Project Pandora

by Aden Polydoros

  “I heard you had a bit of an episode at the dance tonight,” Dr. Kosta said after she was helped onto the hospital bed. “Would you like to tell me more about that?”

  “I don’t really remember much,” Elizabeth lied. She didn’t want her parents to learn about Hades. She didn’t want him to get in trouble.

  “Just give it some thought,” he said. “Let’s start from the beginning. You were dropped off at the dance. What happened after that?”

  “I, um…”

  “Listen, Elizabeth, we know that you were there with a boy,” her father said drily. “We found your texts to him.”

  Her mouth fell agape. “You looked through my phone?”

  “This is very important, so you need to tell us everything you know, sweetie,” her mother said. “If that boy did something to you, we need to know.”

  “Hades didn’t do anything,” she said. “He was just defending me.”

  “Hades, eh?” Dr. Kosta said and absently touched the mole on his chin. “When did you first meet him?”

  “Does it even matter?” she asked, annoyed. Who cared how long she had known him before inviting him to the dance? It wasn’t like they had sex or anything.

  “It most certainly matters,” Kosta assured her.

  “I don’t see how this has anything to do with my fainting.”

  “Answer the question, Elizabeth,” her father said sternly.

  “I met him at the banquet,” she said, deciding that if her father was intent on learning Hades’s identity, lying would do nothing. He already had Hades’s phone number, and knowing her father, he would be able to track Hades down if he wanted to.

  “The banquet?” Kosta asked.

  “A fundraising dinner I went to a couple weeks ago,” she clarified, then turned to her father. “He was the boy you got on my back about. I met him there, okay? He’s a good person. I don’t think he meant to hurt Adam and Derek.”

  Dr. Kosta gave a scoffing laugh. “Oh, I’m sure he didn’t.”

  “I probably just fainted out of stress,” she said, bothered by the irritation she heard in Dr. Kosta’s voice. He sounded almost annoyed, as if he thought she was faking it or had overreacted.

  Dr. Kosta nodded. “Have you been having any other…episodes…over the last few weeks?”

  “Invasive thoughts,” she admitted. “Some anxiety, too. I think it’s because of midterms. I’ve had some hard classes this semester.”

  “I’m sure that’s all it is,” Dr. Kosta reassured her, but deep down, Elizabeth didn’t believe it.

  Case Notes 22:

  Artemis

  Surrounded by barren fields and aglow with neon signs, from a distance the gas station resembled an extraterrestrial structure. As Shannon approached the building, the tallest sign’s glow resolved itself into individual letters, and the overall dilapidation of the building became apparent. She parked beside the Gas sign at the edge of the corrugated iron roof.

  The red glow of the neon tube lights washed across the dashboard and steering wheel, drenching her shuddering hands like a surge of blood. She waited for her trembling to subside before removing the key from the ignition and opening the car door.

  Even though it was nearing eleven o’clock, the sky was not pitch-black, as it had been in the shadow of the metropolis, but a piebald indigo. With no city lights or smog to blot out the constellations, a million stars stared down at her.

  As she got out of her car, she stared up at the vast stellar dusting above. She felt shrunken down, insignificant, and at the mercy of a force stronger than herself and far crueler.

  Approaching the gas pumps, she searched for the black sedan among the other cars. It was nowhere in sight. The tracker implanted in Apollo’s cell phone had led her to this location, so he must have been somewhere nearby. Maybe he had switched cars or hitchhiked.

  She went inside the gas station. Although the signs in the window had advertised 24/7 Service, Ice-Cold Coca-Cola, and Hot Dogs & Pizza, there was a depressing food selection. A few shriveled hot dogs sat dejectedly on their heated rollers. In a separate display, greasy slices of pepperoni and cheese pizza grew cold and stale behind yellowed glass. The air was ripe with the odors of old meat and gasoline, and mud streaked the floor.

  What would Apollo be doing in a junk heap like this?

