Soot.
His mother’s chest heaved with sobs, but she forced words. “It’s all over you! What is this, Dante?!”
His heart pounded like a jackhammer in his ears, but only because he was scared of the answer himself. He didn’t know what really happened, but he was beginning to fear that he might. All he needed was a moment to breathe! “I don’t know, Mom, I—”
“And what happened to your clothes?!” she squealed, reeling back.
His head began to ache and his vision blurred a bit. “Mom—”
She stamped her foot on the ground, perplexed. “What do you mean, you don’t know?!” she interrupted again. “Where were you?! Don’t you know we’ve been worried sick?! Are you hurt?!”
“No, Mom, I—”
“So, what happened?!”
He shook his head and ran his trembling fingers through his hair. “I-I don’t know, Mom. I just—”
“Did someone abduct you?! Did someone try to hurt you?!”
“I don’t know!”
“How do you not know?!” Her tone rose. She set her hands on her hips and stood squarely in front of him, though her face still held pain and worry. “What are you doing, Dante?! Are you out getting drunk?! Are you doing drugs?!”
“What?!”
Tears streamed down her face as she paced in front of him, shouting in her native Italian tongue. He could barely understand her now. Her yelling was just an annoying noise that rang loud inside his head—but not louder than his own heartbeat. He grabbed his head in pain and desperation to make everything calm once more.
But his mother did not skip a beat, stopping her pacing every now and then to wiggle a finger in his face, only to throw her arms up, wail something in a worried panic, and begin her circling again. Dante could make out phrases like “missed church,” “you’re scaring me,” and “how could you.” The words made him cringe. “Are you up to something?!” she finally demanded in English. The tears rushed from her eyes more heavily than before. She turned to the door and yelled out in her native tongue, using the words “Alexander” and “trouble.”
Dante shook at his dad’s name. “Mom, no—”
“Dante’s home?!” He could hear his father’s loud voice from down the hall. “What’s wrong?!” he demanded, appearing through the door. His eyes sparkled, despite his wife’s claims.
“Dante’s on drugs or something!” she wailed. “He says he doesn’t know what happened or where he’s been!”
His father’s form seemed to fall a smidge as he stood in the doorway. “Is that true, Dante?”
“No, I—”
But Dante’s mom was back in it before he could answer, rushing toward her husband and falling into his embrace. “He’s going to get himself killed!” As her cries grew louder, so did the pounding in Dante’s head. “It’s all my fault! I should’ve taken better care of him when Frankie died!”
Frankie’s name set him to the peak of his anger and he could feel his chin quiver. “Mom! Stop it!” Dante threw his arms out, sending a wave of fire hurtling toward his parents.
At the sight of his flaming arms, he retracted them and closed his eyes, afraid. But at the sound of his parents’ screams, he opened them. He saw the fire crawling across him again, feeling no pain. Several things in his room had caught flame, along with his parents.
“No!” He ran to his comforter in hopes of snuffing out the inferno. He grabbed onto the sides and watched as the fabric ignited where his hands tugged. But he pulled and yanked it out of place anyway, hoping to use the good parts. But when he finally got it loose, it was in useless scraps. He threw it down and frantically rushed to his parents.
His father was motionless on the floor, his skin red and blistered, his nightclothes singed to bits. The patches of carpet around him were burned as if he tried to roll out the flames. By the way his charred hand gripped at his curled over chest and his spaced eyes stared into nothing, Dante knew it must have been some heart attack.
“Dad!” He reached down to shake him but stopped as the flames on his arms threatened to lick at his father again and melt his father’s flesh even more than it was already. Agony filled Dante at the sight. “Dad!”
But his father remained unmoved.
He’s gone.
His mother’s horror-struck screams bore into him. He quickly got up and turned toward her, stopping in terror as he saw a flickering bounce off the walls. He glanced back briefly and saw that fire shot up from each of his footsteps, spreading quickly. He cautiously looked over at his mother.
