Liquid Death (The Edinön Trilogy Book 1) (5 page)

The Blizzard

              Jan. 2, 2017

                           
I regard the new student with
sheer morbid curiosity as he strides guiltily out of the cafeteria. Kyle appears near my side, clearly displeased. I clasp the paper sack of treasure and follow him out to the hall. My head finally clears as the cacophony of the cafeteria fades with distance.

              Kyle and I sit in the waiting area while Ms. Hendricks scolds the new, “mysterious” boy. I raise my left sleeve and reexamine the especially deep knife wound from last night. It has already sealed.

              When the new boy leaves the counselor’s office, his black eyes instantly lock onto mine, and every drop of blood in my body flushes to my toes. I clutch my stomach with one hand and my forehead with the other, praying for relief. I manage to catch a glimpse of his face before he departs. A knowing smile plays across his lips.

              How does he know?

              “Kandi!”

              “Come on, Kandi.” Kyle urges me forward. I shake my head and collapse to my knees. Eye contact is not pleasant. It should never have happened. It is almost worse than physical contact.

              “Doctor?”

              Ms. Hendricks struts toward me, and my skin chills. I dry heave until all my energy is spent, then roll on my back and gaze up at the ceiling, praying for death.

              “What happened? Did you touch her?” Ms. Hendricks demands.

              “No! No,” Kyle stammers.

              “Okay, then it must be adverse effects of Theratocin. Grab a syringe and a bottle of Zidivin.”
[1]
I hear him leave to do her bidding. Her dark face obscures my view of the light fixture. “Why did you do that, Kandi?” She clucks her tongue and pries the bag of precious food from my frozen fingers. “Was it because of this?” She holds the bag up for me to see. When I don’t respond, she shakes her head in disappointment. “I can’t have you doing that again, sweetie. It would jeopardize everything I’m working for.” Her tone is overly sweet and demeaning. I moan and raise my head off the floor. “Hurry, Kyle!” the counselor calls anxiously. She looks back at me and smiles. “My little puppy will do anything for treats, won’t she?”

              I think of the letter my mother wrote to me before she died, about how people would try to use my gifts if I wasn’t careful. I can’t imagine how they would accomplish this, but it seems they might have succeeded already, based on the incident in the cafeteria. There is a reason security is such a high priority in this school.

             
And, yes, Ms. Hendricks, I find anyone who gives me food freely with no thought of a return favor deserves my good will.
Food is gold.

              Kyle finally returns with the Zidivin. Ms. Hendricks takes the bottle and fills a syringe with the clear substance inside. After flicking the syringe three or four times, she positions the needle in my forearm and injects the living poison (the same poison that could wipe humans off the planet in a matter of months) into my bloodstream. I instantly feel like I’m floating…. Then nothing.

***

             
“Wake up, Kandi.”

              I slipped out of my bed and into my slippers, yawning and rubbing my burning eyes. I followed him outside to the lab, which was underground and therefore concealed from Mom and Traci. I climbed inside after him. Ms. Hendricks was there, slapping on plastic gloves and muttering to herself.

              “She’s going to find out eventually,” she said, her plump lips pursed pessimistically.

              “Leyla, we’ve been doing this for years and nothing has happened. Relax.”

              There were two men laid out on metal tables, stark naked and groaning. My table was between them. I climbed on top of it and lied on my back, shivering in the cold. Ms. Hendricks removed every stitch of clothing from my body. She then clasped one of my wrists and tied it with a leather strap to the table. She did the same with my other wrist and both my ankles until I was sprawled out like a frog prior to its dissection. I never resisted because I knew it would be futile.

              Several needles and tubes later, I couldn’t move at all.

              “We’ll try the skull tonight, Leyla.” I heard the piercing thrum of a bone saw closing in on my forehead. A moment later, my mind had the clarity of a fuzzy television screen as the saw penetrated the delicate skin of my third eye. I blacked out before it dove any deeper.

              Several hours later, I awoke with the worst headache I had ever felt. The earthquake of the Ages was transpiring in my cranium. I could still feel the surgical tool in my head. Blood poured from my mouth and every other part of my body – including my eyes – as I looked around to find my dad.

              “Daddy,” I moaned, shutting my eyes to squeeze out more blood.

              “It’s okay, honey,” Dad soothed, dabbing my face with a cold rag. “Leyla, get me a bucket.”

              Suddenly I felt frigid water dump over me, effectively jolting my mind into complete consciousness. I gasped and choked on a grape-sized clump of blood. Dad quickly picked me up and patted my back as I coughed violently until I could spit it out. A string of crimson trailed over my lips after it. I moaned again and started crying.

              After my dad soaped and scrubbed me down, he ruffled my hair and smiled, then opened his arms and lifted me like a baby. “It is almost time to return home, Kandi.”

              I pad into the living room at seven in the morning the day after the New Boy incident, listening to the whistling wind outside. Blizzard. School is closed. I scavenge the kitchen in search of something substantial to eat. My stomach caves when I find absolutely nothing. I moan and lean against the refrigerator. I’m so hungry that boiling the sofa material into furniture soup sounds enticing.

              I wander around the house in search of any edible trash or leftovers Jim might have left in the past week. All I find is trash. And not the edible kind.

              At length I decide to check Jim’s room. Maybe he could take a trip to the grocery store before we both starve. Still in my holey pajamas, I walk to the end of the hallway and knock softly on his door before turning the knob and peeking inside.

              I knew something was off. I haven’t heard him snoring since I awoke.

              Jim is gone. He abandoned me before the winter storm blew in. Perfect timing, as usual.

