by Brian Savage
“Is this it?” Aeralyn asked, leaning forward and peering through the windshield as Jack was.
Jack pointed toward the steeply angled roof and the single lit window above the rest. “That one right there,” he said quietly.
She studied it momentarily before sitting back in her chair. “It’s creepy. Like an old horror movie.”
“It’s actually pretty nice inside,” Jack said fondly.
“Are we going in the back?” she asked, looking over at Jack, hunched over the steering wheel. His skin more pale than it had been before, there were now dark rings around his eyes. She hoped it was from lack of sleep and not lack of blood. As if reading her thoughts, Jack sat back as well, wincing and slowing down, as his back came to rest against the seat. Relaxing a bit, the facial muscles lost their tension in the involuntary grimace, coming back to the handsome and strong jaw line she had come to admire. She studied his haggard appearance, as he sat, eyes closed, thinking.
“I’m going to go in the back,” he finally said, not opening his eyes. “You will wait here. If I don’t come back after fifteen minutes, leave.” He opened his eyes and looked over at her, turning only his head. “Go anywhere, but not back to the city. Anywhere away from City Prime.”
“No,” she said, anger in her voice. Anger at being dragged through everything, just to be told to wait and leave. “I’m going with you.”
“You aren’t going with me. I can’t keep you safe.”
“You’re going to keep me safe by making me wait in the car?!” Her voice had risen in tandem with the tears that now filled her eyes.
“Goddamn it, I don’t know what’s in there. Best case scenario, it’s just the old man, but more than likely, there will be agents inside. Probably Cassandra.” He looked at her, pleading, exasperated. “If you go and they are there, they will kill you.”
“If you go and they are there, they will kill you,” she said, brow furrowed in anger.
Jack shut his mouth. Looking at her frustratedly, he opened the glove compartment between them and pulled out a small revolver.
“Take this. You get six shots. Just point and pull the trigger.” He opened his door and hopped out of the gasser as quickly as he could manage, shutting the door silently behind him. Aeralyn undid her seat belt and spun in her seat, unsure whether she should follow, or what he was doing walking to the rear of the vehicle, away from his target. He stopped at the end of the dark orange gasser. Popping open the back hatch, he lifted a panel in the floor, revealing a rifle, and a bandoleer full of magazines. He pulled the bandoleer over his shoulder, grimacing as it fell heavily against his injured side. He switched it to his other shoulder.
Jack pulled the slide back on the rifle slightly, checking for the all too familiar glint of brass in the chamber, reflecting the dim light of the only streetlamp nearby. Quietly seating it forward, and tapping the forward assist for good measure, he looked up through the vehicle at Aeralyn turned facing him. She had tears streaming down her face, her hair the same messy braid he had grown fond of. The blue edge of his cadet shirt peeked just above the v-neck of her hoody, now stained with grass and dirt.
“Fifteen minutes,” he whispered. “I love you.”
He quietly latched the rear hatch, then made his way back around the front of the vehicle. She jumped out, running after him. He turned, putting an arm out to physically restrain her from going, an arm she pushed aside as she reached both hands up to take his face in her hands. She leaned against him on her tiptoes and planted her lips on his.
“Don’t go,” she whispered against his lips, her tears salty on his tongue as he hugged her against him and kissed her back. Never in his life had he felt what he did now. The realness of her lips on his. The feel of her body pressed against him. He knew, in that moment, if there was any way to ensure her safety besides what he knew he had to do, he would have done it. All for a lifetime more of those lips, that smile, her mind. Even for another minute with her, he would have traded everything.
“It’s the only way I can make sure you’re safe,” he said, reaching his free hand up to caress the side of her face. He knew what he might find in there. He knew that walking into the house would most likely spell his death. He hoped, beyond every hope, that they would kill him and leave Aeralyn to live her life, wherever she was able to escape to. He fought hard to keep the deep sadness he felt from showing on his face. He felt now that if she knew what he suspected would happen, she would follow him anyway after he left. He kissed her again.
