, high-pitched popping noise reached her ears.

  Something jabbed her in the arm. Letting out a squeal, she stumbled backward and fell to the floor, startled. When she looked at her arm, she saw a piece of hot glass protruding from her skin. The tip that jabbed her was glowing. The iridescent blue seeped from the tip and into her flesh.

  Terrified by the sight, she ripped out the glass and blew on her hot fingers.

  But the glow continued to flow through her veins, creeping up her arm. Suzette watched in horror as her body threw off a sinister glow. Fighting for air, everything grew dizzy and the world faded from view.

  —

  A faint noise rustled Suzette awake. The more she faded back into the world, the louder the sounds grew until she recognized the loud sirens. A warm hand felt her cheek and she grabbed at it.

  “Suzette?”

  Recognizing the voice, she opened her eyes. When her eyes finally focused, she smiled at Dante’s handsome, soot-covered face. She took in a breath to greet him, but her throat flared and she coughed.

  Dante stared at her, his face filled with worry, and waited for her to finish. “Are you alright?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she whispered, her throat burning.

  “Good.” Sighing, he sat back on the grass and pulled her into his arms where he held her tightly.

  “What happened?” she gasped.

  “I don’t know,” he answered, pulling away slightly. “You tell me. I thought about what you said and decided to come back, to have your back. I got to the door, heard the alarms, and saw the fire. You were unconscious on the floor—away from the flames, thankfully.”

  Unable to understand what happened, she held her head and looked at the lab.

  Flames consumed the majority of it. Firefighters stood back with giant hoses, spraying the fire until it began to dwindle, but the damage had already been done.

  “H-hey, Frankie wasn’t in there, was he?”

  As she watched the flames, she remembered the image of the body flying into the furnace, making the whole thing explode. She gaped, searching for words.

  Dante’s panic rose at her silence. He quickly grabbed her face and tried to make her look at him. “Suz, what’s wrong?” he demanded. “He wasn’t in there, was he? Say something!”

  Frank.

  The word never found its way through her vocal chords, but her lips mouthed it. That was enough for Dante to understand. He sat frozen, searching her face for confusion or doubt, hoping she was wrong. Her heart ached at the fleeting hope in his eyes and she doubled over into him, her nails biting into the tough skin on his arms.

  “No!” Dante’s voice shook.

  “Frank!” she sobbed.
As it spilled over her tongue, the image flashed in her brain again. She wanted to tell herself it hadn’t been him, that everything had moved too fast to tell, but then she would be lying to herself. It had happened right in front of her…

  …and it was awful.

  If only she had had the courage to run in as soon as possible instead of standing there like the selfish brat she was, only concerned with her own well-being. Maybe—just maybe—she could have saved him if she’d moved a little faster. What if the police blamed her? What if Dante blamed her? “I’m sorry, Dante!” she wailed into his chest. “I tried to—I couldn’t! It was too late—I couldn’t!”

  “What are you saying?” he questioned in her ear, trying to make her look up, but afraid, she refused to meet his eyes. “Suz, what are you saying?” His voice became more demanding and she could feel his body begin to tremble.

  She shook her head and slumped away from him.

  “Excuse me.” A man in a suit stepped up to them, interrupting. He introduced himself as Detective Spencer and shook Suzette’s trembling hand. Spencer leaned down closer to them. “Do you think you could tell me what happened?” he asked kindly, pulling out a pen and pad from his back pocket.

  Suzette hesitated but nodded, pulling herself together.

  The man clicked his pen and waited while the couple regained composure, Dante silently staring down at the ground, almost catatonic.

  “I was here to interview a scientist for my school paper,” she explained slowly—calmly, so that she would not crumble.

  “His name?” Spencer interrogated.

  She gulped and gestured to Dante. “His brother, Franklin Stein,” came her soft answer.

  “So, you knew him,” the detective stated, staring at the path his pen made on the paper.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Did you know him well?”

  “Not really, sir. We rarely spoke,” she sniffled, fighting through a voice that was strained by smoke and tears. “But he agreed to help and told me to meet him in the reception area.”

  “And was he there?”

  She gripped onto her blackened pink blouse and shook her head, looking down. “I heard a noise and followed it into the lab. When I opened the door, I saw two men inside. One flew into a machine and it exploded.” The last part of the sentence nearly trailed off and she bit her bottom lip, holding back her sobs.

  “Did you see what the two men looked like?” Spencer wondered.

  “No,” she sighed after a minute of gathering herself back up. “It happened so fast.”

  The man looked up at Dante. “She said he was your brother?”

  Without looking, Dante nodded.

  “Did your brother start acting suspicious at all?” he pried.

  Dante’s blank eyes trailed up into Detective Spencer’s face. “Suspicious?”

  “Has he been different lately?” the detective tried. “Anything out of the ordinary.”

  “No.”

  “What about friends?” he tried instead. “Were any of them dangerous?”

  Dante took a minute to calm down, then sighed and looked up. “He had a bipolar friend, Dr. Henry Jekyll, but I couldn’t imagine him hurting Frankie. I don’t know of any others.”

  Nodding as he wrote, the man hummed a puzzled tune.

  Paper in hand, a female police officer hurried up to the man and leaned in. “We just got a license plate confirmation,” she explained in a hushed tone, meant to be a whisper from one officer to another. “Franklin Stein.”

  Dante exhaled shakily as his eyes fell to the ground.

