Pathosis (A Dark Evolution Book 1)

by Jason LaVelle

  Abbie muffled a scream as Mariah’s face opened up and sprayed blood against the wall. Her sister let out a long, high-pitched shriek, but then Marc pulled her away from the wall and slammed her head forward once more, this time into the wooden doorjamb of the bathroom in the hallway. Abbie could actually hear her sister’s skull break and could see, briefly, through all the blood, Mariah’s forehead cave in as it was smashed against the oak trim.

  Abbie had dropped back down to the floor and was momentarily frozen. All she could think of was that she had to text Kala.

  Text Kala?

  Marc had just killed her sister. With some awkward shuffling, Abbie got to her feet once more and turned to bolt for the door behind her. Marc heard her and let out an ape-like grunt, then came barreling after her. Abbie reached the door, threw it open and hurtled herself through, landing on the cold concrete patio. She rolled down the three small steps in the dark, then hoisted herself up to her feet and began running. Marc was after her in an instant.

  The front sidewalk was about thirty feet from the road. Abbie sprinted down the walkway, her legs warming up and driving her feet hard over the concrete. She wore only a pair of low-cut Converse shoes, but she quickly put distance between herself and Marc. Abbie was the only freshman on her high school’s varsity cross-country team, and now, going into her sophomore year, she was one of the school’s most promising new stars. She narrowed her focus into the run, just like during a race. She could still hear Marc behind her, his bare feet slapping the ground, and then the road as she tore out onto the asphalt.

  She hammered out a five-minute mile. It hurt; the unforgiving flat soles of her All-Stars felt like they were grating her feet. Her breath came hard but even. The painful, yet carefully orchestrated breaths of a hard-core athlete. Confident that she had left Marc far behind, she dared a glance back.

  Holy shit!

  Marc wasn’t close, but he wasn’t far. Only fifty yards or so back, and coming on strong.

  How is he keeping up with me?

  Marc was a tough guy, but Abbie had never seen him run, she didn’t even think he owned athletic shoes. Plus, he was barefoot on the uneven, broken asphalt. Abbie thought he was like a robot – maybe like the terminator, or maybe he was on some kind of mindless homicidal autopilot, unaware that his body shouldn’t actually be capable of performing at this level. That was an important clue, though Abbie was too terrified to realize it at the time. On the other hand, maybe she did, because her next move changed everything.

  At the end of Hickory Avenue, the road turned to the right. Straight ahead, beyond the bend in the road, was a tall chain-link fence, and beyond that, the expressway. Abbie was only seconds from the turn. If she followed the road, it was another two to three miles up to the hospital, where she knew there were always police on duty in the emergency room. On the other hand, she could jump the fence and play chicken with her life.

  Perhaps it was the terrified adrenaline coursing through her. Or maybe it was because for once she was racing for something much more serious than a varsity letter, but Abbie made the decision to head straight for the chain-link fence.

  She hit the fence like a truck, smashing into the somewhat flexible fencing and beginning to climb. She heard Marc howl behind her and looked back. She shouldn’t have.

  Marc was almost on top of her, his large arms swinging wildly. In the dim light of a nearby streetlamp, she saw his face contorted with maniacal hatred. Though she did not know why, she somehow knew that her life depended on this climb.

  I cannot fall.

  I cannot fall.

  Abbie reached the top of the fence and swung her legs over. She lost her grip and tumbled to the earth on the highway side of the fence. Pain lanced up through her ankle and she swore.

  Dammit, not another strain. Coach is going to be pissed.

  Then she heard Marc hit the fence. Abbie struggled to her feet and ran, sometimes falling, down the steep embankment to the edge of the highway. It was late evening now, but the 395 never slowed much.

  She stopped at the edge, watching the traffic and breathing long and deep, willing her heart and muscles into submission. There was a thump as Marc hit the ground, now on her side of the fence. That meant he was less than 30 yards away, a distance even a child could cover in just a few seconds.

