Trinity

by Kristin Dearborn

  Her heels clacked the pavement, and she looked forward to taking her shoes off at home, maybe having a quick drink, and then cooking dinner. Rich wasn’t home yet, who knew when he’d be around. He’d been deep and moody since Slade got out of prison, and Maria was ready for some kind of resolution, kill him, run him off, get over him...she didn’t care which, stop mooning over it. She never said that, of course. Maria also had some suspicions about Rich’s absences lately, but even if it was an affair, it came with a little relief. Let him bother someone else.

  Shoes scraped asphalt behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder. A man walking a few paces back. Clean cut, dark, and very pretty. Not a threat. She was from the barrio; she knew a threat when she saw one. She could break that guy in half. In the dusk, the streetlights cast strange orange light, and the shadows overlapped on the tar, stretching one way, then another, disappearing all together in the dark holes between the lights.

  The street was well lit, and it wasn’t far to the house.

  Drink then food.

  While she knew a threat and this man didn’t look like one, she also couldn’t shake her sense of unease. Something here was wrong; it tickled the back of her neck, making her hair stand up there, making her feel primitive and animal. She looked around again, keeping her head up and her shoulders back. Nothing but the pretty boy.

  It reminded her of the afternoon when her brother died—was murdered—back home. There’d been something going down all day, and while she didn’t know what it was, she couldn’t relax, could feel something coming. She wondered if Rich was all right. She was grateful to him; she had a nice house and nice things, but always a feeling of unease, of not wanting to tip the boat. If she left him, where would she go? Better to stay and to keep her head down.

  She didn’t want to look around again, didn’t want to look uneasy, or give whoever might be watching a clue she was nervous. She kept her eyes straight ahead, slid a manicured hand into her purse and closed her fingers around the handle of her knife.

  Rich told her not to carry it, that she should bring a gun instead, someone would take the knife from her and use it on her. He forgot, sometimes, who she had been before he took her over. She could handle the knife.

  Feeling it in her hand let her walk taller, with more confidence.

  Out of the parking lot and onto the street.

  There were people here, and though she knew they had a habit of looking the other way, she felt better with them around.

  A dry breeze began to blow, brushing her long hair back, making her large hoop earrings sway.

  She turned down her street; it wasn’t far to the grocery store, past house after house, all of them identical. America might be the Promised Land, but you gave up a lot when you came here, compromised big pieces of yourself. Better to be a little bit unhappy here than dead in Cuaron. She let go of the knife to pick up her keys, and the man behind her seemed to realize that. He was up behind her, close, on the doorstep with something hard—a gun? But it didn’t feel quite like a gun—in her back.

  “Let’s go inside,” he said in her ear, his breath pleasant.

  From the corner of her eye she could see it was the pretty boy. She’d let her guard down, and here she was.

  She admitted him into her home, turned to face him as he let the door click behind him.

  “Rich isn’t here,” she said. What was he holding? No gun she’d ever seen, something new? Plastic? Was it some kind of dart gun?

  “Not interested in Rich.”

  This was surprising.

  “What do you want?” Maria asked, still fairly certain she could give this man a run for his money. She stepped out of her heels, feeling the cool clay tiles under her stocking feet. She kept her purse over her shoulder. She wanted the knife close. You weren’t supposed to keep weapons in your purse; they were too hard to get to when you needed them. Back home she’d kept them in her tall boots, strapped to her leg under a skirt, on her wrists. But suburbia softened her. She accepted she might be paying the price today.

  They stood in the hallway. If she could get him to the kitchen, she’d have a shot at the cooking knives.

  “Would you like a beer?” she asked.

  He laughed. “I hold you at gunpoint and you offer me a beer?”

  “That’s not like any gun I’ve seen,” she said.

  “Nope, it’s not.”

  She moved towards the kitchen, moving like a dancer, making no sound with her feet.