  “Was it him?” Suzette asked for them both. “In the explosion?” She still didn’t have a one-hundred-percent guarantee, but if he was the one who lived, it opened up a whole new problem.

  The woman saw she had spoken too loud, sighed in remorse, and hurried away. The man glanced at Suzette apologetically. “We found a body—unrecognizable,” he confessed. “If you said there were two men, there’s a chance it’s not him. But nothing’s conclusive until we run DNA scans.”

  “Then you’ll let us know?” she whispered.

  He smiled a bit and nodded. “Then we’ll let you know.” Standing upright, he said, “Now, let’s get you over to the ambulance and make sure you’re alright.”

  Canto III

  Henry’s eyes shot open. Gasping for air, he sat up abruptly, drenched in a cold sweat. Terrified, he held out his arms and examined them closely, only to find nothing wrong with them. Nothing at all. But no, that wasn’t right! There had to be some strange mistake! Last night—it had felt so real! All the excitement and all the pain.

  Maybe it was only a dream. More like a nightmare. He would have never let such an awful thing happen to his best friend. Never!

  Ding-dong!

  Henry flinched at the sound as it shook him from his dark thoughts. He flung off his sheets and hopped out of bed, grabbing his robe from the end of it and hurrying out. As he marched down the hall, he yanked the robe on and wrapped it shut.

  He could hear Mr. Poole answer the door, but Henry had to see for himself. Was it Frank? Was he alright? Was he—

  He stopped short as he walked past his reflection in one of the mirrors in the hallway, noticing something odd about it. Curious, he began to turn back and make his way over.

  “Sir.”

  He swerved, nearly jumping out of his skin.

  His butler stood at the top of the stairs, looking dapper as usual, hands folded behind his back. Mr. Poole’s old, wrinkled eyes watched Henry cautiously. Poole had known Henry since he was young. There was no hiding when something wasn’t right. “You have a guest at the door.”

  Henry was silent a moment but exhaled a shaky breath. “Guest” meant no Frank. He hurried down the steps, wondering who could possibly bother him at such an early hour on the weekend. But the sight of the man at the bottom of the stairs slowed Henry’s pace. A knot formed in his stomach.

  The stern man’s taut shoulders flexed a little in his suit as Henry descended the steps. “Dr. Jekyll?” he asked.

  Henry felt like his insides were jumping around when he settled on the step above his guest. He had a good guess who this man was, but he didn’t want to accept it. “Yes?” he breathed, more collected than he thought he could manage. Quick to add to the charade, he held out a hand.

  The man glanced down at it briefly and went back to his steady, questioning eye contact. His hand took Henry’s and shook it once. “Detective Spencer. I’m here to ask you a few questions.”

  Henry’s blood went cold. Was last night real? Did Frank really die?

  Had he actually killed his best friend?

  Even with all that dread weighing on his heart, Henry found an even scarier question lingering in his mind:

  Did they find out it was him?

  Henry blinked a few times, praying his hesitation didn’t show. “Questions?” he repeated. “What kind of questions? Is everything alright?”

  “For starters, where were you last night, sir?” the detective asked in a low voice.

  Henry gulped, his brain stretching in all different directions. His heart ached in fear for Frank. His stomach knotted at the thought of jail time. His skin crawled at the idea of murder. All the while, his mouth struggled for an answer as the pressure of Detective Spencer’s inquisitive stare bore down on him.

  “He was here all night, detective,” Mr. Poole’s voice called from the top of the stairs. “From sundown to sunrise.”

  Spencer’s eyes drew away from Henry and trailed up behind him.

  Henry felt lighter.

  Mr. Poole’s frail hand came down on Henry’s shoulder. “He wasn’t feeling well last night—still a bit groggy now, I’m afraid,” he said to the detective. “He went to bed early. What is this about, sir?”

  Spencer’s whole physique subtly relaxed, making all the difference. His gaze transitioned from one man to the other. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said with a gentle voice. “There was an accident
in the lab last night.”

  Henry’s heart clenched.

  “Accident?” Poole asked. “What kind of accident?”

  “An explosion.” Spencer’s eyes fell heavily on Henry. “Your friend, Franklin Stein, was killed.”

  Mr. Poole let out a small gasp, his hand gripping onto Henry’s shoulder. “Dear God!”

  At that moment, it felt as if all the blood in Henry’s body rushed to his neck and sat in a big lump. He painfully swallowed it down and slumped on the bottom step, weak. Without looking at the detective, he asked, “Are you sure it was him?”

  “We just received confirmation from the body this morning,” he explained.

  Henry shook his head and laughed in an awful, ironic way. Before he knew it, tears came to his eyes and he found himself out of breath. Why had Frank been the one who had to suffer? He’d always been such a good friend to Henry, always willing to help fix mistakes that weren’t his burden to bear. Ever since college, all he ever did was look out for Henry. Frank had always been there! And where had Henry been? Giving Frank more reasons to worry. This was all Henry’s fault. He should have been the one to suffer—not Frank!

  Not Frank.

  Fresh hot tears ran down Henry’s face. He covered his mouth to hide his sobs. He could feel Mr. Poole’s small frame struggle to sit next to him, taking Henry’s shoulders.

  Detective Spencer looked down and waited for Henry to finish.

  Henry took a deep breath and released a lungful of shaky air. Jaw clenched, he used all that was in him to stand to his feet, help his butler up, straighten his robe, and clear his throat. “Thank you,” he said. He grabbed the railing for support. “I appreciate someone coming over to tell me.”