The Tomorrow Gene

by Sean Platt

  that encapsulated the futility of it all, the claustrophobia he’d suffered since coming to Eden — or to tell the truth, for months.

  Years.

  Since Jonathan had gone missing and Ephraim realized that something not-quite-right was going on. Things were different than he saw them. Fiona called it Ephraim’s “persecution complex,” as did Dr. Scully. But it was hard to call something a “complex” when you were being attacked and dragged off for unknown reasons.

  He struck the deck. Face first.

  Nolon wasted no time. He didn’t try to stand, scrambling over with the swift limbs of an oversized cockroach, covering Ephraim’s body with his, pinning him down.

  “Stop fighting me. I just want to—”

  Ephraim got one foot free and knocked his attacker’s jaw sideways.

  He scampered up, into the living room. Nolon was hot on him now — no fooling around, no more Mr. Nice Guy.

  Nolon lunged at Ephraim, taking him in a tackle. They struck the table, Ephraim grunting in pain. The force pushed him onto the flat surface, which held his weight, then off onto a small end table, which did not. It broke like balsa, shattering a decorative dish from its top.

  Ephraim tried to duck around, failed, collided again with the large table.

  Nolon charged him head-on, and the table scooted across the hardwood as if sailing to the kitchen.

  The wood struck the door and plaster cracked. A leg sheared from the table’s edge.

  Its back collapsed.

  Ephraim went on the offensive, diving for Nolon’s scuffed jaw. Nolon dodged, and Ephraim stumbled on, now into what might have been the family room, stumbling back from Nolon’s assault, obliterating both a large flat screen and the entertainment center it perched on.

  Nolon reached, grunting, and caught Ephraim by the back of his shirt.

  The fabric purred and then parted, and Nolon swapped his pull for a heavy push. Ephraim’s digging feet turned to his disadvantage as Nolon shoved him, knocking an end table to the floor. The lamp flew through the lower window pane.

  He fell, Nolon atop him.

  Kicking.

  Punching.

  Shoving.

  And finally, Nolon was off him, and Ephraim was free.

  He rolled away, making it three feet farther on before Nolon recovered, again grabbing an ankle. But Ephraim had his back turned, up on his knees. Grabbing one foot was asking to be booted in the face with the other.

  And that happened next.

  Ephraim felt the man’s nose break. There was an ear-splitting shriek, and Ephraim looked back. Nolon was gripping his face, blood raining from his splayed fingers in a crimson storm.

  Ephraim stood, now seeing only panic, needing to flee but not knowing where. He didn’t know what came next or where to go.

  His hand was on the back hallway doorknob when something hit him hard, slamming his back from shoulder to hip; Nolon, using his body like a ram.

  Ephraim rapped his head on carved wood, momentarily dizzy. He brought an elbow back and up, but the blow missed. Nolon was fully behind him, unreachable, forearm against the back of Ephraim’s neck, pressing his face to the plaster.

  Harder. Harder.

  Ephraim felt as if his skin might be rubbed away on the paint, peeled from his face as if against a giant cheese grater. Nolon’s pressure dragged him sideways, constricting his side-bent nose, abrading skin and bone below his eyebrows.

  Another crash. Something else broken. Ephraim’s left hand was useless, pinned between body and wall. His right was now in Nolon’s grip, bent up and behind his back, pained at the shoulder as if it might snap away. The other man’s breath was hot on his neck. The small noises of his exertion were in Ephraim’s ear. His shirt collar felt wet, probably with blood. Even with his bent nose, Ephraim thought he could smell its metallic tang.

  He tried to speak but nothing came out. His lips were as pressed to the wall as his nose, dragged into strange shapes as Nolon pressed him along it, Ephraim’s struggles serving only to wedge them tighter.

  They were headed for the door. For the exit. For whatever Nolon had in mind.

  Ephraim twisted, trying to throw Nolon off balance, but the men moved together. The swing in momentum only unseated Ephraim further, causing him to stumble and double his left arm against himself, one foot faltering and nearly sending him into a face-plant on a hallway table.