              Instead of sulking as I am tempted to do, I take refuge in my room and scan my small bookshelf for the book I have read the least number of times. I’ve memorized every book on my shelf, but lately I have been practicing reading the words aloud, hoping to retrieve full use of my vocal cords. Until this past Christmas, I hadn’t uttered a word in over seven and a half years.

             
Alice, Jim’s fiancé, smiled as she tucked me into bed. “Do you want me to read you a story?”

              I snuggled further under the covers. She interpreted that as a 'yes.'

              “Okay,” she said, biting her lower lip. Alice plucked a book off the bookshelf next to my bed and opened it. Her eyes skimmed the pages before she started reading:

              “Neve gazed through the bars of her single window, her long white hair flowing in the chill breeze. Each exhale produced a puff of carbon dioxide and ice crystals in the air. Her long, slim fingers felt as though they were frozen to the metal bars that separated her from the outside world.

              “The world outside was foreign to her. She saw lights and people meandering about, trading and dancing and communicating, each activity performed energetically. The colors in the city – vibrant blues, greens, violets, and reds – fascinated her. She wondered where those colors came from, and the music, oh, the music! How was it made? How did the people build those structures in the city so high and elaborate?

              “But, most of all, she wished to know how to dance like those women in the annual autumn festivals. The extravagant apparel they wore, the way they swayed to and fro, and the way their colorful hair was sculpted.... All of these things seemed nothing more than a distant fantasy to her. To be a part of the world was unfathomable.

              “Tomorrow would be the Eve of the Wedding. The entire kingdom of Vunta was celebrating in preparation for the arrival of the King and Queen of the adjacent kingdom, Jazgun, the home of the Princes of the Elements, who were to marry their betrothed Princesses of the Elements, Neve's sisters. And Neve would be sitting here, in her cozy dungeon, eagerly anticipating the ceremony that occurred every fifty years – the first, and probably last one she would see in her lifetime.

              “Neve relinquished the bars and plopped onto her plush king-sized bed below it, on the side closest to the hearth where a fire blazed brilliantly. Another chilling breeze wafted through the bars above her, and her body's response was to curl into a fetal position on the bed, relishing the soft silkiness of her white gown. The sun was descending below the mountains now; she caught a glimpse of the pinkish-orange clouds in the sky through the window. A single star – the only one visible this early in the evening – winked at her.

              “Life wasn't so bad for Neve. She had everything she needed... except freedom. One day, she would be able to burst free of the walls confining her, wear fine, colorful dresses, speak to people, swim in the rivers, learn how to read and how to dance... One day, she aimed to be independent and free.”

              My eyes grew heavy. Distantly, I heard Alice shut the book and tread out of the room, softly closing the door behind her.

              My teeth chatter unceasingly as I try to continue reading. My limbs are numb. I can’t curl my toes or fingers.

              Eventually, I give up and drop the book, huddling under the thin blanket on my bed. Did Jim forget to pay the electric bill? My vision fogs as my mind becomes occupied with the past. I despise the cold. My greatest wish is to live on a tropical island where I have an unlimited amount of perfectly cooked steak at my disposal. Or, if that is dreaming too big, I would like to live in a house with heat and a pantry full of food.

              Am I going to starve or freeze to death first? I think I would rather freeze. Of course, I can’t die, so as usual I’ll simply be plain miserable until my body restores its broken self.

              The walls of this house are so thin that I can actually feel the wind blowing on my face. I wouldn’t be surprised if I began to see snowflakes falling from the ceiling. Hearing my stomach growling over the blizzard, I wrap myself tightly in a cocoon and fall asleep shivering uncontrollably, dreaming of fried chicken.

              My eyes fly open a few hours later, and I am still shivering. The numbness has now spread over my entire body. I stare at the card on my nightstand next to the alarm clock and ponder crawling out of bed to make a phone call. I try to lift my hand, but it might as well be detached. I shiver again so violently that a pounding ache manifests in my bones. My lips feel dry and swollen.

             
“Kandi,” Kyle said, reaching toward me with a card in his hand. “Take this. Dial this number if you are ever in trouble, okay?”

              “Help me,” I croak to the wind. My eyes drift closed. “Help…”

             
I am okay
, I tell myself.
Jim will return.

             
And then what?
Is he going to feed me? No. Give me something hot to drink? No. A warm blanket? Definitely not. He is going to take whatever warmth I have left if it is the last thing he does.

              As my body begins to naturally restore sensation, I fling my hand to the card on my nightstand and read the number. The house creaks and groans in the fierce storm. I lose my grip on the card as another violent shiver overwhelms me. I grit my teeth and remove myself from the bed, my legs wobbly and vehemently protesting locomotion.

              I must get to the phone.

              Unfortunately, I am unable to get far. I wake up on the floor in the hallway and shrink into a frozen ball in surrender.

              “Kandi, it is time to take you home.”

              I open my eyes and look up. Dad?

              Sure enough, my dad is there, a million-dollar smile flashing on his handsome face. He is wearing the same clothes he wore the last time I saw him – black suit and tie – and his blond hair has grown over his forehead. Terror seizes my breath when I see the bloody knife in his hand. Every cell in my body screams with the memories of that knife.

              Dad drops the weapon. “Kandi, it’s me.”

              My lips part, and I finally find my voice. “Dad,” I breathe, the glacial air from the outside burning my skin, the warm smile directed toward me freezing my heart.

              The next thing I know, Uncle Jim is on top of me, carving the wing of an eagle into my left inner thigh. I shriek and gasp with pain, or the pain I would have felt if I wasn’t a popsicle.