  This is it.

  The adrenaline started pumping into her again, sending little shoots of tingling excitement down her spine and through her nerves. Marc was only 20 feet away now, ten, five. Abbie leaped out onto the highway, digging her sore feet in as hard and as fast as she could. The truck was right on top of her, but she thought if she just gunned it she could make it past.

  Everything happened at once. Bright lights, the screech of rubber on cold asphalt, a loud baritone wail from the truck’s horn, then a ghastly crash, so close, too close, that it hurt her ears. Then she heard voices. She had survived, but her head was swimming. She fumbled for the phone in her pocket, but before she could pull it out, she fell straight over onto the grass median, passed out cold.

  Chapter 7

  “Only a month until school starts again,” Kala said. She didn’t look over her shoulder, but knew that Abbie was sitting on the edge of her bed. Kala pulled off her camisole and slipped her jeans down over skinny thighs. Then she did a one-foot hop into the first leg of her fuzzy pajama pants, the ones adorned with pink and purple “My Little Pony” avatars.

  “Yeah,” Abbie was still speaking in monotone. It was late now, about two in the morning. They had been lying together for hours, ever since the police had brought her over. Abbie’s eyes were heavy with sleep and sorrow. The burgundy eye shadow she always wore had melted down off her eyelids and was smeared, along with her mascara, in long streaks down her cheeks.

  Kala rubbed her hand over her flat belly, and then scratched her chest. She always itched right under her bra. It was awful. She hoped it was just a puberty thing, because being sweaty and itchy there forever would be unacceptable. She wanted to lighten things up for Abigail, to get her thinking about anything but the death of her sister. It was late, though, and Kala was also running on fumes.

  “I think Tyler Kandal still has a thing for you,” Kala told her.

  Nothing.

  “I saw Kylie at the mall about two weeks ago and she said he was asking if you were seeing anyone.”

  “You told me that already,” Abbie said weakly.

  Kala sighed as she pulled a large Bello Spark shirt over her head. Bello was a local rock group she saw at The Shack and purchased the extra-large t-shirt to wear as pajamas. Kala sat down on the edge of the bed and draped her arm around Abbie’s shoulder.

  “Let’s get some sleep, huh? Your parents will get the message delivered to them in the Kodiak tomorrow and they’ll probably get on the first flight home.” Abbie was still non-responsive.

  Kala examined Abbie’s face. “All right, you just sit there, and I’m going to clean your face up, ‘cause honey, you are a hot mess! Heavy on the mess, light on the hot!”

  Abbie chuckled a little, which brought a smile to Kala’s face.

  “Sit tight; I’ll grab a warm wash cloth.”

  Kala sighed and walked out to the bathroom, she didn’t have much experience dealing with grief of any kind, but she was trying. When she returned a few minutes later with a hot cloth, Abbie was laying down in bed with her eyes closed. Kala sat on her knees in front of the bed, and brushed the hair out of Abbie’s face.

  “I’m so sorry, Abbie,” she whispered.

  Kala thought about her problems. She didn’t get along with her mother, and she hardly saw her father any more. Her brother, Lukie, was a constant annoyance, but really, he was a sweet kid, too. She had never had a boyfriend, unless you count Richard Stepford, who had grabbed her boobs at the beginning of the year. Richard had been put
up to it by one of the upperclassmen; but he really wasn’t that bad of a kid. All the same, Kala dropped her bag and then kicked him in the gonads as hard as she could. Poor Richard fell backward and then down the four stairs into C hall. He ended up with 16 stitches in the back of his head for his trouble.

  As Kala watched Abbie sleep, restless and tormented, she realized things weren’t really that bad here at home.

  Looking around her room, she saw the things that she enjoyed. Her books, so many books: chemistry, an old physical science, Jane Goodall’s research, Darwin’s theory of natural selection. She had many books about insects and spiders (thanks to her father). There were books on microbiology stacked next to the large binocular microscope her father had bought her. There were also a smattering of fiction novels, and, she was not ashamed to admit, she loved the young adult dystopian thrillers that were so popular.

