The Sin Eaters

by Aaron Summers

  She checked her nails again for black soil. It filled every fold in her skin by the time they returned from the forest. Charlie, sullen and exhausted, said nothing. She showered, slept, showered again, and slept again before agreeing to meet with Rachana’s team. Of course, the woman was furious. She could hardly look at Eliza while she directed her researchers. How much progress had Eliza provoked in 72 hours? How did that compare to a year or ten of dedicated work?

  Eliza would be furious, too. She should understand, even sympathize, but the woman was just awful. Not once during their four-hour data dump did Rachana ask about Charlie’s condition. Eliza had not reported every concern she had about his well-being but the sickly director never once asked about the man himself. She cared about body temperature, intensity and hue of the purple stain, duration of the episode, distance of the fall from the cliff, his reflex to curl into a ball to shield himself, Eliza’s physical reactions to the peccary stew, and a thousand other measurables that the researcher inside Eliza fundamentally believed mattered here.

  Except for Charlie.

  None of that mattered as much as Charlie. She knew it from the moment she saw him on the rooftop, dancing around a blazing bonfire in the Peruvian night. She knew it when she watched him curl down into himself on the railcar ride to his quarters and knew it when he told a fabulously detailed nightmare about living as an ursine beast in the Canadian tundra. Why had she followed him that night as he vanished into the mountains? She knew it when he fell off the cliff. And she truly knew it when Pachamama, weeping, finished telling her story as Charlie awoke with no memory of what happened since before the boulder attack.

  What she knew was that he was insane, that it would kill him, and that she could not be here to watch. She would try to help him but leave before it went as far as death. She knew he mattered. She also knew she couldn’t watch him die.

  Tim bounced his foot while he watched the researchers scramble at their computers. They neglected to deactivate the globe hologram in their haste to revise their models. Shimmering rainbow waves of pixels erupted like earthquakes wherever a data point refreshed. The digital world was imploding and erupting with kaleidoscopic detail.

  Rachana returned to the center of the room, covered her mouth in anticipation of a cough, and was racked by her own personal earthquakes. The sickly cough grew into a moist howl. She reached for a terminal to stabilize herself. Tim was on his feet first. The woman waved him off.

  “No, no, no. But thank you. I am fine. We must…,” She turned her hand to inspect the blood her coughing fit deposited there. “We must continue. Doctor Reyes, the model is revised. Allow me to summarize. Then we will reorient our inquiry and discuss your next steps with Charlie. We’ve identified a number of opportunities, such as the trigger command xontlato.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means ‘Tell me’ in Nahuatl.”

  “Xontlato. Got it. Next steps? Like what?”

  Rachana held up her hand. It was not meant to be rude. The woman’s sagging eyes pleaded with Eliza to let her continue. This was taking too much out of her. Eliza closed her mouth and nodded.

  “We obviously learned a great deal from your expedition. Overall confidence is low. Do not take this as personal criticism.”

  She paused, waited for a rebuttal that never came, and continued.

  “But this is by far the most we’ve heard of this story. Charlie will speak for five, perhaps ten minutes at most. We were aware of Pachamama and the other inhabitants of what Charlie calls the Heavens but not aware he shared his story with them.”

  Eliza chewed her lip. She tried to stop the nervous habit. Rachana might notice and figure out she was hiding more information.

  OrSheMightThinkYoureAnInterruptingJerkWhichIsTrueChewThatLipGoForIt

  “The Mexica elements provide useful correlations. Tenochtitlan, Texcoco, and Tlacopan were the primary cities of an empire called the Triple Alliance. You might know it as the Aztec Empire. They ruled from the Lake of Mexico for several hundred years in an uneasy partnership.”

  Rachana waved her hand. A researcher clicked. The model focused on the Valley of Mexico. Three bright dots appeared. Her accent while pronouncing the foreign names was artful. Eliza privately noted her appreciation.

  “Unlike Auyuittuq, which mostly lacks historic detail, this story is rich with it. Nezhuacoyotl was indeed a Texcoco king. He did build a canal that divided the lake’s famously brackish water from the fresh. Jaguar warriors, eagle warriors, the Flower War concept, human sacrifice to bring rain… this is all true.”

