by Micah Thomas
***
They docked on the ferry pier. Faded paint and long-closed waterfront view restaurants greeted them with rictus grins made of black leering window mouths and broken glass for jagged teeth. The ride had been bumpy—wind, waves, and Michael’s rage against all the gods listening. He was mad. He was a nice guy, too, but he was insane. Eva had expected some seasickness, but none came. She’d watched the shore grow larger with a dreaded anticipation.
The engine idled as Michael pulled along the dock. “We’re here, girly.”
Eva shivered in the cold wet breeze. The city as the sun rose was mist-covered and ominous with its skyscrapers. She gawked at a jet flying overhead. Weird. Eva hadn’t seen a plane in two years. She wondered if her other self made illusions to hide things from the island. Was she that powerful? Fuck.
“It’s early still, but there is life in the city. People and businesses and all that trash. You sure you’re good from here? You got money?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Michael. You’re a good guy.”
Michael’s wind-worn cheeks blushed a bright and unexpected red.
“What will you do?” she asked.
“Oh, I figure I’ll go back, maybe stop in town. Try to make myself of use instead of being a cranky hermit. Doing good feels pretty good.”
With a wave goodbye and a toot of the horn, Michael pulled away, back into the waves and mist. Eva checked her bike tires and found them still full, ready to ride. Let’s see what there is to see, she thought.
Riding along the dock businesses, Eva cut along the viaduct underpass. Still, she saw no one. This place should have had rousing homeless getting ready to start the hustle. She looked up the steep hills and endless cement stairs she’d have to climb to get downtown. So much for a joy ride.
She hefted the bike up the first set of ten stairs and paused for a deep breath. The activity was making her sweat and she hated sweating. At least she was warm now. Huffing and puffing by the end, Eva made it to the summit, up to 1st Ave. She was certain she’d start seeing people now. This close to the Market, there should be something going on. Things couldn’t have changed that much, unless everyone in the world was dead.
The wind whipped through the corridor of tall buildings. It pushed back her hoodie and froze the snot in her nose. Jesus, she thought. Should have brought a helmet. Eva huddled in a huge doorway for shelter, but it barely blocked the wind. Coffee. What would she do for a cup of coffee? She was standing there, shivering, when she felt them coming for her. For some reason, she wasn’t even alarmed. Wasn’t she coming for them anyway?
Then came the car engine noises. She’d almost forgotten the familiar sounds of normal life. The tires screeched to a stop on both black SUVs as they cornered her in her alcove. Someone knew about her and had prepared. Black Star? That was why no one was around. Still, with this cliché bullshit TV show tactics and drama, she was almost amused.
She was ready, too. The plan had come to her back on the boat. She’d let them take her. Eva wanted answers from Black Star almost as badly as she wanted coffee and she was sure they’d have both.
“Put your hands where we can see them!” shouted a voice of the first man to step out of the car, gun drawn and leveled at her.
Eva laughed. “Dude. I’m not resisting.”
Four mean-looking men in crazy, over complicated SWAT gear—knock off storm troopers—hurried out and formed a curved line around her, all in attack position.
“For real, guys. I’m not—” The words halted in her mouth as a static radio turned on, suddenly loud in her head; behind it, laughter.
Eva fought to remain aware, to be present in this moment of descending blackness over her vision. She felt the other and knew for a terrible fact she’d never been freed from it. The bitch was still there, and could easily take over. There had been no banishment after all. Strength and lust suffused her body. A delicious smile crept over her lips, which were not her lips, but theirs. Eva was transformed and no longer felt the cold except as a smooth caress over her naked body, lascivious as a lover’s tongue. Her vision became crystal clear and she didn’t mind at all letting her other drive. The sensuality was overpowering. Was that her own sex she could smell? A musk from between her legs? Her fingers ran from her throat to her heavy breasts and down between her legs.
The men looked hypnotized, standing there with their guns up and cocks erect—painfully so—in their combat gear.
