And fuck her along the way too. Definitely, she will be delicious prey.
“Arrhhh,” Jonathan moaned, “how do I get the muscles off the bone?”
Rowan sighed and leaned over. Hacked-up frog parts laid splattered on his cutting board and deep gashes ruined the organs. He’d either fail or barely pass the final exam for bio because of his jock status. “Cut the tendons and ligaments. They’re small. Reread the textbook.” Rowan exhaled. It was difficult to keep annoyance from affecting his tone, more so every passing day.
He forced the knife through a resistance. “Oh, I think I got it.”
Idiot.
He’d just cut right through a bone. Rowan shook his head and returned to his station to begin dissection on that skull.
Something hit Rowan in the back of the head from behind. A piece of rubber bounced to the floor.
Another piece hit his frog skeleton, spraying the bones all over the table and floor.
A scowl pulled at his face. A wave of tingling hate washed through his nerves. Spinning around and searching for the culprit, he caught the sneering, pig-like face of Max.
Then it all came back. The beatings, the teasing, the stolen notebooks. The god-damned school that needed his money more than they needed integrity. The reason why Rowan’s parents had taken him to that reserve. All because of Max. All because this shithead had some kind of compulsion to make the lives of his classmates miserable, especially Rowan. The ghostly pain of past bruises across his back, arms, and legs lapped at him and ached in his mind. A thousand insults filled his ear all at once. It was all too much. Max hadn’t treated him well.
A storm of rage took over his body and that chilly void at the back of his neck grew till his skull was consumed by frost. And Rowan knew it wouldn’t be satisfied till Max paid for his crimes.
Jonathan whispered, “It’s alright man. He’s a loser.”
The words bounced off his frozen ears. Rowan stood and picked up the nearest bone and rolled it between his fingers. The room pulsated as every heartbeat swelled through his body. The ice blazed. The feeling was indescribable, exhilarating, an insatiable hunger. He only knew one thing this moment: he will kill Max before the day is done.
Perhaps it was karma; perhaps it was the universe’s way of balance. Max’s actions had directly led to what’d happened in the forest and Rowan’s resulting condition. And now those same actions would come back to himself. It was justice, it was objectively right. How many others had Max tormented? How many other families had Max’s father stepped on? This was one vermin that the world could do without—and Rowan would gladly put down a pig before maturity, gladly put down another wolf.
But how? How could he kill a boy without going to prison?
“Rowan,” Jonathan said, “Are you okay?”
The icy void told Rowan to ignore the cretin—and he did. There was prey to be eaten.
Rowan peeked over his shoulder. Max sat in the corner, by his gang of three. He sat on the last seat of the row by the window, paper towel dispenser, and a stack of science magazines. His right was exposed, his back too. His muscular buddy covered his left and Rowan couldn’t dream of approaching from the front.
A hand touched his shoulder. “Rowan.” Jonathan again.
Why couldn’t he be more useful?
“I’m fine.” His voice was too low to sound fine.
Rowan glanced at the athlete. No, he couldn’t use the boy here. Maybe Gabrielle would be understanding but definitely not this simpleton. He’d run to Mrs. Bentley in an instant. The icy void recoiled at the thought, smacking Rowan’s skull. It was getting hungry. It needed to be sated or else, it warned.
A thought occurred—glass could shatter. If the window somehow shattered into the room with enough force, the shards could impale the pig-boy.
No—that was inane. There’d be no way Rowan could make that work, not mentioning getting away with the murder. Pig-boy would likely live too—even if Rowan managed to embed a shard of glass into his brain. It’d take at least a heart-stopping injury plus fatal brain damage.
A falling object? Few classrooms had a second story and fewer had a balcony. The chances of catching Max under one was slim to none. And hiding out in a tree was more inane than the first idea and really, Rowan preferred a far bloodier, slower death for the pig. The cold void simmered in anticipation. He savored every pulse of his burning heart.
He swept his gaze across the class and counted the twenty-six students. None would help Rowan. None would understand. Jonathan was back to hacking at his frog, stabbing with his scalpel…
Of course!
The blades weren’t as sharp as those used by surgeons but if used on a weak-point, it’d cut right through an eye or neck. Perfect. One little surprise from behind and piggy-boy would squeal no more. Never again.
Now… How would he do this without getting in trouble?
As the void smoldered, Rowan fingered his frog-bones while contemplating on this riddle. He could hide in a dark corner and wait for Max to pass by without his gang, which wouldn’t happen before graduation. He could wait in a bathroom—someone would probably see him. What about after school? No, Rowan had seen Max picked up by his mother in the close parking lot. Nothing seemed to work. The void growled in irritation, stirring up his spine and buzzing his nerves with frost. Why were murders so hard to plot?
Blast it, just do it now in front of everyone and plead insanity as a minor.
The suggestion struck him like lightning.