  “So you were able to cross reference all this to enrich his life atlas?”

  “Life atlas? Ah, yes. The historical simulation. Nezhuacoyotl lived from 1402 to 1472. Mercifully for him, he pre-dated the Spanish Conquest. As a single data point, it does help limit the range. It also opens many questions. When did Charlie first learn about this man? Why did he connect to a Mexica king’s story? I have hypotheses we can discuss before your next conversation.”

  Eliza bit her lip hard enough to make it bleed. She didn’t stop.

  “Your story…” Rachana began.

  “His story.”

  “Your story,” Rachana continued, “Because you will always be a secondary source, continues past Nezhuacoyotl’s death. The reference to Motecuhzoma creates an issue. There were many kings with this name. The most obvious connection our correlation engine found was Motecuhzoma Ilhuicamina, who reigned over Tenochtitlan while Nezhuacoyotl reigned over Texcoco. He was the father of the Motecuhzoma who lost the empire to the Spanish. But this man died three years before the canal builder, not several after. He also ruled during a time of peace, not of drought and conflict. This lasting peace was a contributing factor to the Spaniards’ easy conquest. We need to learn more so we can determine why he’s internalized these historical periods into his manufactured narrative.”

  She braced for another coughing fit. The scratching of Tim’s pen filled the vacuum. His pad was full of notes. Shouldn’t all that leg bouncing hurt his knees? He looked stronger, at least. He would hardly bend on the day they met. She realized she hadn’t seen him, not really, in days.

  “But that’s not the focus of the story,” Eliza said. “Or at least not everything, right?”

  She didn’t wait for permission to continue.

  “Because yeah, he was there for a while. But what about the rest? I never understood the whole statue deal. How did he get there? Why is he so different from the last physical form in his other story? What happened with the woman, uh, Quanah? I think she saved him somehow. She was from somewhere pretty far north of the empire. It took the priest a long time to find her. And the priest. Is there any record of him? What about the… what about the...”

  Saying it aloud would be awful. Instead, Eliza brought both hands to her chest, feigned pushing into her ribs and spreading them apart, and stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth.

  “The ritual sacrifice to the rain god Tlaloc?” the sickly director offered.

  Rachana’s hard face had returned during the pantomime. So the shrew still lived.

  “Sure.”

  “Historically accurate in general, though we found no record of such an event. The Mexica were meticulous record keepers and poets. The absence is telling. It is not unlike the absence of records regarding the Biblical plagues of Egypt. Such an omission strains credulity, though we must maintain a certain latitude due to the Spanish destruction of Mexica records as historians do for the Egyptian tendency to erase the records of previous monarchs. The Spanish paved over Tenochtitlan to build Mexico City.”

  “No. Jesus, is that all you think about? What about Charlie?” She mimed the brutal sacrifice again. “He thinks that happened to him and that he lived! What hypothesis do you have for that?”

  Rachana’s sparse eyebrows knitted together.

  “I’m reluctant to make errant guesses. In general, it could be a proxy for another trauma, perhaps a betrayal in
early life that he mythologized into a personal sacrifice. A father figure who betrayed him and another who saved him. But again, more for you to discover.”

  She paused, considering the globe and then Michael.

  “Clear the room!”

  Eliza startled but refused to leave her seat. She soon realized Rachana had spoken to the other researchers. They were gone in moments.

  “There is another data point we have not yet shared. We did not include this in the records we provided because, well, because…”

  “We feared you would leave,” Michael said as he moved into view near the shining globe.

  “Charlie attacked the compound?” Tim asked without looking up.

  The trio around him froze. He continued scribbling, paused at the sound of silence, and looked up. Eliza’s mouth hung open.

  “When. The hell.” She spun back to Rachana and Michael. “Were you going to share this helpful information?”

  Rachana shrugged.

  “Now. We have not experienced a violent episode in many years. We thought the danger was past, though we suspected his behavior might recur given the compounding stresses as the launch date approaches.”