Eva wanted to say something badass, but this other one didn’t talk; maybe it couldn’t. She imagined this was how cocaine would feel. A living drug. She was so tall, so powerful, so sexy.
She strutted up to their leader, standing in the center of their pathetic circle-jerk of guns. With a thought, she released them from their spell. Still keeping them aroused, Eva wanted them able to feel the fear and pain of what was to come. She consumed it. It nourished her. This was life.
“Oh fuck!” the man in charge screamed.
She tore off his pants, the fabric cutting open the flesh of his ass and legs. With his cock gripped in one hand, she slid her other directly, with no resistance, through the flesh of his neck, and gripped his spine at the base of his skull. Eva gave both a hearty shake as he gurgled and died.
The other agents opened fire with what she thought of as their little penis weapons. At this range, they could not miss. The bullets struck her new body with wet, thumping sounds, yet failed to elicit the desired response. This was not her real body—not really, Eva thought somewhere behind those black eyes. This was god’s own body. Bullets couldn’t hurt it. Nothing could hurt it.
She, they, this thing—they were together, turned on the rest of them. They’d have fun with them. Fun, fun, fun, fun. The words echoed in Eva’s head as she slipped away from the nexus of being part of the scene, part of the woman.
She felt her individuality return and with it, disgust and horror at what had happened. Let me fade to black, she begged. Anything instead of watching this continue. Horror and despair consumed her. She wasn’t free. She’d fucked up. She’d fucked up bad. That bitch cunt, that evil witch queen, still had her. Fuck! Eva was granted her wish, and fell into a sleep inside, back to the cocoon, dreamless and black.
***
Eva came to an alley as she assembled facts. She’d fainted. It was morning. She was in Seattle. Bike gone. Backpack gone. This sucks, she thought. I’ve been robbed. At least it wasn’t raining and she felt unmolested. Eva knew she’d missed something in the blackout—maybe something important—but she didn’t want to go to Black Star anymore. The thought sickened her. There were people on the street, cars driving around. Nothing had changed. She was in the city. She wished for Officer Sanders. He’d been a knight storming the Black Star tower to save her once. Wouldn’t that be great? If he showed up again and there was coffee and the authority figure she could trust? Someone to whisk her away…to where? Home was gone. She was never going back. Though little was clear in her mind, this decision wasn’t difficult. There’s no escape if you don’t know where you are going. Dumb, Eva.
A Swiss cheese mind. She felt she could remember what happened in this recent blackout if she wanted to. Eva had the power now, or thought she did, but right now, she wanted to read a newspaper, get a coffee, and eat something. When had she last eaten? She’d had soup with Mickey… Michael...whatever, but it felt like another life. Should she run around asking strangers what year it was? What day? Was she Kyle Reese or Scrooge or Rip Van Winkle?
Instinct told Eva not to create a scene and she kept her eyes downcast. She was an outsider, and this might be a bad thing. On the corner, the independent coffee shop looked welcoming enough. People entered and came out with coffee. Let’s do this, she thought. Avoiding making eye contact with any of the other customers, Eva as she waited her turn on line.
“Got credits?” the barista asked before taking her order.
Eva fished out a $5 bill and offered it up.
“Credits. I need credits. I can’t take that. Do yo
u speak English?”
Eva said, “Please. I don’t have any credits.”
The barista sighed and accepted the bill. “I’m not giving you any change back. I don’t know where you found this, but don’t do it again.”
Eva took her coffee and hurried back outside. Credits? She’d only brought around $50 total in assorted bills, taken from her parent’s stash. It wouldn’t get her far, but if people didn’t use cash anymore, damn. She was a time traveler. Should she be digging in the trash for a newspaper? Some way to catch up on national news? Some info to grind out an understanding of the world today?
Meh, she thought. Got coffee; just need to sit some place and chill. She walked down to the Market. This place used to be so hopping with people. There were still some flower and vegetable vendors, but it didn’t feel the same. She looked for the small park at the end of the market. She could see down and across the water to her island. Had she made a mistake? Eva could try to find a way back if she wanted. She could walk up to Black Star and hand herself in. These options seemed so stupid to her. Both of them would be turning her back on the plan.