  He tried again to strike backward, but already Nolon had his other wrist, both arms now pulled back like a criminal to a cop. The second wrist came free, scraping the hallway chair rail, rubbed raw by the woodwork.

  The end table wobbled as Ephraim’s foot caught a lamp cord. The whole works fell, and Ephraim collapsed to his knees beside it, slamming his kneecap.

  Nolon stayed upright, pinning him, his back bowed. He pulled and Ephraim regained his feet, but this time he had something else as well.

  Ephraim’s left foot held the lamp’s neck. He pulled just right, and the cord came taut, bending its prongs as Ephraim tugged it sideways, holding the socket. The cord became a tripwire between Nolon’s feet. He went halfway over, Ephraim’s momentum now finally finding an advantage.

  Ephraim was free. At least halfway, with only his hand behind his back, Nolon’s surprisingly strong grip unrelenting. Nolon was up, moving to pin him again. But Ephraim was ready, knowing from the start that he’d need to move fast when and if Nolon tripped.

  He swung the lamp in a tight arc, smashing it with all his might into Nolon’s face.

  The struggle ceased. Nolon’s grip on his other wrist didn’t weaken; it sprung entirely. He was a sack of flour tipped too far up on end, now falling, striking the ground like fallen burlap.

  Ephraim flexed to run, though he didn’t know where. Instinct said there was no longer any need. Nolon didn’t pivot as he fell. He made no effort to roll sideways or protect his head. He simply collapsed, his nose and lip now split in a sideways grin. Ephraim was holding a shattered lamp, its ceramic edges sharp, the points licked with crimson. He dropped the broken pieces, looking down. Noting the way Nolon had landed. His pooling blood. The closed mouth, with most of his upper teeth visible.

  “Nolon?”

  But he was dead. Ephraim had graduated from spy to murderer.

  Jesus.

  Reality bludgeon.

  He had nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. He’d come on Fiona’s plane, but he was supposed to take Eden Air for the first leg back home. He was at their mercy; their boats, their trams, their helpful hands.

  And now he’d done this.

  Ephraim was supposed to meet Sophie for breakfast. If he didn’t check in with her, she’d come to his place. As might Altruance, if they hadn’t taken him like they’d tried to take Ephraim.

  Any minute now.

  He needed to clean this up. Somehow. Some way. He needed to get rid of the body. Shove it under the foundation, roll it out the door, put it in a goddamn dumpster. Anything.

  Ephraim could clean the mess if he acted fast. Even the blood, if he didn’t dally, should mop clean from the hardwood. But he needed to get rid of the body.

  A sheet. Or, hell, a shower curtain. Good enough for Norman Bates was good enough for Ephraim.

  There was a full bathroom down the hall. He could use that curtain, then figure a way to replace it. Maybe Altruance would help. He’d seen the thing under the worker’s mask, too.

  If, in fact, that whole nightmare had happened.

  Just get the shower curtain.

  Ephraim stood from his half-squat, eyeing Nolon’s lifeless body.

  Then something struck his skull from behind.

  CHAPTER 19

  THE SCREAM

  Ephraim’s eyes slowly opened.

  The light was muted, as if the room were full of old-style incandescents. There must have been an open window because Ephraim could smell the air, see the relative whiteness of the daytime light from one side. He was on a bed. Somewhere strange.

  “You okay, man? Yo
u with us?”

  Ephraim looked up to see Altruance standing over him, smiling.

  “I’m sorry. Door was open. I don’t normally bust into people’s houses. But when you didn’t answer the bell …”

  Ephraim sat up, immediately regretting it. An invisible vise tightened on his temples. Hot rocks ground together in his neck, at the base of his skull. The light, which had been tolerable, suddenly became too much to bear.

  He squinted, wincing, his propped-up arms faltering.

  “Woah. Easy there. Take it easy, E.”

  Ephraim let himself drop back down. He took in the ceiling with its crown moldings and chrome fan.

  “I’m in my bed,” Ephraim said, his eyes closing.

  “Where did you think you were?”

  “Where’s Elle?”