  Over the spread pages of his magazine, the clerk regarded her warily. As she walked down the aisles, she put her hands in her pockets. One hand restlessly kneaded and picked at the hem of the pocket, working away at loose threads. Her other hand touched the butt of the pistol through her jacket’s thin satin liner.

  She had fired four shots at Apollo. Six rounds were left.

  Why had she hesitated? Why had her aim wavered?

  She could have easily shot him in the back as he’d fled down the hall, but at the sight of his face—I know that face—something inside her had frozen up. Even after regaining her resolve, her hands had continued to fail her.

  She stopped at the end of the aisle and looked around. The only other shopper in sight was a beefy, flannel-wearing trucker loitering in front of the freezer cases. He gave Shannon a passing glance before returning his attention to the rows of drinks.

  Shannon went to the front of the store. “Excuse me,” she said, “but is there a bathroom I can use here?”

  “No bathrooms,” the clerk snapped, and as she stepped out of the store, she felt his eyes burn into the back of her neck.

  She browsed the cars still in the lot, then took her cell phone from her pocket. She dialed the number Zeus had texted her and listened.

  There. Over the soft breeze, she heard a phone ring. She followed it to a pickup truck and glanced into the bed. Shapes huddled under a black plastic tarp like corpses in a body bag.

  Shannon pulled the gun from its holster and cocked it. She stood on her tiptoes and reached into the truck bed. As she aimed the pistol at one of the lumps, she gripped the sheet and yanked it back.

  She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she heard it hiss through her teeth in a relieved sigh.

  Sacks of grain occupied the pickup’s bed. A cell phone was wedged between two of the bags, vibrating furiously.

  Apollo was gone.

  On her way home, driven by a strange urge, she stopped along the Potomac River. This stretch of bridge was deserted, and the water churned below, crested by pallid drifts of foam. The wind blew droplets of moisture onto her face as she approached the railing. She took her gun from its holster, wiped off the handle with the bottom of her shirt, and threw it into the water.

  The pistol disappeared in the blink of an eye, without even so much as a splash.

  No more.

  Status Report: Subject 2 of Subset A

  A-02: I’m so afraid. I’m so afraid. Please don’t make me go back in there. I’ll cooperate. I’ll tell you whatever you want. Just don’t make me go back in the tank.

  DK: I’m sorry, Hades, but it’s a necessary part of your treatment.

  A-02: Please. I’ll do anything.

  (Let the record show that at 00:00:36 the subject began crying.)

  DK: Why don’t you want to go in there?

  A-02: I’m different. I’m scared. I’m not me, and I’m scared of who I’m becoming. I’m so scared, and it hurts, and it’s in there. I can’t do it. Please, don’t make me go in there.

  DK: You are not you. That’s interesting. Explain more.

  A-02: I don’t know anymore. I’m not sure what’s real, and I’m scared. There’s something bad in there.

  DK: In the John C. Lilly tank, you mean.

  A-02: It’s going to destroy me. It’s going to eat me. Please, just kill me.

  DK: What is in there?

  A-02: Kill me. (:08 pause) This isn’t me.

  DK: Excuse me?

  A-02: This body isn’t me.

  DK: Hades, I asked you a question.

  A-02: This is happening to someone else. This isn’t real. None of this is real.
<
br />   Case Notes 23:

  Hades

  As Hades basked in the afterglow of his evolution, his cell phone began ringing once again. He returned to the motorcycle and retrieved the phone from his top case just as the ringing stopped. When he opened the flip screen, he was surprised to find twenty unopened text messages and twice as many new voicemails.

  All of them were from Dimitri.

  As he typed in Dimitri’s number, he was alerted by an incoming call. He lifted the phone to his ear and said, “Yes, sir?”

  “I’ve been trying to get through to you for the last three hours.” The connection was poor, but even the buzzing static couldn’t conceal the rage in Dimitri’s voice.

  “I didn’t hear it ring,” Hades said, picking up his motorcycle helmet from where he had dropped it. Mud crusted the top of the visor. He wiped it away as best he could. “Is there a problem?”

  “Where were you tonight?” Dimitri asked.

  “Places.”

