Falling (4 page)

We wait in silence. I am too busy dying to care. It’s all
still happening — the blood boiling in my veins, my muscles and sinews melting
and my bones glowing hot like heated iron. I lie on the bed shaking, searching
for a moment of pure silence when the song is not beating inside my skull.

“I imagine it must be very painful. The hunger,” a voice
says from far away. I blink and make the effort to turn my head. The words are
important. If I hold onto them, they may keep me afloat.

“Someone once told me that it’s like a fire that consumes
you forever. Feeding will lower the flames, but it will never extinguish them
entirely.” Tarren’s voice is deep, rugged—the type of voice Hollywood would
cast as the misanthropic cowboy lead in a spaghetti western.

There is a small table in the corner of the room. Tarren
takes a chair and places it near the bed, though still far enough away to be
out of arm’s reach. He sits and takes his time speaking so that each word is
clear and resonant.

“I am sorry that you were infected, but it happened. You are
one of them. An angel. There are no halves. No hybrids.”

Tarren leans over and plants his elbows on his knees. Thin
scarlet threads through his energy.

“Gabe thinks you will be strong enough to control the
hunger. I hope that he’s right, but I don’t think so. When you prove him wrong,
I will kill you. ” His head comes up and those cold eyes guard his thoughts
well. We look at each other.  More accurately, my gaze moves around his body,
following the flow of his energy. He doesn’t share Gabe’s brilliant aqua;
Tarren’s blue aura is mixed with shades of yellow and brown, which turn it
muddy.

“You don’t understand what you are, but if you did, I think
you would forgive me.  You see, most people choose to be infected. That makes
the killing a little easier, but I never enjoy it. I know that doesn’t help,
but I just…I wanted you to know.”

My eyes find his. It is a struggle to keep my gaze anchored
with the energy moving around him. His left eye is swollen, and a dark bruise
already shades the delicate skin beneath.

“Are you…” I swallow and concentrate on the words “…my
brothers?”  My hands are open and hot. Something new is happening to them.

“Half brothers,” Tarren says. “We have the same mother.”

Something vibrates. Tarren pulls a phone from his pocket.

“You here?” Pause. “Wait outside. I’ll let you know.”

Tarren frowns. “Listen closely. It’s easy to lose control
when you feed. When you’re done with the animal, you’ll want more, but you must
stop yourself. There’ll only be me and Gabe left, and if you try to hurt me or
especially my brother, I will kill you.  Understand?”

I stare at his scar. It starts under his left ear and jags
along his jaw line, curving up his chin and ending just under the edge of his
lips. It must have been a large knife.

“Okay,” I say, because I am sensing a new energy outside the
door and though Tarren’s words hardly make sense, I think that maybe this new
energy is for me.

“Alright,” Tarren says into his phone.

Gabe opens the door. He holds a small border collie puppy
under one arm and clutches a plastic bag in his other hand. The dog’s tail wags
from side to side.

“All I found was a pet shop. They didn’t have anything
grown,” Gabe says. The dog lifts its head and licks Gabe’s chin. “Stop that,”
he says sternly. “Stop being…so god damn adorable.”

“Lock the door,” Tarren tells him. He walks around the bed.
“I’m going to cut the cuffs off you now,” he says to me. “Stay on the bed.” He
looks up at Gabe. “Her hands are open. She’s been straining against the cuffs.”

“She’s hungry,” Gabe says. He drops the bag and fishes a gun
from his waist band.

“Silencer on?” Tarren asks.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry little guy. I really am.” Gabe looks
down at the puppy. “Shit,” he mutters. He moves to the end of the bed.

A blade slides between my skin and the cuffs. The plastic
snaps off, and I think I understand. My mind is so fogged, the need so great
that I’m not sure just how much control I wield over my own limbs. I pull my
wrists free of the cuffs and concentrate only on the dog. Tarren is just behind
me. I could grab him. The blood is rushing in my ears. Gabe would shoot me, but
wouldn’t it be worth it? Death for even the smallest relief? Until this night,
I never understood how completely hunger can dissect away a person’s soul; what
viciousness lies beneath the surface of any one of us.

And there’s something even more wrong with my hands. I turn
them palms up and stare at the vein-covered bulbs rising out of each bloodless
wound. They pulse with heat. I let out a guttural moan that is wholly
inadequate to express just how obliterated the little planet of Maya is. This
is when the word monster first seizes in my mind—a seed plugged into fertile
agony to germinate later.

Gabe releases the puppy, and then I forget everything.