  “Elle?” Altruance’s voice was more indulgent than genuinely curious. Like he was patronizing a kid. “I don’t know. Why, you got a thing for her?”

  Then he remembered. The body. The dead man downstairs, if he was still in his house. Not to mention whoever had knocked him out, possibly on the prowl, waiting to take him in.

  Ephraim reached up, ran a hand over the back of his head. There was no goose egg. Not even a bump.

  “Downstairs …” Ephraim tried. But talking was difficult.

  “You ask me, you should stay right where you are. Coming down ain’t easy for some people.”

  Ephraim looked at Altruance. He didn’t understand what the man was saying and frankly didn’t care. The line from the front door to the stairs to the bedroom was clear and unambiguous. Altruance had walked past the destroyed living room, right by the dead body. What did it mean that he hadn’t mentioned it? That he hadn’t come up here in a panic, shocked to find Ephraim alive?

  “We have to get out of here.”

  “Okay. But slowly.”

  “No. We need to hurry.”

  “You can try,” Altruance said, “but I wouldn’t advise it.”

  Ephraim pushed aside his covers and stood, fighting a wave of brutal nausea and cramps. He was halfway across the room before realizing he was bare-chested, wearing only sleep shorts.

  “What the hell?”

  “Pants,” Altruance said, pointing as if Ephraim was confused and in need of instructions. “Then shirt.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Ephraim asked.

  “Maybe you can give me some context.”

  “Where did you disappear to?”

  “Sleep. Maybe you’ve heard of it?” He looked down at the bed.

  “What time is it?”

  Altruance reached into his pocket, but Ephraim interrupted. “Sophie. Sophie is coming over.”

  “Sophie? Elle? Shit, man, you can’t claim all of them and not give anyone else a shot.”

  “Will you stop making fucking jokes?”

  Altruance’s smile disappeared. He held up both hands, palms out. “Okay. Hey, okay.”

  “How did you get up here?”

  I flew. But instead of making the obvious joke, Altruance said, “I told you. The door was open.”

  “Open or unlocked?”

  “Unlocked. Hey. Calm down.”

  “And you just came right in?”

  “I tried paging you. I tried calling. Then I rang your doorbell and knocked for a good five minutes. I could see through the window that a lamp was on up here so I figured I’d try the knob. It was open, and I came up. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind. I was worried about you.”

  “Worried why?” Ephraim demanded.

  “You just took it really hard.”

  “Took what hard? Will you just say what you mean?”

  “The Scream, man. Scream and booze. That was a bad idea. I’ve heard it messes folks up. I forget because it never really affects me much, beyond the obvious buzz. But they say everyone reacts to it differently.”

  “What? Wait.”

  “You should sit. Sit down, and I’ll get you some water. You look like hell.”

  Ephraim inspected himself, but the parts he could see appeared fine. No bruises. No cuts. He wasn’t even sore unless you counted the feeling that every muscle in his body had been replaced by tightening steel cables. It was like a full-body hangover. He was toxicity personified.

  Ephraim walked into the bathroom. A ghoulish face stared back from the mirror, shocking him almost enough to flinch. His dark skin had paled in places. His eye sockets looked full inches deeper than normal. His eyelids pulled back from his whites as if they’d dried out and shrunk. He caught a whiff of his breath and smelled rancid meat.

  “This morning,” Ephraim said, peeking out at Altruance from the bathroom, gripping the door frame for support.

  “Yeah?”

  “Where did you go? When I came back, you were gone.”

  “You’re coming back right now, and my ass is right where you left it.” He pointed at his feet.

  “I meant earlier. On the lawn. By the outdoor bar.”

  “You mean last night?”

  “I mean this morning.”

  “I guess it was morning,” Altruance said. “Technically.”

  Ephraim grabbed some pants and a shirt. The more he moved, the less he hurt. By the time he was leaving the bedroom and walking toward the top of the stairs with Altruance following and making small noises, he felt merely terrible instead of half-dead. He took the stairs too fast, and his bounding feet made it feel like his brain was bouncing inside his skull.

  He turned toward the hallway, blocking Altruance with his body, wondering if there was any chance the big man had somehow missed the dead Nolon downstairs.