“Fifteen minutes,” he said, looking into her dark green eyes.
She nodded in response. Her tears ran down her cheeks, but her face showed no sign of sadness in her resignation. He turned and began making his way down the dark alley. Aeralyn made her way back to the car when she could no longer make out Jack’s solitary form in the darkness. She quietly opened the door, hopped in, and closed it in the same silent way she had watched Jack do before. She sat alone in the gasser, growing colder as the minutes ticked by. She counted the seconds, rain tapping the windshield, obscuring her view of the lonely spire of a house surrounded by the flat planes of modern buildings. She thought about the little lighted window, and the promise of warmth. Not the warmth of the inside of the small house, but the warmth and comfort inside the arms of Jack.
Jack made his way down the alley, like a specter of some by-gone age. His long coat blew around his legs, the blood stain on his white shirt a punctuation in a sentence that spoke of just how close to the end he was. He had long since bled through the bandage. He tried to maintain the proper movement techniques, but found in his weakened state it was easier to walk with the rifle in one hand, low and to his side, the other hand pressing hard on the wound, in a failed attempt at more pressure. His breaths were raspy but measured in the same four seconds he counted out subconsciously, the calming and focusing effect keeping his mind from just how heavy his limbs felt.
He reached an old picket fence, long since stripped of paint and rotted to the point of uselessness by the incessant rain. He attempted to push through the gate, only to knock down a quarter of the fence, which fell with a dull thud. As he stepped over the soft, spongy pieces of the wood fence, he steeled his resolve and lifted the rifle painfully to his shoulder. He trained it on the dim light emanating through the window above what Jack believed to be the back door. He tried to picture the layout of what he remembered of the inside of the house, trying to picture in his mind where the little door would open in the overall scheme of things he could recall. His mind was fuzzy, the usual clear edge and quick thinking frosted over like the window in a bathroom. He shook his head hard.
He did a once-over of himself in his mind. He had lost a bit of blood. His reaction time was slower than it usually would be. Adrenaline reserves were most likely used up at this point. Lactic acid build-up was, most likely, at extreme levels. He took a deep breath. If they were in there, and he suspected they were, he hoped that they would take him and leave the girl alone. He hoped they would take him and let the old man live the rest of his life in peace. If he could have what he truly wanted, he would burn every bit of the Host out of the mind of every person; but the small victory, the knowledge that Aeralyn and the old man would be alive and free, was all he dared to believe was possible.
He turned the doorknob on the small door slowly. He willed his right hand to raise the barrel of the weapon through the growing crack in the doorway, leveraging the butt stock against his shoulder. He eased the door just far enough open to squeeze through, surprised that it made no squeak with the age that it had to be. He scanned the small, rear-entry room, tiled in a pale grey with light blue walls. Across the small room, ten feet away was a pocket door, half ajar. A steady stream of yellow light cast a glow into the small space. He could make out a wall, of what was most likely a short hallway, directly through the crack, and heard muffled voices from the far side.
He stepped gingerly, closing the distance to the other door, not daring to step into the
triangular splash of light in the dark room. He stepped to the left side, the open side of the deep red-stained wood door, and turned his head, ear pointing to the opening. He recognized Cassie’s voice immediately. Her arrogant manner when dealing with any of the male persuasion had always irked him. He had never been able to figure out if she talked as such, speaking down to men, because of over-confidence or deep-seated insecurity. He guessed it didn’t matter now. He knew who controlled her mind.
He could make out a consternated old man, talking in such a way as to bring back memories of the few times he had beaten him at chess. The very few times, the old man had spoken every move aloud as he replayed the game in reverse. He did this until he got to whatever move it was he believed was the one that had caused his downfall. The most he had recounted was fifteen moves back. Jack had sat there, stunned, for five whole minutes. He could barely remember the move he had just played. Probably why he lost so much, he thought to himself.
Pull it together, Jack, he chided himself silently.