It lands on the bed and immediately shrinks away from me. I
rake it up into my arms, and the puppy gives a single fearful yelp before the
orbs in my hands latch to its energy field. I feel an explosion of cooling
ecstasy. There is no knowledge to this, only instinct. My body greedily soaks
up the animal’s energy. The little dog trembles just as Ryan trembled earlier
this night. The glow around its body dims and wavers and then vanishes like a
candle snuffed. My mind is lost, drowned in the pleasure that is all too
quickly vanquished.

I let the limp body fall out of my arms. There is more
energy in the room. The hunger is already kindling inside of me, growing
louder. I look up and see a boy in a ball cap. He holds a gun at his side. He
is distracted. His eyes are on the dead puppy. I suddenly know that I am faster
than him. I could leap off the bed and connect to his energy before he could
get off a shot. My muscles tense. There is another man. He has a gun too. He is
not distracted. Tarren is his name. And the other one is Gabe. I am hit by the
realization of just how much I want to kill them and how little I care about
the bullet I would earn for the attempt. What would Ryan think of me? Vanilla.

“The cuffs,” I moan. “Now, nownownow.” I put my arms behind
my back, try to close up my hands. The skin is stubborn, peeling back again as
soon as Tarren steps behind me.

“She’s got it,” Gabe says under his breath even as he lifts
his gun. “She’s got it. She’s got it.”

Tarren’s fingers are deft. A new set of ties whips around my
torn wrists, and he pulls them tight into the wounds. He backs away, and Gabe
lets out a heavy huff of breath. I fall back against the bed, moaning as the
need rises and breaks over me. The animal inside me is so much stronger than my
fragile self. It lashes out, and I strain against the cuffs, groaning and
writhing on the bed.

The two brothers watch me in silence. Eventually—and it
probably isn’t so long, really—I am lying on my side panting. The sheets are
twisted and smeared with blood from the oozing wounds on my wrists.

“It’ll get easier,” Gabe says as I tumble into an exhausted
sleep.

The nearness of energy breaks my sleep and sets my heart
beating hard.

A face peers into mine, and for a blissful moment I don’t
recognize it. I wonder at the strange glow around his features, about the swell
of haunting music in my head and why my hands seem to be splitting open without
any conscious effort. Then I remember.

“Hey,” Gabe says, “I know you’re tired, but I want to show
you something.”

His voice is too loud, even though he’s whispering. Strange
smells cloud the room, and something is buzzing loud as a swarm of bees. I look
over to the table and realize it’s just the hum of a laptop.

I try to rub my eyes and instead send flares of pain through
my wrists as I tug against the cuffs. Gabe pulls the blanket off of my
shoulders and helps me stand up, one hand under my elbow, the other against my
back.

“How you feeling?”

I think about the question, and then I stop thinking. “I
need the bathroom.”

“Ha,” he replies, “not going to be easy with those
handcuffs.”

“Then take them off.”

Tarren is not in the room. The hunger is. I am aware of
Gabe’s fingers on my bare skin; the pulse of his energy in the space between
us.

Gabe hesitates. He looks tired and too young for the things
in his eyes. I search for a resemblance, something in his face that might be
mine as well. Not that I believe him.

Gabe is a head taller than me and thin as a coat rack. His
long limbs are trapped in a baggy t-shirt and worn jeans. His hair, the same
golden-brown color of his eyes, is still managed by the backwards hat and
spills out thick and wavy to his ears.

We stare at each other. He smiles like he can’t help it.

“What?” I ask.

“I don’t know, it’s just…it’s you.” Gabe laughs and shakes
his head. “It’s you,” he repeats as if this will clear things right up. His
laugh is warm and inviting, somehow untouched by the sheer catastrophe of the
situation at hand.

We most definitely do not look alike at all except for a
similar point to our chins. Lots of people have pointy chins.

“I really need to go to the bathroom,” I say. “I won’t hurt
you. I just have to pee, and I’d like to take a shower.” This may be a lie. I’m
not sure yet.

Gabe considers this. Shades of lavender blush within the
cloud of color around his body. He says, “I know what Tarren thinks, but he’s
wrong. I hated to see you in these things.” He pulls out a pocket knife and
cuts through the cuffs. All the nerves in my arms are numb and then, suddenly,
spiky and electric. I tuck my hands protectively into my body.

“Don’t take too long, or we’ll miss it. Oh!” The smile jumps
right back onto Gabe’s face as if it was only taking a breather in the wings.
“I have something for you.”