She stumbled backward through the hall toward the steps, tearing at the skin on her chest where her polyester nightgown had melted to her bubbling flesh. Suddenly, her frame disappeared over the steps. A series of ominous thumps echoed through the hall. Her screams came to an abrupt stop.
Dante’s heart sank. He darted over to the edge of the stairs and looked down on his mother’s contorted, lifeless body, smoldering at the bottom of the steps.
“No!” he shouted, running down after her. He could feel the carpet on the stairs melting under his feet, but he didn’t care anymore. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he knelt down next to his small mother, wishing more than anything to pick her up and hold her, to check her and see if she was alright. “Mom, please!” He could feel the tears spilling over his eyes and drying almost instantly against the heat. The fire that radiated off him grew brighter and warmer. The carpet around him and his mother started to catch flame.
Terrified, he forced himself to his feet and hurried away from his mother’s body. But when he got to the living room, everything began to spin. He grabbed his head to steady himself, but he stumbled forward, tripping. Once he hit the ground, he tried to get up, but his head spun. He watched as more flames came around him until there was nothing but black.
—
Abraham watched as the flames devoured the house.
It had killed him to just leave the warehouse burning like it had with the potential of other innocents inside. He’d watched the man get up not long after the explosion and hurry into the woods naked, no longer a walking torch. Just in time, too; the fire department had shown up shortly after that. Abraham had placed the woman a safe distance away from the building, so he focused on following the man who’d started the fire. He’d gotten surprisingly far before passing out again. Abraham couldn’t just leave him out in the wilderness, though. The woman was close enough for authorities to find her, but the man would be lost in the woods. So, Abraham had picked him up and carried him a little closer to town. Then he stuck around at a distance for the next few hours, checking to make sure the man didn’t burst into flame again and cause a devastating forest fire.
The man had managed to find his way into town, but now, staring at the flaming house, Abraham was questioning whether he’d made the right move or not.
Dante, as Abraham assumed from the interaction he heard inside from his advanced hearing, had left another mess. A fire engulfed the upper half of the house, leaving the bottom half somewhat clear. Abraham walked up to the backdoor and swung it open, feeling the heat of the inferno warm his skin, though he knew it wasn’t nearly as bad as it should have been. He stepped inside to a kitchen and saw into the open living room, where Dante lay unconscious on the floor. Once again, flames surrounded Dante, but he remained almost untouched, minus the scraps of singed pants that clung to his legs.
Abraham sighed as his hypersensitive ears caught the sound of sirens far in the distance. He couldn’t let the authorities find the man so easily. Abraham would have to figure out what to do with him first.
He hurried over and snatched Dante up onto his shoulder with ease. He made a quick glance around the rest of the room. A burning body sat at the bottom of the steps, its neck twisted unnaturally. It had to have been Dante’s mother—the one who’d been screaming. Anyone upstairs had to have been gone in the flames. Dante would be the only survivor this time. Abraham took him into the backyard and made his way as far
from the house as need be before setting Dante down.
Abraham sighed again and rubbed the back of his neck. Great, he thought. First, the stupid movie star created a monster, and now there was this combustible man. He could follow this clueless man around with ease and determine what to do with him while at the same time keep an eye out for that horrible creature.
This poor guy’s life is ruined. And he’s just a kid. The thought pained Abraham. Dorian had destroyed another life.
No.
No, the Order had destroyed another life, just like they always did. Just like they had done to Abraham. With a pained sigh, he reached into the zipped pocket of his cargo pants and felt for the small metal chain. Entwining it in his fingers, he pulled it out and let the tiny, worn, golden cross rest in his palm. He stared at it for a moment, his mind regressing back to torturous memories. The small piece of jewelry almost seemed to stare back, begging Abraham for peace. As the images of his past intensified, he quickly shook his head and stared back down at Dante while rubbing the cross between his finger and thumb. At least the man in front of Abraham could maybe pick himself back up and live a life of peace after a while. Not Abraham. No, Abraham would have to keep running forever, living a life in the shadows. Abraham Van Helsing didn’t exist, and yet he had to protect a world who could never acknowledge him from a power that sat right under their noses.