  He took a few steps after her, keeping the weapon trained on her. She was afraid of it because he treated it like she should be. He respected it, chances are it was dangerous. It looked like a toy, but something told her it wasn’t.

  She would carve great lines down this pretty asshole’s face.

  “Where are you headed?” he asked, putting a hand on her arm.

  “The kitchen. If you don’t want a drink, I do.”

  “Easy there,” said the man. “Why don’t you stay right where you are? Or better yet, let’s get out of here.” He gestured towards the back door, the opposite direction from the kitchen.

  “I was offering you a drink.”

  He smiled at her, a wide, teeth-whitening commercial smile. She carried her purse towards the sliding patio door and he followed. She put a hand on it to slide it open, but the smile dropped from his face.

  “Wait,” he said. “Don’t open it.”

  She took advantage of his momentary confusion and plunged her hand into the bag. She could find her checkbook, lipstick in three shades—there it was. The switchblade her brother had given her when she turned twelve and some of the older guys in the neighborhood started giving her trouble.

  She pulled it free and popped the blade in a single fluid motion, whirling on him. He stepped back—how could he be so fast?—but she got him with the tip, from chin to cheekbone. One hand went to his face and the other hand went to her wrist, which he slammed against the door jamb, knocking the knife to the floor with a harmless clatter. Pain shot up her arm, amplified when he squeezed, and she felt all those little bones grinding together. She didn’t cry out.

  “Drop the purse.” Red oozed down his face.

  She didn’t, and he squeezed again. She opened her hand and it thumped down beside the knife.

  Only then did he take his eyes off her and glance out the sliding glass door. He pulled her away, deeper in the house.

  “When’s your husband getting home?”

  “I don’t know.”

  This time when he squeezed, something broke. She let a hiss of air out between her lips, but nothing else. Everything went white for a moment, but she breathed through it. I’ve been through worse, I’ve been through worse, I’ve been through worse. The colors settled back into place and she felt much more grounded.

  “When is he getting home?”

  “I don’t know! I think he’s fucking his mistress.”

  “I’m going to let go of your arm. If you try anything else, you’re dead.”

  The man’s eyes slipped to the door again, to the outside where full dark had fallen. He was afraid of something out there. Absently, he wiped at the blood on his face. Even if he got stitches right now, that was going to leave a scar.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you, sweetheart.” He smiled at her.

  “At least tell me your name.”

  “Felix. Nice to meet you.”

  Where had she heard the name before? Slade had a friend Felix. This must be Slade’s doing.

  “Rich will kill you when he finds out what you’re doing.”

  “Yeah?” Felix said. “What am I doing?”

  That was a question she couldn’t answer.

  He smiled, stretching the cut on his face, making it bleed a bit more. She looked down at the knife but he followed her gaze and kicked it away.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m doing. I’m going to give you a little present, and then I’m going to send you to keep an eye on Valentine Slade for
me.”

  What? That made no sense. “Aren’t you his friend?”

  “In more ways than he realizes. The only hiccup to my little plan is that Val’s protector is out there, waiting for us. And we don’t have a prayer against it. I’d much rather it guts you than me.”

  What?

  “Is this a joke?” A joke resulting in a broken wrist and a sliced-open face?

  “Yeah, think of it as a joke. Go sit on the couch.”

  She stayed where she was. None of this made sense. If this was true why was he telling her? And did he really think that she would go along with his plan?

  “Go. I need you to watch him. You need eyes, ears and legs for that, not much else. I can break your other wrist. Maybe an elbow? You certainly don’t need your nose, and it hurts like a bitch when it’s broken.”

  “I know.”

  “Your husband break your nose?” Felix asked. She went to the couch and sat down.

  “Among other people.”

  Felix peered at her. “It still looks pretty good. Your husband is a sack of shit.” He pulled a jar from his pocket. Something dark was in there, clouded by the shadows in the room. But it was moving, throbbing. It wanted to get out of the jar; it was like a leech, black and probing.