Yes, that might actually work. He’d survived a traumatic brain injury a fortnight earlier and several bits of implanted biotech kept his brain running this moment. The very good Doctor Roth knew of his damaged psyche. Yes, this could work. At most, he’d be sent to a juvenile mental ward for a year or two while his brain regrew. A wicked smile spread across his lips before vanishing a second later.
“Jon,” he said in a silky voice loud enough for Max to hear, “do you need any paper towel? I’m going to get some.” This way Max wouldn’t be suspicious of his approach.
Jonathan glanced at him for a second. “Nah, I’m alright.”
Rowan stood and faked a yawn—it was almost 4 PM and some people took naps. The pig sneered at him as he approached but was busy with his frog that clearly just started undergoing dissection. What a numb-skull Max was. The world will be far, far better without him.
The frosty void twisted and curled in anticipation, Rowan’s pulse steady and hot. The combination of hot and cold stirred into a lukewarm symphony of glee. He gripped the scalpel in his right hand, hidden from view behind his leg. This was the happiest he felt in weeks.
He now stood behind the pig. His cheesy stench mixed with strong deodorant.
Rowan made his move, hooking his left arm around his fatty neck and squeezed.
Piggy-boy’s fat body wriggled, struggling in surprise. “What the fu—”
Not a heartbeat later, Rowan’s right hand slashed the blade deep across his neck, tearing through fat, sinew, tendons, thin muscles, and arteries—though at great effort. It was like cutting through tough, slippery fabric. Blood fountained from the wound.
“Max! Rowan!” Mrs. Bentley roared and jumped to her feet but it was too late.
Rowan plunged the bloody, six-inch scalpel into the pig’s eye. Then twisted and forced the thing all the way in. The pig’s gurgling screams died out in seconds as he twitched and bled. Most likely dead.
Better play it up, Rowan decided. “Ha. Ha. Ha,” he cackled and spat on the pig.
By now, the class was in chaos, in total uproar and horror. Max’s gang, sprayed with blood, seemed to be confused to whether attack Rowan or back away. A few students rapidly took out their Holo-Phones. Screams and Mrs. Bentley’s yells blasted Rowan’s ears. A neighboring teacher burst through the door.
But one thing, one person, stood out in the ruckus and refused to take part.
Gabrielle sat in her seat, head twisted and taking in the view like she was watching
a television show. Her smooth, pink lips were parted an inch but other than that, her face stared blank. “Huh.”
What an odd, pretty girl. Too bad this was probably the last time he’d see her—ever. Oh well.
* * *
September 27th, 2134
The judge’s stony eyes gazed at Rowan as he read the sentencing. “Rowan Black, you have been found not guilty of first-degree murder by reason of insanity and sentenced to a high-security, juvenile psychiatric institution till you are deemed sane and fit for society.”
Rowan kept up his blank mask and nodded, ignoring the sobs of his mother across the courtroom. His plan had succeeded and unfolded to a tee. His lawyer had agreed the minute he’d read Rowan’s medical condition.
Max’s family glared, though they weren’t as emotional as Rowan’s parents. The pig’s father was rather fit and attractive, like his mother and older brother. Tears ran down the pig’s brother’s cheeks and his glare was far more menacing. The slumbering void murmured up Rowan’s spine as he was taken away by his escorting officer.
Chapter 4
Conflict
April 8th, 2136
Rowan sank into his beanbag and grabbed the weekly newspaper and his order of science and gaming magazines which had been slipped through the cell door overnight.
It’d been over a year since he’d been admitted to the only high-security psychiatric intuition in the continent and he had to admit this place wasn’t that bad. The food was satisfactory and offered a large variety to order from. A gym and yard offered plenty of exercises and fresh air. Two expert teachers administered the worldwide high-school curriculum standard. The cells weren’t locked except during lock-downs and night—and even had a wall-computer with a limited Internet connection for study. Naturally, Rowan convinced his parents to bring in a few of his games to play during free time. They had continued to be useful.
And best of all, the facility housed only two other teenagers who hadn’t bothered Rowan once. Apparently, advances in neurology, psychiatry, and genetic engineering had greatly reduced the rate of mental illness among youth. But there were always a few who’d snap every other year. Jeremy, a fourteen-year-old, was zombified and never talked—clearly on heavy medication. Tom, sixteen, appeared normal and was quite talented with the violin. Another had been discharged two weeks after Rowan arrived. He wondered what their crimes were.
The only thing missing was a cute, sexy girl like Gabrielle to sink his teeth into.
Flipping through the newspaper, Rowan skimmed over the week’s events, his eyes not hitching onto any article except for an incident in the north. A bear attack this time. He shook his head, not feeling anything for the victim—though he had perfected an act in case he needed to show sympathy and emotion when needed. His psyche hadn’t changed much over the year. His bouts of anger had remained steady and whenever the icy void flared, he had hit the gym and hit the single available punching bag. Over and over till the void was sated. Under guard supervision of course.