And now, that meant watching Dante and making sure he didn’t become a threat as well.
Come to think of it, Abraham would somehow have to keep an eye on all those people who were in the lab. He wanted to see for himself that the Order hadn’t demolished their lives. And if they had and the survivors became a danger to the world around them, Abraham would have to be the one to make the hard decision of taking care of them. There was Dante, that woman and…
Well, Abraham never got a good look at the last person. He wondered if they even had made it out of the fire. Not likely, but I should try to look for them anyway.
Abraham looked back down at Dante, debating whether to leave him so close to the scene or dump him somewhere farther off. If the authorities found him and his catastrophic abilities went public, Dorian would either run as far away from the problem as possible or he’d try and take the kid out. Abraham wasn’t quite sure which the actor would go for. If the authorities get him, there’s a better chance for him. Decided, Abraham darted away, the other experiments filling his thoughts. Where would he start? He could always try to find that little redheaded doctor and make him squeal. Dr. Jekyll was his name, if Abraham recalled. But first he would have to find out all he could about the other threat: the monster.
Canto X
Jack confidently marched up to the police station. The past few days had been a blur, but he was starting to settle and get used to a normal life again. He had tried to tell his family about what had happened, but they thought he was crazy. Over and over, they all said the same thing. “You’re crazy, Jack.” For a brief period, Jack wondered if they were right.
Jack hadn’t run through objects since the experience, but he could’ve sworn he’d caught thoughts that didn’t belong to him, convincing him that he wasn’t crazy; all of it really did happen. Monday morning, he went straight to the cops, giving a description of the redheaded doctor in a lab coat. Tuesday had been the lineup, where Jack pointed out a man named Henry Jekyll. Wednesday and Thursday had been quiet, but Friday was here, and Jack was eager to see why he’d been called in. He happily visualized Henry Jekyll locked behind solid bars.
Henry Jekyll.
The name filled Jack with disgust, though it was brief. He knew Dr. Jekyll would be thrown in the clink in no time. Maybe that’s why they called me here.
Once Jack was inside, an officer met him, a serious look adorning his features. He led Jack to the back and sat him in the interrogation room before leaving, closing the door behind him.
Jack grinned and set his hands on the metal tabletop. As the silence dragged on, Jack became more and more uncomfortable. He glanced up at his reflection in the big two-way mirror and quickly back down, knowing there had to be someone on the other side.
After a few minutes, two cops stepped into the room, wheeling a TV on a stand and parking it next to the table. Neither one of them had worked with Jack on the case Monday or Tuesday. One officer was larger with dark, thinning hair on top of his head, and the other was thin with a tuft of wild, blond hair. The larger one sat down across from Jack and set out a file while the blond found a corner next to the mirror and leaned against the wall, his arms folded menacingly across his chest.
The sight puzzled Jack. What is this? Good cop, bad cop?
The man in front of him watched Jack cautiously before speaking. “Mr. Blevins, I’m Officer Stanley. That’s Officer McVickers over there.” He gave a small nod backward toward the blond. “We understand that you came to the station Monday and spoke to Howes and Lassi about being abducted and illegally experimented on by a man named Henry Jekyll. Is that right?”
They were restating the obvious, but Jack couldn’t place why. “Yes.”
“What happened Saturday?”
Jack paused. I already answered that. “I was at school, in the library. That’s when I was abducted.”
“We have reports from two eyewitnesses that you left from school and went back your apartment,” Stanley said.
Jack made a noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “But I didn’t.” He shook his head. “I went to the back room with the librarian and found him unconscious on the floor. A duplicate was standing there—”
“Duplicate?”
