Little Deadly Things (14 page)

Jim grazed his hands along her legs and paused at the plain dark triangle that held such awe and mystery. He traced the concave line of her ribs, around her breasts and up to her face again, holding her head immobile while he kissed her again and again.

She lifted her legs and placed them on the bed. Jim supported himself above her and allowed her to caress his chest and hips. She reached down and took him in her hands. One moment he was above her, separate, and the next moment he was inside her. They were fused. They kept their eyes open and marveled at the sight of one another. Then they were engulfed in passion.

Later, they lay entwined. Each time Jim started to speak, Marta put her mouth over his mouth to stop him, although she did permit him to profess his love for her. Repeatedly.

Much later, Marta broke the silence. “Why did you wait so long?” she asked.

The next day at school, Eva stopped and looked first at Jim, then at Marta. Pain, then anger flashed across her eyes, almost too brief to notice. Then she grinned.

“About damned time,” she said, and lapsed into stony silence for the rest of the day. It was difficult to think when the din from the Voices at Table rose in deafening ridicule.

Throughout high school, Jim, Marta, and Eva, friends by exclusion as much as by attraction, were protective of one another even as they quarreled. Marta and Jim sometimes fought, always over Jim’s temper. His anger was hard for her. Eva’s insults were mingled with affection. She kept Marta close, but always at arm’s length, as if the act of embracing her would be painful.

Jim supplied the minimum effort to pass his classes and remain enrolled. He continued to study people, teasing out their secrets, a talent that often proved more curse than blessing, a gift that cleaved him from, rather than bound him to, members of his own species.

Eva and Marta, drawn to science since childhood, were accepted at Yale, Tufts, and Harvard. They chose Harvard College, for its medical school and its Center for Nanoscale Systems. The Hidden Scholar Foundation continued to fund their education.

And the three friends who shared different but difficult childhoods, three friends thrown together by chance, three who would share an orbit travelled to another part of the country and another chapter in their lives.

___________________________________________

WALKING WITH JURICÁN

BOSTON
OCTOBER. 2029

O
kay, Jim thinks, she was old. She had cataracts. So what? She didn’t need to read a dataslate. Her hearing had largely faded. But she registered the clink of a spoon at mealtimes. She smelled bad... so what?

Ringer had been Jim’s friend and familiar. The move from southern California to Boston had been hard enough on Jim, but the freezing weather and endless grey skies seemed to drain life from Ringer. Her filmy eyes implored, a whine in her voice chided,
Make it warm!
Her every arthritic step made Jim ache. A stab of pain shot through him each time she fell.

A boy and his dog. Ringer was eleven, and then—no more.

Tips from, “Coping With The Loss of Your Dog”
It is normal to feel angry

“God help me, Marta, I’m about to explode.”

“Shhh...querido. Just let me hold you for a while.”

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND DAMMIT THAT WAS RINGER.”

It is normal to feel depressed

“Jim, it’s been a week. Are you going out? What about your job?”

“Leave me alone.”

“It’s not just you. I can’t ignore my classes. Harvard is harder than Los Pobladores.

“I’m not keeping you from your studies.”

“How can I concentrate on school when I’m worried about you? I have to go to class. Jim? Jim?”

The most important step in your recovery is to express your feelings in a way that suits you best

Night shrouded Boston Common. Dark figures slid in and out of the park’s shadows: drug dealers, prostitutes, muggers—and a hunter. Jim Ecco moved silently. His practiced eyes counted the park’s denizens. He wanted to find two or three, young enough to be a challenge, but not so young as to be exculpable.

He crouched by the Soldier and Sailor Monument. It topped a small rise and gave him a view of much of the park’s fifty acres. Over the centuries, the Common had hosted soldiers, protests, and recreation. It accommodated criminals as graciously as upright citizens. And on a crisp fall evening, as the fires of his rage and the anguish of his guilt consumed him, Jim Ecco prepared to approach three of these habitués.

He moved away from the monument’s bas relief, stepping with care. No twigs snapped, no leaves crackled. He raced across open ground, crouching low, moving with the cover of trees. He kept his attention wide, sensing for danger, for intrusion, for anything that might come between him and his prey.

He’d marked his quarry the night before. Now he drew into himself, presenting the smallest possible profile as he closed the distance to the trio. They would get an opportunity to leave him alone, although the assaults he’d observed at their hands argued against a peaceful interchange. They would set on him and Jim would respond. Violence would be his catharsis. He could purge the feelings of helplessness and frustration that he’d felt at the hands of his father, the grief he felt at the loss of Ringer.

Twenty yards, fifteen, and still no sign of recognition from them. Five yards. It was time. His posture changed, he stood upright, and shed his stealth. One of the three looked up at him and then nudged his two companions. They fanned out around him.

Jim relaxed. His eyes became unfocused as he took in the
gestalt
of the night. His prey came closer. He’d evaded his father with ease, and Padron, at school. These three would be no harder. They would strike first, but he would land the telling blows.