He turned so he faced the wall, slowly sliding to the right to get an eye around the corner of the door jamb. He saw the corner of the wall directly before him, and could just make out the start of a shelf of books. Beyond that, he saw Cassie’s hosed leg crossed across the other and bouncing up and down in her standard tic. The rest of her was hidden by the counter he had so often stood at, deep in concentration.
Jack felt chilled. He didn’t like the nonchalant way Cassie sat. He didn’t like that he couldn’t see more of the room. For some reason, it reminded him of his days in the police academy, learning about clearing rooms. The instructor had pointed out that the number one man usually got through the door unscathed, while the second man through the door took the round. “How do you eat a plate of shit?” he asked, amused with himself, at a line he probably gave to every single class he taught. “One bite at a time?” someone always answered. “Nope!” He would smile smugly at this point. “One asshole through the door at a time.”
Jack had never really got it. He preferred his classmate’s answer. “One bite at a time.” Fuck it, he thought, steeling his resolve. Time to eat shit. Jack pushed the door open, stepping through in one swift motion. He raised the weapon toward Cassie, who appeared not the least bit surprised by his entrance. He scanned the room quickly, keeping his weapon trained on her. The only other person he could find throughout the shelves of books and high-back leather chairs was the old man.
“How many are here?” he asked, turning his attention back to Cassie.
“Only me, lover,” she said, smiling at him.
“Where’s your partner?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Cassie’s smile faded. “Oh, the gorilla? He’ll be around shortly.”
“You okay?” Jack asked the old man, weapon wavering slightly.
“I’m fine, Jack.” The old man looked from Cassie back to Jack. “You shouldn’t have come for me.”
“I couldn’t let the second-best chess player in the city get roughed up by a bunch of assholes, could I?” Jack said, trying to smile. The barrel of the rifle dipped slightly.
“Oh, Jack, you don’t look so good. Why don’t you have a seat by me?” Cassandra leaned over, rubbing a hand on the leather seat beside her. She draped one long, hosed leg over the chair and leaned back in the one she sat in.
“You’re a fucking nut case,” Jack said, voice raspy. He licked his lips, trying to moisten them. She laughed. Jack got the feeling she was laughing directly at him, at some joke only she was privy to. The old man sat noncommittally, not moving, but not in a way that made it appear as if he was straining to stay still.
“Jack, why don’t you sit down? We need to talk.” This time, her voice held more of a command than a question. Jack didn’t move. “Jack, you can sit down and still shoot me later, if that’s what you want,” she said, indicating the rifle, the barrel of which made slow circles in the air, telling of the fatigue that gripped Jack.
“Weapon,” he said, the single word implying the command. “Easy.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow at him, never losing her smile. Slowly drawing her weapon from beneath her long hex jacket. She held it between thumb and pointer finger, holding it up above her head for Jack to see. She let it drop to the floor beneath her chair, the heavy metal making a dull thud and soft clatter as it bounced to a stop on the worn, stained wood.
“Oh, Jack, you are ever so untrusting.” The smile turned up slightly higher. “If we had wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
“You blew up the plane, thinking we were on it,” Jack stated, refuting her point.
“We knew you weren’t on board,” she said, chuckling.
“Bullshit.” Jack’s brow furrowed.
“Jack, we can debate all of what brought you here later. I am sure you have other things you want to talk about.” She indicated a chair; not the one next to her, but the one on the other end of the counter. Jack stepped to the center or the room, and down the short aisle toward the front doors. He latched the doors, keeping his weapon trained on Cassie, and made his way back to the counter, slower this time, clearing row by row of bookshelves. Once Jack was somewhat sure they were the only people in the room, he returned to the counter, pulling a seat from the counter back a ways so as not to be in the direct line of sight of the front doors. He angled toward the rear door as well, and gingerly sat down, weapon across his lap and pointing at Cassie.
“Feel better?” Cassie asked, laughing like what he just did was the most unnecessary reaction to the current situation. She shifted slightly in her seat, swiveling out to face Jack.