  These were the things that brought her happiness when she was away from her friends. These things gave her comfort. It was magical to be lost in a book, even one dealing with infectious diseases of the early 20th century.

  Abigail was fast asleep with her smeared makeup all over her face. She was a beautiful girl, though. Kala swept the black hair from in front of her face and gently wiped the warm cloth over her cheeks and eyelids. It took a few minutes of careful work, but Kala was able to remove the offending mascara and eye shadow. With the makeup removed from Abigail’s face, Kala thought she looked so much younger. She tossed the soiled rag onto her table, and then quietly and gently she leaned over Abigail’s face and kissed her on the cheek. Why she felt so motherly toward Abigail, she did not know. They were the same age, and in the same grade, but Kala had always felt like she needed to look after Abigail.

  Her last little bit of energy depleted; Kala lay down beside Abigail, on the side of her bed closest to the basement wall. Her eyes slid shut and she slept, a dark, black sleep. She hoped for a bright new day tomorrow, but those bright days were gone forever.

  “All right John, all right. I’m so sorry, you two. Don’t you worry about Abs, though, she’s in good hands here. Yes, of course. You know that’s what friends are for.” Jack’s voice caught just a little in his throat as he spoke those last words, then he ended the call. He had been exhausted and felt ragged after a long day of work. Then the police showed up with Abigail Cruz and everything really went to shit.

  She’s such a sweet girl, he thought, too bad this is going to mess her up for life. Jack shook his head. Jesus, to see your own sister murdered right in front of you.

  “Hey,” his wife said from beside him, and laid her hand on his thigh. They were in bed with a single nightlight on. It was 1:30 in the morning, and they were both in dire need of sleep, but the murder of a family friend had them revved up, and sleep did not come easily.

  “John said there’s a huge storm front that has settled in over Kodiak and all the surrounding areas. The bush pilots won’t even come in to pick them up. The bush pilots!”

  “So, what does that mean, then?”

  “Abbie’s going to stay with us until they get back.”

  “Of course, she doesn’t have anywhere else to go, does she?”

  “She has a great aunt in Kentucky.”

  “That’s too far.”

  “Yes. So the forecasters up there are predicting this storm will be raging for two to three days. Once they can fly into the city, they’ll get on a flight to Colorado, then they’ll fly straight here.”

  “They can’t fly direct from Alaska?”

  “Nope, it seems that it’s a lot farther than it seems.” Jack chuckled, then sighed. “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah.” She was silent for a minute, then said, “I’m so glad it wasn’t our daughter.”

  “Honey!”

  “What? Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking it. You know I care about John and Tess, but really. Shit, just shit.”

  “Yeah. You’re right baby. Our family always comes first, but I don’t think we should say that kind of stuff out loud.” Jack scratched at the mosquito bite on his arm, which was almost raw now. “We’re not even supposed to think like that.”

  She pulled his hand away from his arm. “Stop scratching that, it’ll get infected.”

  “It’s been such a long day.”

  She nodded. “I’ve been missing you.”

  Jack pulled her in close to his large body. He kissed her neck, then her lips. His large hands came up over her hips and massaged her skin. He started kissing down her collarbone, slowly. She reached up and turned off the light on the nightstand.

  “Just keep kissing me.”

  Chapter 8

  Spiders are silent creatures. Absolutely silent. They are the ninja-assassins of the arthropod world. For that reason, they are virtually unstoppable predators, limited only by their size. If spiders were bigger, they would take bigger prey - simple as that.