Jack’s eyes wandered up to the blond officer, McVickers, and took in his dubious stare. The rest of Jack’s confidence diminished. “Yes, like someone had disguised himself as the librarian. Then the fake shot me with something—it must have been a tranquilizer.”
“Tranquilizer?” McVickers huffed at the thought.
“Where were you Sunday?” Officer Stanley asked.
Jack pulled his gaze from the taunting one and back to the one in front of him. “I don’t know,” he answered. “It was all a blur. I woke up early Monday morning inside a small warehouse that was on fire.” When the officer’s eyes didn’t shift, Jack felt antsy. “Look, I already explained all this to the officers earlier this week. I don’t understand what it is you’re looking for here.”
“Tell us again how you managed to get out of the fire.”
Officer Stanley’s disinterest showed Jack that he already knew the answer, furthering to baffle Jack. “I don’t know. I just…went through a wall.”
“Went through a wall?” The blond stepped over and sat on the table, glaring at Jack from over his shoulder. “What, like a superpower?”
Jack could feel his face burn at the accusation. I sound crazy. But the other two officers had listened with intrigue on Monday. Why the sudden flip? “I guess.” He shrugged. “But that’s why I reported illegal experimentation. I don’t exactly know what happened and that’s why I came.”
Stanley lifted up a corner of the folder and glanced in. “Yes, it says that you claimed you had the ability to faze through walls and…read minds?”
“Yes, sir.”
For the first time, Officer Stanley couldn’t help but join in his partner’s humorous disbelief. “Can you…replicate these abilities you claim?”
Jack’s heart slowly dropped into his stomach. “No, sir.”
The officer nodded in a quiet, grim way. Geez, this kid is crazy.
Jack’s face burned. “I’m not crazy!”
Stanley paused, his eyes quizzical. But before he had time to think about it, the blond laughed and leaned closer. “Sure, sure, kid. What am I thinking right now?”
Jack only stared, unable to answer for himself. But hope surged through him once more as he processed what these officers couldn’t. “Why don’t you look at the library cameras?” he challenged. “You’ll see the two librarians and the abduction!”
An
d just like that, Officer Stanley was back to a cool professionalism. “The cameras were only in the main part of the library, not the back room.”
“Then ask the librarian!” Jack tried. “He doesn’t have some lapse in memory? He didn’t put in an assault report?”
“He says that you helped in the back for a few minutes then left out the back way with him, which is why no cameras picked you up while you were leaving.”
“No.” The thought was absurd. “No, there’s been a mistake. I was experimented on. You have to believe me! Where was Jekyll on Sunday, huh?”
“According to him, he was with you,” said Officer McVickers. “You agreed to let him take blood so he could work on a cure for the common cold.”
Jack reeled back in his seat. “What? No, that’s impossible! Why did he need a warehouse, then?”
“The lab he worked in burned down. He was given permission by his department head to continue research in the warehouse that burned down sometime between Sunday night and Monday morning.”
Jack folded his arms, frustrated. “This is stupid. He lied to you. You don’t even have any proof of his claims!”
Stanley pulled out a piece of paper and read it off. “This paper signed by Jarvis Stevenson gave Henry Jekyll the permission needed.”
“Permission to do what? Use a building and a few test tubes?” Jack prodded. “Does it say anything about what he really did? No! See? There is no substantial evidence that he did what he said!”
“You sure about that?” Officer McVickers asked.
All of Jack’s insides churned in disgust. He couldn’t believe his ears. This can’t be happening! I didn’t do anything! He dared a look into the first officer’s critical eyes. “Positive.”
“What about the evidence?” Stanley asked.
Jack sucked in a breath as his eyes shot between the two cops, appalled by the very idea. “Evidence—what evidence?” he demanded.
The two were silent for a moment, their critical stares shrinking Jack down to nothing. Finally, Stanley slipped a DVD out of the folder in front of him and gave a small nod to his partner. McVickers took the DVD and made his way over to the TV, turning it on and playing the DVD.
Blind World (The Onyx Fox Saga Book 1) Page 19