  “Where?”

  Hades didn’t answer.

  “Where are you right now?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, which was the truth. Looking around him, he couldn’t even tell if he was still within the state of Virginia. He couldn’t recall how long he had been driving, and for all he knew, he could have already passed into West Virginia or North Carolina. Or, if he had headed north, he might be in Maryland or Pennsylvania. There was no way to tell for sure.

  “Are you having fugues again?” Dimitri asked.

  “No. I’ve just been…places.” Hades licked his lips, glancing at the forest around him. By the moment, it became a strange, hostile realm. Darker and large enough to lose himself in. If he stood here much longer, he could slip through a crack in the earth or the night might swallow him whole. He would disappear like he had never existed in the first place, just cease to be.

  “Come back immediately,” Dimitri said. “Something has happened.”

  “Okay.” As he hung up, the gloom seemed to press down on him. His sense of power diminished, leaving a disturbing emptiness.

  He put his helmet on again. Though he was using a clear visor, the world looked distorted somehow, different than how it was a couple minutes ago.

  Because I’m evolving, he thought as he pulled back onto the road. I’m evolving. I know I am.

  But by the time he returned to the safe house, he wasn’t sure whether the bear had been real or not. His memories of the delightful encounter faded by the moment. Maybe he had just imagined it. It wouldn’t be the first time he had seen something that wasn’t really there.

  Shutting the front door behind him, he stepped into the deserted foyer. The dimmed lamps made the spacious room seem much smaller than it truly was and shrinking by the second.

  A lone Rottweiler regarded him from the shadows near the grand staircase.

  “Grün,” he murmured. “Hier.”

  The dog rose to its feet and padded toward him—then froze. It lifted its snout to the air and sniffed warily. Its hackles rose, its ears pressed back against the sides of its head, and a low growl escaped from its bared teeth. Though he reached out for the dog to pet it, it refused to come toward him, and instead backed away.

  Could it smell the bear on him? Or maybe it knew he was evolving. Maybe he had already become something else, all in the span of a single night. An apex predator. The ultimate killer.

  “Gelb,” he said, permitting the dog to retreat deeper into the house.

  He walked down the hall, wanting nothing more than to take a shower and go to sleep. Then, detecting a subtle fragrance of smoke and burnt cloves, he stopped in his tracks.

  Low voices conspired from the study. One was strongly accented, the other not. Both were familiar.

  Just as he took a step away from the open door, Dimitri called, “Come in, Two.”

  Two, not Hades. Who was Dimitri with that would require this sudden change?

  Though he wanted to get as far away from the sweet, pungent odor as he possibly could, his compulsion to obey was stronger than his flight instinct. As he stepped inside the room, he held his shoulders high and kept his hands fisted at his sides. His face felt like a mask, a cage to hide his apprehension.

  His gaze swept around the room. Dimitri sat behind his desk, but he wasn’t the one whose face made Hades freeze and begin trembling uncontrollably.

  A white-haired man leaned against the window frame, smoking a cigarette. His face was illuminated by the sallow glow that reached through the glass. Shadows accentuated his deeply cleft chin and philtrum groove, making it seem as though the indentations had been hacked into the bone itself.

  “You shouldn’t use a diminutive, Dimitri. It will make Subject Two of Subset A forget what he is. A commodity.” The man’s words were garbled by a thick accent. His face was wrinkleless, even paler than Hades’s, and did not flex with natural movement, as if his skin had partially calcified. He could have been anywhere between thirty and seventy years old. In a way, he seemed far older than that, like a decrepit vampire come to feed.

  Hades felt his mouth go dry. He could not speak.

  “Do you remember who I am?” the man asked, and the corners of his sinewy lips tugged up in an inflexible smile, like an incision sutured too tightly.

  “Charles and I were just talking about you,” Dimitri said. “About your little act of disobedience.”

  Hades lowered his gaze. Charles Warren’s pinstripe trousers were held in place by a belt embellished with a large, ornate buckle that Hades found himself fixated on. Onyx cabochons studded the silver medallion, and a strange maroon tarnish darkened the engravings.