The guards were trained nurses and carried stun guns strapped to their wrists. Rowan hadn’t challenged their authority yet for they had surprisingly treated him fairly, not like a murderous animal which he had expected them to. So Rowan had been polite and neutral to the staff and doctors. Roth had visited just twice and didn’t stray from that clownish act.
Rowan tossed the newspaper to the side and picked up the science journal magazine. Most of the articles and diagrams had been dumbed down for public consumption. He didn’t mind; he could always scour the Internet for technical reports. A report on recent developments in human anatomy caught his attention before the metallic door clanged three times.
It was time for his daily checkup with the psychologist.
Rowan buried a whiff of annoyance at being interrupted and stood, then opened the door. He slapped on a pleasant face. “Good morning, Dr. Hath—”
This was new. The director of the facility and board member for the adjoining hospital stood in the doorway, a guard at his side. Rowan had only met this man once.
“Ah, Mr. Black,” he said and smiled. The expression didn’t fit his old, wrinkled face and mustache. “It’s nice to see you again.” He held out his hand.
Accepting the handshake, Rowan raised an eyebrow quarter of an inch. “Is there something we need to discuss, Dr. Winston?” The name came without effort despite the information being over a year old in his mind.
“Yes, in fact.” He shot Rowan a serious look. “There is much to discuss. Would you like to come to my office?”
Declining the offer wasn’t part of the choice, Rowan knew—it was all part of his so-called rehabilitation and journey to becoming a model citizen. Polite conversation was a small but important skill nonetheless. “Of course, ” he said and smirked and let the director lead the way, their footwear clinking on the acrylic floor. Another guard tailed the group once he locked Rowan’s cell.
They walked passed Jeremy, who was playing a game of chess with a guard in the common room, then turned a corner and stopped at a reinforced, glass security door. The director swiped an access card and the guards escorted them through.
Up a stairwell, two more security doors, and another stairwell, the group arrived at an office hallway. Rowan stepped onto fine, stylized carpet and ran his fingers across the light, wooden walls till they stopped at a door number B-13.
The director looked at the guards. “Thank you, we should be good for now.”
The guards hesitated for a few seconds before the director added, “I’m confident everything will be fine. Isn’t that right, Rowan?”
It was a month before Rowan’s eighteenth birthday and his hearing to decide whether his condition had improved enough to warrant a full discharge. If the psychiatric board declined the release, Rowan would be taken to an adult facility—and Dr. Hathaway had been very explicit about the conditions Rowan would live with there. They were not nice. Though that didn’t change Rowan’s plan, he had made extra effort to be on his best behavior since. A blunder now would be catastrophic.
“Of course, director,” he said.
The older guard regarded Rowan with a warning look and left along with the younger guard.
The director plucked a key from his suit pocket and unlocked the door. He sighed. “This is where we part, Rowan.”
What?
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Make the right decision.” The director eyed Rowan for a good five seconds. “Make the right decision.” The director took a breath and departed with a final, piercing look.
Rowan frowned, standing alone in this hallway. He could make a run for it—though he’d just run into a staff member or security door. No, that was stupid. He had to meet whoever was in this room else risk losing his freedom. He twisted the knob and entered.
What the hell was this?
Roth sat facing the door behind a white table, the morning sun reflecting off his spectacles. A toothy smile spread across his face.
Oh, and a three-meter-long pod-like machine laid by the cupboard, white and pristine. Wires connected from its control port to a nearby wall-computer.
“Hello again, Rowan my lad.” He gestured with open palms. “Please, take a seat.”
Rowan closed the door and did as asked. “Good morning, Doctor Roth.” He would ask if this was another checkup but the director’s behavior signaled otherwise obviously. Roth held a position that overshadowed a director of this facility strangely enough. Whatever Roth truly was behind that mask couldn’t be good.
Roth folded his hands on the table. “Are you feeling better? I’ve read that you have significantly improved since our last meeting.”
“I have. The lessons on morality, laws, and exercises to invoke empathy and emotion have helped a lot.” It was true but Rowan still couldn’t feel. Only act.
And truthfully, he didn’t desire to feel those weaker emotions prone to manipulation. And understanding was enough.
“Good. Good.” Roth picked
up a sheet of paper from a neat pile. “And your latest scan shows your brain has almost fully regenerated. That is good indeed.”
Rowan nodded. He suspected as much, suspected that his psyche had been permanently altered. From what he read, the brain implants worked in a way to mimic real, neural pathways while new neurons grew into that scaffolding. The technology was new and had unpredictable results at times, leading to cases such as Rowan’s. Roth had left this part out during his court testimony. He’d presented the fact that Rowan’s psychopathic symptoms could possibly fade once his brain recovered. A borderline lie. Rowan didn’t know whether to be thankful or more suspicious of the good doctor.
Aeon Chronicles Online_Book 1_Devil's Deal Page 4