  “What are you doing?”

  “This won’t hurt a bit. Uncomfortable, yes. Pain, no.”

  “No way.”

  Pushing him away, she punched him, as hard as she could, in the ear with her left hand. Fast as a cat, he took her left wrist and brought his forehead down on her nose. Crack. The white came back. She reminded herself, over and over, as her eyes filled up with tears, that she’d been through worse. People had done crueler things to her, and she was still here. Tears slid down her cheeks, cooled by the air conditioning. She willed the white away, and opened her eyes. The jar landed on the carpet with a thud. The organism inside looked irritated and began thrashing. Had she killed it? She blinked to clear the tears out of her eyes so she could see. What was going on?

  Felix straddled her, pinning her arms against the couch. “Move and I’ll break your other wrist. I have plenty of time. I can play all night if I need to.” He twisted on top of her, and picked up the jar. He opened it, and the turgid little thing plopped out onto his palm.

  Then she cried out. She was ashamed, but it had surprised her.

  “What is that?”

  “Relax. You won’t remember a thing.”

  Won’t remember a thing? What was happening to her?

  He set the thing on her face, rested it on her upper lip. She started struggling, but Felix let her go and stepped back, way back. That was a mistake. For a split second Maria cataloged all the ways she could get in the kitchen and get the knives, then the fucking thing pressed its way into her nose! All thoughts of Felix vanished. She couldn’t breathe and the panic lambasted her, pressing on her ears and her face. Then her nose was clear again, but it was in her sinuses. She could feel it moving! She drew blood with her fingernails clawing at it. No, think of Felix, think of the knives. She was going to die, but she wasn’t going to die alone. One hand pressed over her nose, she shambled to the kitchen, falling and breaking a vase filled with silk flowers. Felix didn’t follow her; waited in the dark of the living room. She closed her hand over the handle of the butcher knife as a wave of…something…washed over her. Dread and adrenaline flooded her, electrifying every follicle on her body. Time was running out. If she couldn’t kill Felix, she’d have to do herself. The big knife seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, and as she lifted it from the block, it caught the hall light on its blade. Then everything went black.

  13

  Felix could hear her slamming around in the kitchen. It would take a few minutes for the Beta to take hold. If she hurt herself that would be unfortunate, but not the end of the world. Felix needed someone to watch his back tonight. The frat boy would be there too, but Felix thought doing it this way was kind of a neat little joke. Take that, Rich. Sure, Maria might make it through ok, but he doubted it. Her job was to watch for the monster, and run slower than he did. This was when it would be at its most volatile, and having two Betas would be the most efficient way to handle it.

  The sounds from the kitchen stopped. Maria rounded the corner, pressing one hand against the wall to steady herself, the other against her nose. She raised her head and looked at him, brown eyes devoid of everything that made her Maria. Pity. She would have made a fine Tylwyth Alpha. He liked them with some life to them.

  When she pulled her hand away from her nose it came away bloody. He offered her a handkerchief to wipe it off. She took it, dabbing mechanically at herself, looking at the blood as though she was confused. She had nice lips, if you could get into humans. Sometimes, when you were stuck here for so long, you had to get into humans. Not now, though, it didn’t pay to mix business and pleasure. He’d tried making it with one of the Betas once. It was like masturbating, but...clumsier.

  Felix’s car was parked at the grocery store a few blocks away. They should have time to make it there before the monster got interested in them, it had the frat boy to worry about, a much more pressing concern.

  “Get some shoes on.”

  Maria obediently went to the closet and started to step into a pair of stilettos.

  “No, walking shoes. Sneakers.”

  She rooted around in the back of the closet, but eventually she came up with them, and sat on the couch to put them on. She fumbled with the laces, but Felix could see her dexterity was coming back to her.

  When she finished, she stared down at her shoes. She’d looked for so long that Felix was about to say something to her, when she raised her blank eyes to his.