  “Do you know what I am talking about?” Dimitri asked.

  “No, sir,” he said huskily, averting his eyes.

  “B-10 has defected,” Dimitri said. “He’s broken free of his programming. I sent D-05 to deal with him, and she failed at that task. If you had been here, you could have accompanied her. We wouldn’t be in this situation right now if you had just answered my phone calls instead of misbehaving.”

  He didn’t speak. He felt a sudden violent loathing for Apollo. If the other boy had just obeyed, Hades wouldn’t be the one getting in trouble now. And if Artemis was so incompetent, why was he being lectured for this?

  “Where were you tonight?” Dimitri asked.

  “I don’t remember.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Dimitri rose from the desk and smoothed out his tweed blazer. He unplugged his laptop and tucked it under his arm. “Let’s see if you can prove it.”

  Hades followed Dimitri and Mr. Warren out into the hall. He lagged behind as they reached the elevator, leery about sharing such small quarters with the two of them. He hated being in contained spaces, and the thought of being trapped in the enclosed chamber, inhaling smoke and almost close enough for Mr. Warren to touch him—or hit him—nauseated Hades.

  As the elevator doors opened, he stepped inside and backed against the wall, keeping his distance. His hands flexed at his sides, then curled into fists as he caught the first whiff of burnt cloves.

  When Mr. Warren’s arm brushed against him, Hades gripped onto the bronze railing to keep from striking out at the man. He knew, without knowing how he knew, that any violence on his part would be met with absolute brutality. No mercy.

  The memory of his encounter with the bear grew fainter. With the way he felt now, he would rather believe it had been a dream than suppose that maybe his evolution wouldn’t make him as powerful as he hoped to be. If he was evolving, then why did he suddenly feel like he was growing smaller and younger, shrinking down into a terrified child?

  As the elevator descended, he took a deep breath and let the thoughts leave his mind. No reason to dwell on things that didn’t matter.

  The elevator doors slid open, and he exhaled slowly. He followed the men down the hall and into a small windowless room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were padded in waterproofed cushions, not only to smother external sounds but also for ease of c
leaning. A drain in the floor allowed for the disposal of waste products, and although it had been months since the room was last occupied, a foul musk hung in the air.

  When he had spent time in the cell two years ago, there had been no furniture. Now, a pair of chairs and a table took up the majority of the space. One of the chairs was normal wood, while the other was wheeled and built from metal and vinyl, with thick canvas straps around the arms and legs. Other miscellaneous objects and machinery crowded the rest of the room. With the purchase of the floatation tank, the padded cell had become obsolete and was currently used for storage and interviews instead of sensory deprivation.

  “Sit down,” Dimitri said, and there was no mistaking which chair he referred to.

  “Is this necessary?” he asked, lingering in the doorway. He knew that when the door was closed, the padding would muffle all sound and light. It would almost be like going back into the tank.

  “I told you to sit, A-02,” Dimitri said, putting his laptop on the table.

  Hades could have easily overpowered Dimitri, and Mr. Warren as well, but by doing so, he would lose the game. He needed to maintain this charade and pretend to be subservient. Impressions were everything.

  As he sat down in the chair, he reassured himself that he was still the one in control. This was just a formality. Nothing to get upset about.

  “You know that I don’t like to do this,” Dimitri said, fastening the straps. “But if you’re becoming unstable, I must take precautions for my safety and your own.”

  He said nothing. Feigning ignorance would only sow suspicion. Until he decided what was bothering Dimitri—his disappearance, Mr. Warren’s arrival, or the fight at Manderley Prep’s dance—it would be better if he remained silent.

  He was very familiar with this chair. It had been used for force-feeding and as a form of punishment. He had once spent three days in it, in the darkness, alone.

  Restraints around his wrists and ankles kept him from standing or reaching out. Other straps locked in place around his waist and shoulders, preventing him from even leaning forward. Foam cushions on either side of his head, reinforced with a strap under his chin and another across his brow, left him essentially immobile.