He heard a rustling to his right. Two more figures came into view, two women. One stood no taller than a child. The other limped in obvious discomfort.
Eva? Marta? What the—?

Time sped. The women turned to Jim’s presumptive victims. The small one looked at the closest of the three men and grinned. There was no humor in her smile.

“Boys, it’s been fun, but you were just leaving.”

Marta Cruz lumbered over to Jim. “Don’t do this, querido. You cannot fight and stay whole. Juricán walks with you tonight. He will destroy you. Come back to me.”

Suddenly, the man closest to Eva Rozen lunged at her. One moment she was in front of him, and then she seemed to vanish. The man flailed wildly, bewildered at her sudden disappearance.

She reappeared behind him. “I said, time to go. Here—buy yourselves a drink somewhere. Anywhere. But not here.” She held out a bill.

He lunged again, and once more she disappeared and reappeared beside him. “Okay, two drinks,” and now there were two bills in her hand.

The three men looked confused as Eva winkled in and out of view. Marta spoke to them, softly. “I have something better for you than violence. I bring you life. Leave now and you will have a much better evening.” She withdrew a handful of fine powder from a small leather pouch she wore around her neck. Marta blew on the loess in her palm and it enveloped two of the men. As they breathed in the airborne particles, their features relaxed.

Marta continued in a soothing voice. “That is the seeds of the cojobana tree. You will have a vision. You should heed it well, as it is a gift from Yocahu.”

Eva’s voice was a sharp contrast to Marta’s gentle words. “Well, boys, which is going to be? The lady,” she pointed to Marta, “or the tiger? That would be me. You know what? I think her gods are nutty, but you’ll like her approach a whole lot better than mine.” Eva vanished again, popping up next to the trio’s ringleader. “Time to decide. And, just so you know, I have something different up my sleeve and I promise you won’t like it.”

She had money in her right hand and a small squeeze bottle in her left. The smell of peppers drifted in the crisp air. The leader of the three looked at her and shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He looked at the money and snatched it from her hand, turned and strode towards Tremont Street and away from this strange tableau. The other two remained, rooted to the spot, rapt in the beginnings of a vision.

“Come on, children, time to leave before we have any more company,” said Eva.

Jim Ecco recovered from his surprise. He looked at Marta. “What are you doing? Are you crazy? You could have been hurt. This is not your fight.”

“It is not your fight, either.”

“I needed to do this. And those three are no good. Putting them out of commission for a while would be a blessing for everyone.” He paused, confused by Marta and Eva’s sudden appearance. “How did you get here, anyway?”

Eva said, “You aren’t hard to follow. Weren’t too hard last night, either.”

Marta grasped his shoulders. “Look at me, querido. Look at me!” Her eyes shone. “Juricán is powerful and gives you strength but he will take it away. You cannot walk with him and survive. He consumes his followers. The hurricane is too great for you and your anger feeds it. Tonight you need grace.”

“Marta, I don’t know about any of that. I just know I can’t stand the way I feel.”

“Then you need to find a new way to feel.”

Marta turned to her companion. “Thank you, Eva. No one needed to be hurt, and no one was.”

“The night’s still young.”

Jim was silent for a few moments then turned to Eva. “How did you disappear like that?”

“Smartwool,” she said. “It’s the latest fashion in stealth wear. It absorbs odors. Sheds water and stains. And the nanothreads are glass and plastic. They change colors instantly. I had them programmed to reflect the colors around me so that I appear invisible. Military’s been using this stuff for years now. Neat, huh? Bet you wish you had a snappy little outfit like this.”

Marta spoke. “Uh, guys, I think it’s time we get out of here. We’re beginning to draw some attention.”

Jim and Eva looked around. “Nothing here we can’t deal with,” Jim said.

“You’re wrong. There are three things we can’t deal with,” Marta said. “We need to leave—now.”

“What three things?” asked Jim as they began walking. Dried leaves crunched under their feet as they crossed the park to the busy street. There was just enough light from Tremont Street’s shops and streetlights to cast shadows across their path. The hum of traffic and voices on the sidewalk grew louder as they approached the park’s end. Jim heard something different in Marta’s voice, a new vitality that animated her words. He tuned out all of the night’s sounds to concentrate on Marta.

“Well, first of all, there’s a curfew and we’re violating it. You two might feel immune, but I don’t.”

“Okay. What else?” asked Jim.

“This is taking a lot out of me. My legs hurt. And I have a ton of schoolwork. Premed’s tough, and I’m swamped. I’ve got an organic chemistry project due. Eva’s the chem whiz. It’s no picnic for me.”

“Oh, jeez, I’m sorry. Right. Let’s go,” Jim said.

They walked across the Common, headed for the bright of the Park Street station of the underground transit line.

“You said there were three things. What’s the third?” he asked.