She noticed a couple of guys wearing overalls—work clothes or hunters or something—watching her. Idiots. You don’t want any of what I got. Fuck. She didn’t want to do this here. She walked back up the hill towards the coffee shop, hoping that where there were more people and the guys would drop back and leave her alone, but they didn’t. She ducked into an alley and crouched behind a dumpster. Let them pass me. I don’t want trouble.
“Why you hiding?” one of them asked, his hick accented voice thick with menace.
The other one came around, tobacco tucked under his lip. He looked deformed. “Yeah, why you hiding?”
A third voice came from down the alley: “Hey. Leave her alone.”
“You gonna do something?” one of them half-turned.
Eva didn’t know who was coming to her rescue, but she heard the answer. A firm and determined, “Yeah.”
Eva closed her eyes but heard the scuffle and a crack so loud she thought one of them had broken a board over the other. No. It was a bone breaking. The fight was over. One of the men ran off screaming profanities. Eva stood and saw her protector was a woman. Older than her. Heavyset and strong. Holding a black baton. She slung the baton in an arc, sending blood to the pavement.
“You broff ma mowf!” the remaining man screamed.
“I’ll do more than that if you don’t follow your friend,” the woman said calmly. “Do not test me today.”
Eva watched the man evaluate the situation and then bolt out of the alley.
“I can take care of myself,” Eva said to the woman.
“I’m sure you can.”
“Those guys were goofballs. I could have ended them.”
The woman shrugged and turned to leave.
“Hey, where are you going?” Eva asked.
“I don’t know. We—me and my friend, Jenny—we’ve been through some shit the last couple weeks. Looks like maybe you did, too. We’re following the yellow brick road, sweetie. You know what that means?”
Eva knew exactly what she meant. This was more than a chance meeting; this was her ride. “You’re going there. To the other place.”
“That’s right. Does that seem like something you’d want to do? Or do you have people here?”
“I’m alone,” Eva said.
“You could ride with us for a while?”
“You have a car?”
“Shit yeah, we do.”
“Oh my god, are you serious? Yes. I have some money, but no one wants this stuff anymore,” she said, holding out a wad of green bills.
“Girl, you don’t need that. Let’s get Jenny. You’re gonna like her. She’d good people, too.”
“Like you?”
“Better person than me. I’m Sarah. What’s your name?”
“Eva. Some people call me Lily.”
CHAPTER FIVE
I HEAR HER breathing. I try to give her privacy, but her thoughts are transparent. I no longer sleep. My own memories are less than a dream, but here I am, haunting the woman I love. How long can this possibly go on? What would I give to have a body of my own? I have a new sympathy for the others. How long did they languish in this state before we found them? How like them I’ve become.
It’s not as if we can even breakup. How hard was it to say, “I’m sorry?” The good times, they didn’t last. Stewing inside my own head was old hat stuff for poor, idiot Henry. Doing the same inside someone else’s was unbearable. This half-life was costing me so much more than I could admit. My own survival in this form was incidental. There was no intention to it, and there’d been good times, for sure. Sex with Cassie from the inside had transformed masturbation into a singularly erotic experience. Even the fucking fire demon sharing their mental home enjoyed it. We’d phase into an energetic form, soaring across the night sky in a blaze of wonderful feelings. Cassie had pulled away though, hadn’t wanted to do that in some time. There were limits to how much anyone wanted to give of themselves, and I guess she was reaching her limit. Their joy would always be a danger to others.
Not that I was guiltless. I wasn’t a pristine prisoner from the beginning, my mind so touched by this other. My sense of self, some collection of memories traveling with this consciousness, was still me, right? Was I still intact? I don’t think so. The never-ending give and take with the fire spirit was burning away some critical parts of me. Either that or I wasn’t even myself anymore; a shade, a ghost, a thinking thing, but only half real. I can’t explain the dark magic that made me this way any more than I can properly talk about my emotions. Holding back the burn at all times was like a junky holding themselves back when an infinite pile of the good stuff was always within reach.