“I want to make a trade,” Jack said, mouth still dry.
“A trade?” Cassie asked amusedly. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ll turn myself in, if you let the old man go, and leave the girl alone.” Jack took in a deep breath, wincing at the pain in his side.
“Oh dear.” Cassie’s smile faded from her face, her voice still a sarcastic pantomime of seriousness. “I’m afraid Jackie Boy doesn’t really understand what he can or can’t control.” Her smile flashed back on her face, a bit more sinister.
“Or I could just kill you,” Jack said, baring his teeth in true anger. He was sick of her sarcasm, her superior attitude, and sick of feeling like she was playing him for a fool.
“Jack, when you trade, the goal is to bring things that you own, and that are of equal value.” She twirled her finger at him, looking over to the old man and shaking her head, like she was sharing disbelief at Jack’s naivety with him. “The girl is in possession of dangerous contraband.” She turned back and faced him. “The old man was the bait to get you to come back, and well, you aren’t getting out of here no matter what type of deal you think you’re going to strike.”
“Cassie, you’re being controlled,” Jack said, on the verge of just shooting her, but giving in to the responsibility he felt to try to get through to her.
“Controlled.” She spat the word out like it tasted badly in her mouth. “Like being in a relationship with you, controlled?!” Her voice rose an octave. “Fuck your control, Jack. You aren’t getting out of here, your girlfriend in the gasser in the alley isn’t getting out of here, and the old man isn’t getting out of here. All three of you have signed termination papers already.”
Jack sat back, bewildered. “I controlled you?” He didn’t know where to begin. To hear that all three of them had termination papers was surprising, given there was no hearing, but what he couldn’t wrap his mind around was the first part of what she said, completely out of left field.
“‘You can’t wear that, Cassie. We aren’t going out tonight. No one but me will ever love you.’ Do you remember, Jack?!” Her voice was now raised on the verge of screaming as she leaned forward in her chair, toward Jack. “You have no idea what you put me through!” Her face was red. A vein in her left temple was raised above her skin, pulsing quickly, in time with the little light on her implant.
“Cassie,
what the fuck are you talking about?!” Jack said, raising his voice in frustration. Their short relationship that had occurred when he first started working at D.I.E. was the most amicable breakup he could remember. He had wanted something deeper than someone to party with; she had wanted someone who wanted to go out more. In the end, they parted ways, never truly having been on the same page since the beginning.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter anymore. You used me and left me like trash on a littered highway.” She sat back in her chair, draping her arm across the counter nonchalantly. “You’ll get yours.” She leaned her head back and laughed.
“Cassie, none of that happened! Your implant put that shit in your head!” Jack said, exasperated beyond the point of caring.
“Fuck off, Jack, the Cassie that you controlled isn’t here anymore.”
As if to punctuate her sentence, there was a loud bang from the back door. Jack jumped up, getting a bit lightheaded as he spun toward the short hallway. The gorilla that was Cassie’s partner walked in, holding Aeralyn by the throat, with his weapon pointed at her head. He held her up, like a shield, hiding his head behind her body. She struggled and kicked, trying to hold her body weight off of her throat by doing a chin-up on the brute’s forearm. Jack trained his weapon back on Cassie, unable to get a clear shot of anything vital.
“Put her down!” he yelled commandingly, trying to exert some semblance of control over the situation, which was increasingly spiraling out of his grasp.
“If you put your weapon down, he’ll put your girlfriend down,” Cassie said quietly, tracing imaginary lines in the top of the counter with her finger.
“I swear to god, Cassie, I will shoot you in your fucking face!” Jack said, stepping toward her until the barrel was a few inches from the bridge of her nose.
“You’ll shoot me, he’ll kill her, and then he’ll kill you, and then he’ll kill the old man.” Cassie twirled her fingers as if indicating the train of thought continued further than just killing everyone in the room. “He is quite good at stuff like that.” She looked up, following the barrel down to Jack’s eyes.