  As the spider, camouflaged by the early morning’s shadows, moved over the bedroom floor, there was no way Kala could hear it. The spider heard her, though. Each breath she let out gave off a small vibration. The spider felt these vibrations, coming in a steady rhythm. The two girls, lying unsuspecting on the bed, gave off two sets of deep, steady rhythms. The spider sensed them both. It could feel the warmth thrown off by their delectable, warm-blooded hearts in the otherwise cold room.

  The spider reached the edge of the full-sized bed and extended one long, black leg onto the comforter. The cream-colored comforter, adorned with large purple and green flowers, had fallen off the bed a little, letting one corner drape down to the floor. Tiny sensing hairs in its feet let the spider know this surface was safe, and would be in-fact, easy to climb. Usually house spiders like to hide in clothes left strewn on the floor when their owners have left for work or school. They hide and wait for a meal to wander by before they dart out and pounce on their prey. This, however, was not a species that liked to wait.

  And so it climbed.

  It was not itsy-bitsy, but the nimble arachnid rose as quickly and sure-footedly up the bed as the one in the nursery rhyme did the waterspout. In fewer than ten seconds, it was on top of the bed and stood poised and ready on top of Abigail’s sleeping body. The spider observed its surroundings from atop Abbie’s fabric-covered hip. Her breath was warm and her body gave off the stink of sweat that was so common with mammals. Just the blood meal it needed.

  The spider stalked forward quickly, closing the distance to Abigail’s unprotected face and her naked neck.

  “I’m here now at the home of Marc Velez, the Coast Guard petty officer who murdered his wife last night.” The sandy-haired reporter gestured behind him toward the house. It was a small, ranch home, perfect for a new family. The stucco siding was slightly pink.

  “Police tell me that Mr. Velez brutally murdered his wife using brute strength and blunt force of a nature they had never seen before. Then, according to several witnesses, he chased his fifteen-year-old sister-in-law for over two miles along this road.” He was professional with his delivery, and he knew it. In fact, some people mistook his professionalism in front of the camera as arrogance, and it had earned him a bad reputation.

  “The girl who he was chasing, whose name has not been released, jumped the fence at the end of the road. She ran right out onto the highway, right out into traffic! Velez followed, presumably still intent on doing her harm, and was then struck by a large pickup truck.”

  The reporter brushed a long-fingered hand across his forehead, flicking fine hair out of his eyes. The wind was gusting a little. “The driver of the pickup, Sandy Gentry, said there was no time to stop. When he saw the girl run out, he slammed on his brakes, but it was still too late for Mr. Velez. The cruel irony, some might say, is that by taking a life, Mr. Gentry also saved one.”

  “Now I’ve spoken to the neighbors and while they weren
’t close with the Velez’s, they said that Marc was always friendly and courteous.” He gave the camera a stern look. “Goes to show that anyone can be dangerous, and you always need to be alert.”

  The reporter took a few steps along the sidewalk in front of the house, moving slowly so the camera could follow him.

  “We tried to speak with Marc’s supervisors at the U.S. Coast Guard station in Miami, but ran into a figurative brick wall with the higher-ups there. I did manage to snag a quick comment from a seaman who was walking by. Without giving me too many details, he said that yesterday had been a strange day, and that Velez had gone home sick after a bad reaction to a bug bite. The bug ‘could have been a spider,’ the seaman admitted. While it is doubtful there is any connection between these two events, it does serve as a reminder to keep a careful eye on any bite or wound. Even the smallest of scrapes can develop an infection.”

  The reporter stopped walking and turned to face the camera once more. “This is Henry Smite with Fox 17 News, urging all of you out there to be careful, and have a great day.”

  Jack switched off the small television on his kitchen counter.

  “Shit.” He had forgotten Marc was in the Coast Guard. I was just there last night, he thought. How did I not remember that?

  Jack had almost choked on his coffee when the pompous little reporter mentioned a spider bite. How unnecessary, he thought. Now there’s gonna be a damn panic about spiders, as if people aren’t already scared of ‘em enough. Ugh, that meant a thousand more calls on top of his already packed schedule.