Oh, and the fights. Dear god. I was never the type to punch a hole in the wall when angry, but my tenuous control over the fire had slipped. I’d loved that apartment, too. Put it on the list of things lost.
This thing inside of me. Not the fire. It lived beside me in time. There was something more. I was never able to relax. I’ve always had this demon on my back. I knew I didn’t belong. Life on the street was almost easy after what I’d been through. Thing about abused kids is they’ve usually been hit harder and more often than someone else in their first fist fight. And we were always looking for another fight to test that rule.
My thoughts are a jumble. There’s no way to write anything down. They ramble on and on in a ceaseless waking state. Cassie, heart of my heart—she saved me. I’m a weight on her. I don’t know how to liberate her of me. I don’t even know what we are together or what I am alone, if I can even exist alone.
My senses roved across the material world—careful now, not to excite the molecules of matter, yet everything wants to burn. That bit of understanding was information without knowledge. We’ve never burned anything that didn’t want it or didn’t have the capacity to burn already.
Cassie on a mission. Cassie on a drive. Cassie giving me time to breathe once in a while. To blaze into the night sky. A star among the family of constellations. Soaring and burning up frustration and atmosphere alike.
Cassie’s mother dead. I felt what she felt and wanted it to go no further. Mom. Mom. Mommy. Mommy. Momma. Momma. The words echoed. Terrible feelings. Danger. Warning lights somewhere in me. Alarms, too. I wanted another word to echo, to take my mind somewhere else. Instead, I called to my hot, little friend and let the feelings burn down. It was happy to do that for me. Cassie would feel nothing. There’d be no fire on the outside. Only this little burning from within.
How do I quantify my loss each time? They didn't just hurt me. Wounds heal. They ruined me completely. Mangled me in places outside my conscious parts. It doesn't matter how much money I make, or praise I win, or love I get. I'm fucked.
I did all of this so she would be safe again. Yet, I kept the worst from her. I couldn’t let her know about the terrible thing awaiting us all. Not until I knew that I can�
��t change it. Maybe not even then.
CHAPTER SIX
IN CHICAGO, A policeman got ready for his day. For the sole representative of police power responsible for the enforcement of law in the entire city, he felt pretty good. A lifelong career cop, Sanders was a man of humble wants. He buttered a croissant, thought about it, and added a smear of jam on top. It tasted the same as the real thing, but he never knew anymore. Real food made of flour grown in one part of the country, mixed with sugar from another corner of the world, prepared and packaged in yet another, and transported for miles—well, the supply chain was all gone. Now, in a spectacularly mundane magic trick, food was delivered. Provenance unknown. He would never be accustomed to it.
Back when the world went mad, Sanders had been living in Arizona. Coming to the city was the biggest risk he’d ever taken; the culmination of a series of events in his life made joining the movement make sense. He’d backed up and left the noise of a country in chaos behind. So long, job on the police force. So long, fear and loathing in the nation he no longer recognized. Chicago was outside of the country, outside of the world. Chicago was part of Eden.
For no reason at all except that the story was never far from him, Sanders’ mind returned to the beginning. How strange things had been. An alien in the form of a man—he’d called himself Hakim—had disrupted normalcy in the world more than any military leader or spiritual teacher ever had in the history of the planet. The message he shared was not a riddle. It was not an afterlife promise in exchange for faith. Hakim said to come to the city. Once there, one would know no hunger, death, disease, or war. None of these would exist within his new country. The words took the legacy Bill of Rights and extended them to cover total acceptance. Utopia. Eden was what most Americans started calling it, though the movement was global. There were more cities than Chicago, but he hadn’t known about them then. Sanders wouldn’t have believed any of it except for the fact that in the days before Hakim’s invasion and promises, Sanders had two separate experiences with beings just like him. He knew incredible things were possible, even if he didn’t understand them. If he had not, he wasn’t sure he’d have the faith required to take the trip to Chicago—the nearest city to be taken up by the alien.