Gabe reaches for a bag on the floor. “There was a comic book
shop next to the pet store. Should’ve seen the poor excuse for a lock they had
on the door. Anyway, I, uh, I got you a shirt. Tarren is picking up some other
things for you, but this’ll do for now. What do you think of
Battlestar Galactica
?” He pulls a gray t-shirt from the
bag with the words “Frak You” imprinted on the front.

Ryan sometimes talked about the show with his nerdy friends.
I cry in the shower. Deep, rib-bruising cries. I can’t stand up, so I sit on my
knees while the water soaks my fevered skin. My body is sore all the way into
my bones and joints, and I worry that my skin might split open at the slightest
pressure.  My wrists are torn up, but I don’t know how bad. I can’t look at my
hands right now. I just can’t.

My blood and dried vomit pigment the water then wash down
the drain.

And then there’s my mother, Karen. What if she doesn’t have
her inhaler when she gets the news that I’m missing? What if she mixes up her
anti-anxiety pills with her sleeping pills again? What if the stress gives her
another ulcer? I threw away the medical encyclopedia, but she’s found out about
WebMD, so now there’s no stopping her. Henry, my father, isn’t strong enough to
keep Karen under control. He’ll just work more. There’s a good chance he won’t
even care that much.

And even though I don’t want to do it, I lift my hands up
from the tub and trace the new seams Xing across my palms. They’re almost
invisible, except I know they’re there. The skin kisses together like colorless
lips, and I push my finger through the slit, wondrous at the heat and pain and
wetness inside. And yes, I am freaking out, but I can hardly manage more than a
low moan and a couple of sparse tears.

Non sum quails eram
. I am
something different now. Something inhuman, and I can’t explain what it feels
like to not be the thing you always were. To hear hunger as a song no one else
can hear; a song that racks your body and entices you to kill. I am half convinced
this is all a dream, except the hunger is too loud for sleep.

After the shower, I stand naked in front of the bathroom
mirror exploring my pale body for any telltale spikes or horns or other
indications of what I am. I see a thin girl with honey colored hair turned dark
with water. Flat stomach, patchy legs, foolish purple bangs. A new musculature
hints beneath my skin. The eyes are different too. Ryan always accused me of
being overdramatic—of seeing things that weren’t there. Maybe, but I look into
my own eyes and I see ruin.

The shirt is too large. It swallows my body, and the sleeves
settle into the crooks of my elbows.

“Come on,” Gabe says as soon as I open the door. He hands me
a bottle of water, and I didn’t know I was thirsty, but I am. Incredibly so. I
guzzle the water as we exit the room.

* * *

We sit on the roof of the motel swinging our legs over the
side. I look past the parking lot, the blinking traffic lights and the
McDonalds across the street, trying to find something worth noticing in the
gray dawn. The air is chilled but warming, and the birds are waking up. I can
see so much farther then I’m supposed to; can read the license plate of the
battered truck puttering into the McDonald’s drive thru.

I realize I don’t know where we are. Still in Connecticut? I
sniff the air and receive a heavy bouquet of scents I cannot place. The
noises—traffic, birds beating their wings overhead, the McDonald’s drive thru
speaker crackling—all blur and blend and beat at me like a thousand fists
knocking upon a door out of unison.

“Wait for it,” Gabe says. He is leaning back on his elbows.
I try to push away the discordant stimuli, but this only increases my awareness
of Gabe’s energy next to me. I could reach over, snatch away that vibrant blue.
Instead, I study his hat.  The thing might have been white some decades ago.
The rim is frayed. The symbol on the crest is worn away, almost unintelligible.
It looks like a salmon-colored S with a green triangle over it.

“The boy I was with last night,” I say and can’t finish.

Gabe looks up at me. “It’s a lot to take in. We don’t have
to talk about it now.”

“What am I? What did that man do to me? I killed a fucking
puppy yesterday.”

“Yeah.” Gabe sits up and scratches his cap. “The kid you
were with. Boyfriend?”

I nod.

Gabe looks away into the distance. “He’s dead. I checked for
a pulse. The angel was trying to take you. Your boyfriend got in the way.”

“Oh.” I wait a while for this to set in. Ryan is gone.
Avalon is gone. Happiness is gone. But I am here. Not me, monster me is here.
Curved-horns-puppy-devouring me is sitting on this roof thinking about jumping
off because I’m too scared and too tired to come up with an option better than
concrete blood art.