  “And you!” Eliza pivoted back on her unsuspecting assistant. “When did you figure this out? Explain. Now!”

  Tim’s foot stopped slapping the ground. His cheeks bloomed but he refused to avoid her glare.

  “I figured it out while you were off playing Indiana Jones with the crazy yeti man!”

  “Indiana… Jesus, kid. Something was happening. I had to go investigate.”

  “You could have waited on me.” The initial ferocity in his voice faltered. “You could have been hurt.”

  “I wasn't. Not… not exactly. Explain. Someone. Please.”

  “It is the…” Michael began, but Rachana raised a hand and nodded at Tim, who frowned.

  “It’s the identity issue,” the boy finally said. “Like you were just talking about. He thinks he was sacrificed. He really believes it, so it doesn’t matter if it’s real or not. He really believes he’s a human right now, who used to be a monster who was sacrificed by humans, who believes he used to be a bear-sasquatch-whatever the hell Jernbjorn was-thing, and now we’re here making progress on picking apart his escape plan, and he likes you a lot because you remind him of someone that I think hurt him and he, I don’t know… he kind of…”

  “Schismed. That is the term we use,” Rachana said. “He schismed. We do not believe he is aware of this event. In fact, the stress of the attack likely led him to seek shelter with Pachamama. This is intriguing. It means that woman, or the environment, is a place of comfort.”

  “But the… those boulders,” Eliza said. “You didn’t see them up close. Well I guess you did because he threw them at you. How did he… I didn’t see any equipment.”

  She remembered running her fingers along the stone grooves at the entrance to Ilhuicac. Hadn’t he pushed the whole slab into the mountain? She hadn’t bothered to check how thick that door had been. No. That was one thing, a hidden mechanism maybe. Those boulders were as large as cars.

  “The mechanism behind his apparent strength belongs with the schism and his personal history on the long list of data we still need your help to discover,” Michael said.

  “To discover… I don’t… I don’t think you understand. It’s… it’s…”

  Her hand was shaking. She grabbed it with the other to make it stop but that hand was shaking, too. She tried to speak but her tongue was made of lead. Her mouth filled with the copper tang of blood. She looked to Tim. He was on his feet again but there was no one to catch. He lingered while she hyperventilated.

  “I can’t… I can’t… it’s not… I won’t… he can’t… Tim, he can’t… I can’t… she did… she left… he wants…”

  NothingToDoWhatDoWeDoWhatDoWeSayDontKnowWhatToHowToCantHaveToThisWontNeedTo

  She looked up at her waiting teaching assistant. His hands were out in stance to block some unknown assailant, or maybe, to catch her.

  “Help me. Please.”

  He wrapped an arm around her and headed for the door. Michael was there first. She felt Tim’s body ripple as he locked eyes with the spindly man. He choked on his breath but continued. The door opened. Michael had opened it.

  Someone was yelling for them to come back. Was that Rachana? She was so angry. Why was she angry? Eliza just needed air, and time, and a ticket back home, and to call her mom and check on her dad, and to not… to not… she couldn’t look at this anymore. It was too familiar, too clinical, too post-mortem. She couldn’t be here while another person ended their own life. Someone was shouting from the top of a tall, deep, maybe bottomless well.

  “We have no more time! This is grossly unprofessional! I have been sick for ten years and yet I’m here now, working!”

  The voice followed them into the corridor. An antiseptic noon sun washed the windows clean. There was the compound. She could rest and then pack for home. Why was Rachana following them?

  “He will die without your help!” the voice shouted from the top of the deepening well.

  Eliza gasped as she seized up. A dagger pinned her shoulders together when her belligerent chest constricted. Her feet dragged.

  “ENOUGH!”

  Rachana gaped at Tim, snarled, and disappeared into her lab.

  “It’s okay, Doc.” He was quieter now, though his shout still rang in her ears. “It’s alright. We’ll get you back. It’s alright. Just focus on your breath. Keep breathing. Gotta work through the panic. Breathe in, good, breathe out. Come on now, Doc. Breathe.”