  “What next?” she asked, no longer speaking English, Felix realized, but her native Spanish. The Beta must have triggered some wiring in her brain. Funny, the way the human mind worked.

  “We go for a stroll, then we go for a ride.”

  “When do we deliver the Alpha?”

  “Easy. It’ll be a while. Tonight.”

  Maria nodded then headed for the door, her shoulders square and her joints moving mechanically and uncomfortably. That would wear off a bit, in time. Felix couldn’t help but smile. If tonight went well, they could have the ship back here in less than a month. He could go home, and would be on the front lines of the great change that would sweep his people.

  “All thanks to you, Val-ey boy.”

  Felix closed the door behind him as he and Maria headed for the car.

  14

  White again. White everywhere, with the camphor medicinal smell that pervaded his mother’s hospital room. It surrounded him and held him like a sea, like a dense cotton blanket. Val reached up, trying to find something concrete, something in color.

  Then everything changed, and the white wasn’t soft anymore. An unblemished impossibly white floor—no one could keep floors that clean—stretched out before him under his bare feet. Why wasn’t he wearing shoes? He hated going without shoes. The white made his legs look less pale, but the dark hair on them stood out. Was he wearing a dress? No, a hospital gown. A white hospital gown like his mother’s. Was he okay? He felt himself up and down, through the thin cotton, finding no bruises or cuts, nothing hurt. He slid tentative fingers to his ears and his eyes, but there was no blood on them this time. Thank God. A cool breeze ruffled the open back of the gown. He reached behind to hold it shut and tears of embarrassment and fear burned in his eyes.

  Fuck, fuck crying. He blinked them back, looking around. A room larger than the eye could see was impossible, but it seemed to be where he stood. No walls, no ceiling, just white light. It reflected off the floor, hot in his eyes. That must have been where the tears came from. He took a step forward, a tentative baby step because his knees were weak. He felt drained, kittenish, his muscles atrophied and barely useful. He wiped at his eyes with his hand.

  “Hello!” he called. “Is anyone there?”

  Because there was nothing for his words to bounce of
f of, he wasn’t even met with an echo.

  He took another step, stronger now, and then another.

  Then he felt it, a tug at the back of his throat, at his nose. He reached up and his fingers met a clear, light plastic tube. It was supple and delicate in his fingers, and he gagged as he pulled it from his nose, broke the little piece of tape holding it in place. His stomach roiled as he pulled, and pulled and pulled, and still the tube came.

  getitoutgetitoutgetitout...

  It tore at his throat because he was pulling too fast, and he screamed around it, the scream breaking with gags as the tube touched his uvula on its way past.

  He sucked in great gasps of air when he finally reached the end, looked down at eight feet of tube, spittle and stomach acid and god knows what else soaked, lying in a loose coil at his feet. Only then did he think to follow the tube to its other end. Up.

  It stretched up as far as he could see, devoured by the white.

  The time for screaming past, Val whimpered, a tiny sound from his ravaged throat.

  15

  Felix knew what was happening inside Val’s head, god knows they drilled it enough times. He chuckled, a little rusty sound, tugged away by the night breeze. There he went, talking about god again.

  Assuming everything was working properly, and so far he had every reason to believe it was, the Alpha should be getting its bearings, tapping into Val’s nerve endings. There were fifteen Alphas trained to command the procedure, Felix himself was the fifteenth. Watching Val’s slack face, Felix knew no one could survive fifteen penetrations. With luck he’d only need the one.

  Val’s eyes opened, blue and piercing. Nothing of Valentine Slade remained behind them. If Kate were to see him now she would know in an instant it wasn’t him; that something was smothering the man she loved. Val’s fingers flexed, then his toes, he rolled his neck, stretching his muscles. These were the actions of the Alpha as it got to know its host, the most important host any of them would ever inhabit. And maybe the last host. Felix caught himself crossing his fingers. He really didn’t want to be here anymore.