“Why…” I take a breath. My voice is coming back. “Why did
you call him an angel?”

Gabe looks at me then away quickly. His hands fiddle with
nothing. “That’s what they call themselves. Big egos. Way big.” He licks his
chapped lips. “You see, angels aren’t exactly the Precious Moments figurines
society likes to think. In the Bible, angels are God’s warriors. They smite his
enemies. Lots of times they disguise themselves as humans, but they’re
something else. Terrible and strong. Super humans. That’s what these angels are
too, but they’re not working for any God.”

“Where did they come from? Outer space?” I’m not sure if
this is a joke until Gabe laughs.

“Nah, it’s all science. Evil genius, Frankenstein science,
and…” He stops and looks at me. “You know, it’s kind of our policy to never
talk about this.”

“Tell me.”

“It’ll sound crazy.”

I am pushing my palms flat against the concrete roof. Hard.
Keeping them there, because what I really want to do is latch onto Gabe’s
energy field or aura or whatever it is and drain him.

“I’ll keep an open mind,” would have been a clever thing to
say. What I manage is, “just tell me.”

Gabe keeps staring at me. I can’t imagine what I must look
like right now, but evidently it evokes enough pity that he says, “Gary Cook.
He created the angels. He was a scientist.”

“What, like a mad scientist?”

“No, not at all. The opposite, actually.” His eyes come up
to meet mine, and there is no humor in them.

“You know how they say the road to Hell is paved with good
intentions?” he says softly. “Gary Cook was the poster child for good
intentions gone bad. Thing is, he looked at this world and saw all the heaps of
suffering everyone was going through. The hunger, the sickness, the petty
violence, and he decided to do something about it.”

“By mixing up monsters in his lab?”

“He came up with this idea. Pretty fucking brazen actually.”
Gabe takes in a swill of breath and lets it out long and slow like he needs
some time to figure his next words. “Dr. Cook decided to make angels.”

He can’t actually be serious…except that he is.

“That’s where he got his inspiration. He wanted to turn men
into angels.”

I stare. Gabe just shrugs. “Dude was a little whacked in the
head, but he believed it was possible to…” Gabe searches for the word,
“reengineer the human body. He theorized that humans could be made stronger and
faster with keener senses—that anything was possible. Maybe even human flight.”

“Oh,” I say. “The man. Last night. We flew.”

Gabe turns his head to look at me. “You’re taking this a
little too well.”

“No, I’m not. You just don’t know me.” I’ve begun to
barricade my emotions behind a mental door with ruthless efficiency. I am still
considering letting myself slip off the roof, but first I want to know what
happened to me. I need to understand what I am and how I might go about killing
the man who did this to me. I’m sorry Ryan. Revenge would surely be beneath
you, but not me. Revenge is the weak soul’s justice, and I am beginning to
learn just how weak I can be.

“Cook’s theory revolved around energy transference,” Gabe
continues. “He believed that the human body contained a vast untapped potential
for strength, intelligence and power.”

I tuck my hands into my body and pick at the torn skin
around my wrists. I thrill at the sparks of pain when my nails press into the
gashes. Little bits of dried blood fall into the apron of my shirt.

“Tarren understands the science of it a lot better than me,
but the thing is, humans can’t get energy directly.  Think of the way plants
can just suck it up right from the sun. We get our energy by eating the plants
or the animals that eat the plants. It’s really inefficient. Each link is
farther away from the direct energy source, which means there’s a huge loss of
energy. Cook was after a way to cut out all the middle steps so that humans
could absorb energy directly from the sun. He thought that such pure energy
would allow humans to reach their full physical potential. It’d be like
steroids times a hundred, except not only for muscles. For your senses. For
your memory. For your mind.”

“But…why?” My voice cracks.

“To save us from ourselves,” Gabe shrugs. “Cook envisioned a
world where everyone fed directly off the energy of the sun. Think about it—no
more hunger. No more fighting over resources. The superhuman part, I guess I
can see it. If everyone was strong and smart and there wasn’t disease and
stuff, maybe we could fix our other problems.” A lonely little smile plays
across his lips. “Maybe Dr. Cook believed he could fix human nature by making
us all something better than humans.”

“No one can actually be that naïve.”

“I don’t know,” Gabe sits up and braces his hands behind
him. “Haven’t you ever wanted to create a better world?”

I have absolutely no idea how to respond to this. I mean I
do, but I don’t think suddenly imploding into manic, tortured laughter would be
very pleasant for either of us.

Luckily, I get distracted by my body going crazy.