  ◆◆◆

  The alarm clock flashed red. Why were all alarms red? Some were green, probably, but she found all the red ones. The hideous little demons shined their red light with the beveled characters that could make any number, any time, out of the same matrix. Why did they always show the same time when she first woke up? It couldn’t always be 09:42. She slapped at the alarm. It shattered. Eliza bolted up.

  “It’s okay, Doc. You’re okay.”

  Tim rose from his chair but wouldn’t approach. She looked down. Of course he wouldn’t. He was barefoot. Broken glass swam in a small, new lake. Who broke the glass? She looked at her hand. She had. There was never an alarm clock here. He grabbed a towel from her bathroom and began to clean the mess. Morning light streamed through the uncovered window beside her bed. Wasn’t it just the afternoon a minute ago?

  She wrapped the blanket around her. It was freezing in here. Wasn’t he cold? No, he was too big to be cold. Or it wasn’t cold in here and it was just her. There hadn’t been an alarm clock, after all. She grasped at an ache between her shoulders. Her chest groaned in response.

  “What happened? Did Charlie… did I fall or something? God, my body hurts.”

  “You, ah…” The boy’s neck flushed.

  “Speak. I command it.”

  She coughed. He handed her another glass of water. She drained it.

  “You had a panic attack, I think. Don’t you remember?”

  “A panic attack? I don’t have panic attacks. When?”

  “At the lab. We were talking with Rachana and Michael and I think something triggered you.”

  “Triggered? I’m not some kid on Tumblr. What the hell are you talking about? Play it back for me.”

  He frowned but settled into his chair.

  “There was a lot. I guess I could, yeah, I remember most of it. Rachana said she’s reluctant to make errant guesses. In general, it could be a stand-in for another trauma, perhaps a betrayal in early life that he mythologized into a great sacrifice. A father figure who betrayed him and another who saved him. But again, more for you to discover.”

  Eliza rubbed her temples. Thank god he didn’t try to copy voices. It would take the peculiar talent to an eerie place. His words stank of déjà vu.

  “Then, well, Rachana told us that Charlie was the one who attacked the compound. You were all surprised but I had figured it out already. Y
ou got mad at me,” his voice broke, “then you made us explain. I can explain it all again if you want, but then you started breathing real fast and shallow like you’d just finished a bunch of sprints. Then you said to discover… I don’t… I don’t think you understand. It’s… it’s… Then your hands started shaking and I went to check on you, and then…”

  “Stop. Please.” Eliza was wringing a shaking hand. “Enough. I remember. The life atlas. The Aztec kings. The schism thing. You figured it out. Good… good job. You’re better at this than me. No! I meant, it wasn’t that, I don’t think. It’s just…”

  “It’s cool. I get it. My little sister has these. Not like yours though. You need to rest.”

  He rose and headed for the door.

  “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “You need some time to rest. Michael’s been asking about you. He’s really worried. Charlie’s apparently still asleep in his chamber thing. We’ll just talk if I’m in here.” He looked at his feet. “You’ll want me to replay everything for you, then you’ll get all wound up again. And you won’t be okay.”

  “That’s not… yeah, that’s probably true. But can you just, I dunno, sit with me a while?”

  “Why?”

  The fragile question hung between them, waiting to be shattered by her usual sharp answers. Moisture filled his large eyes. She hoped he wouldn’t cry until she saw him blink and realized she was watching frustration, maybe even rage. It occurred to her that Charlie and the Grupo might not have a monopoly on demanding personalities.

  “Come on man. We only have each other here. I don’t know what just happened but you seem to. That’s never happened to me before. Like that. Never happened like that. It’s… it was scary, Tim. I need you here.”

  He folded his arms across his chest.

  “But you didn’t need me before, right? Not when you went running into the mountains.”

  “I…”

  “And not enough to tell me what actually happened up there.”

  “I…”

  “No you didn’t. The Grupo didn’t notice because they’re excited, but your story doesn’t make sense. You said Charlie was knocked out on the bed but then he shared this story. How did he share the story if he was knocked out?”