  But there was nothing to block Altruance from. Nothing to see.

  The living room, dining room, and hallway were immaculate, in perfect order.

  Nolon’s body was gone, and so was the pool of blood.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE CLOTHES YOU WORE LAST NIGHT

  “You want your bacon?” Sophie asked.

  Ephraim watched Altruance’s head swivel toward Sophie. She didn’t seem to notice, focused as she was on Ephraim’s plate. The two of them, both seated across the booth from Ephraim, made a strange pair. Sophie was tiny, pale, and somewhere between brunette and blonde. Altruance was tall, broad, and dark-skinned. Yin and yang.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Girl, let the man have his bacon,” Altruance scolded. “He needs the calories after last night.”

  “If he’s not going to eat it, I mean.” Then to Ephraim, “You don’t want it, do you?”

  “The fuck you eating bacon for anyway?” Altruance asked. “I thought actresses only ate kale and wheat grass.”

  “I’m going to get fat,” Sophie announced. “And spend all my money.”

  “Well. That’s a great plan.”

  “Hey, I earn the right to do whatever I want, and I never get to. You don’t know. You don’t suffer from handlers like I do. All. The. Damn. Time. Like 24/7. I have a manager, an agent, a personal stylist, a hair stylist, separate manicurists and pedicurists because God forbid I’d have to wait for one person to work on my hands and then my feet. Then there’s the personal trainer, the nutritionist, the sleep consultant—”

  “I get it,” Altruance said.

  “—the bookkeeper, the investment manager, the business manager who’s somehow different from a regular manager in ways nobody has been able to explain satisfactorily to me—”

  “What’s this got to do with bacon?”

  Apparently tired of indecision, Sophie snatched a piece of pork from Ephraim’s plate. It didn’t look like normal bacon. It was three times as thick and one and a half times as long, like a fat stack of oversized bookmarks. To Ephraim, it looked like it had come from a super hog. That single piece of salted fat probably cost ten credits or more.

  “I’m tired of people telling me what to do with my money and my body,” Sophie said, chewing.

  “You could just not do what they tell you,” Ephraim said. “I mean, you’re
not their slave.”

  Sophie and Altruance both laughed, apparently at how naive Ephraim was being.

  Hearing Altruance laugh, Sophie turned her head, surprised.

  “What — you can relate?”

  “Course I can,” Altruance said.

  “You have a publicist telling you you’re too fat for the big screen?”

  Ephraim looked Sophie over. She was a twig.

  “You got style consultants,” Altruance said. “But I got trainers, coaches, and eight-hour practices.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes. Apparently, this was no big deal compared to her Hollywood life of high expectations.

  “What did you two do last night, anyway?” she asked.

  “Got fucked up,” Altruance said.

  “Oh, nice.”

  “My man here can’t hold his Lucky Scream, though. He’s a pussy.”

  “You were pretty out of it, too.” Ephraim didn’t have much of an appetite, but he was willing himself to feel better. He was fairly sure he’d killed Nolon last night, but reality seemed to disagree.

  The lamps and tables and windows he thought he’d broken in the tussle had been verifiably unbroken when he and Altruance had gone down to survey the lack of damage. There was no dead body in the hallway, no blood anywhere.

  Feeling vertigo, Ephraim had checked his MyLife for evidence of the morning’s violence, but the device was still offline. The records of his implanted heartbeat sensor showed him as having been calm for hours. Almost as if he’d slept through the morning, despite being positive that he’d killed a man before breakfast.

  “I was lit,” Altruance said. “You, on the other hand, were batshit crazy.”

  “I was not crazy.”

  “You shoulda seen your face when that worker got hurt. I wish I had a MyLife of it.”

  Ephraim perked up. “The worker? You don’t have a recording?”

  “Course not. I turn my MyLife off when I start drinking for real. Who wants evidence of themselves as an asshole? What happens in the bar stays in the bar.”

  “What worker?” Sophie asked.

  “A guy fell off a mower,” Altruance said. “I think he broke his leg or something.”

  “You think?”