by Arlene Webb
Malcolm: I heard shorter breaths through the phone connection. Your child? So you trust Jade. Jane Doe has contaminated me. I repeat—she’s dangerous. I revived her without accuracy. She’s not at full strength, the reason I yet live. When I taser her, she’ll break my body further, resulting in my demise. Don’t grieve. Injuries are tolerable, impurity unbearable, death a solution. I must hurry. Answer me, has Jade reacted with aggression? Can she read yet, blend in?
Surely there’s another solution. Jade has injured no one. Yes, she can read. Blend in?
Malcolm: Jade, look at a picture of human skeleton, the physiology, and pull away from the skin to the bone structure. You can resurge back when you’re alone. Do the same with the eyes, dim to look human. Cover or remove visible hair. Read the plane manual. Learn to pilot. Daylight, wrong colors are but an irritant. Come to Cleveland? Help me?
If Jade freaks out on the plane, how can I control her?
Malcolm: You want info to use against her?
I’d like to know if you or this Jane can be controlled. We should find help that’s closer. Can’t you tell me what you are?
No instant reply printed on Aaron’s screen. Why didn’t Malcolm just ignore the question like before? Was he actually being killed? Should Aaron call the cell? He took a deep breath. The chat had expanded to three users. Perhaps Malcolm paused, distracted by whomever logged in.
Aaron knew Malcolm’s email address was the frequency of blue light, and the font color confirmed it. An injured blue computer wizard, a frightened green angel, and a yellow killer? Orange and red yet to be found? Who typed now?
I don’t know who u are but Malcolm needs help. Jane tried to kill us!!! She crushed and bit him. he keeps loosing stuff like blue blood from his mouth. he’s in awful pain. Should i get my mom? Ambulance? Police?
Blue font answered: No parent. No ambulance. No police. I’ve been in your hospital, I won’t go back, nor will I let Jane Doe suffer such, no matter how homicidal she is. You’re past her door, Evan, get out.
Evan must be the guy helping this Malcolm, and Aaron couldn’t move his fingers fast enough: Evan, give him water to drink. Liquid from the mouth may be from nausea or pain, not internal problems. Ice would cool him down. If it’s not safe, you should leave. How old are you?
Black font: Adult. now why don’t u stop wasting time and ask questions when you’re in the air. will u help him???
Aaron: Be there asap. Malcolm, will Jade be frightened in a plane?
Blue font: Have her focus on blending in, being centered in the body. What of the child? The less involved the safer. Yellow’s restless. I must go. Call from the plane or text the cell. I wish I could have done more, Jade. Bye.
The chat closed out and Jade whispered, “Aaron.” Two syllables with such fear in them.
Aaron eased her from his knee to her feet and sighed. His hovering son was as anxious as the angel who just learned she wasn’t alone. “I don’t know what we’re getting into, David. Sounds too dodgy.”
“You can’t leave me here! I’ll grow up damaged. I’ll never forgive you. Never.”
“Damaged? And become an ax murderer you mean? Listen carefully. You’ll do everything I say without argument. If I tell you to run for the police and you hesitate, I’ll never treat you like a child to be trusted again.”
“What’d you want me to do? I’ll listen. Promise.”
“What I want is for you to stay here with a sitter. I hope this isn’t a big mistake.” Aaron started punching numbers in his cell. “Okay, son, stop looking like you’re going for the ax and fetch my gun. Change. Try for the all black look. Get some sandwiches, bottled water, and my leather jacket.”
David bolted to obey, and San Diego airport answered. Aaron asked to speak to his friend and fellow pilot, Frank Davis. He almost had the biology website up when Frank’s cheerful voice answered. “Air-man, how are you?”
“Well. Glad you’re working. I have to get to Ohio. Will you grab me a rental?”
“Today?”
“Yep.”
Frank burst out laughing. “Seriously?”
“Any piece-of-crap plane will do. I have to be in Cleveland now, as in right now. Bribe someone. I’ll pay whatever.”
“How long?”
“Tomorrow at least. We’ll be there in thirty.”
“I hope there’s a woman involved.”
“Yes and I want to check in as inconspicuous as possible. It’s best the tabloids don’t get wind.”
“What famous female would be interested in a lame ass like you? She’s not married, right?”
“Not that I know of. I associate with many stars. Movie and twinkle twinkle. Frank, listen. Just my name and David’s on the paperwork. I’ll calculate her weight in for fuel stops. Later.” Aaron disconnected. Jade had taken one glance at the screen and dropped those eyes. “Do you know what Malcolm meant about this blending in?” he asked.
Her skin flickered from soft green to a Caucasian hue. Her gaze fastened on Aaron’s, as though she feared to look at her hands, but his dropped jaw must have told her it’d worked.
“God, Jade. You’ll have everyone staring, not because they know you aren’t human, but you’re so gorgeous.” He forced his attention higher. “What about your eyes? The sunglasses would cover them.”
Jesus, oh Jesus, I’m lost. Her eyes dimmed to the deepest, vibrant emerald he’d ever seen, but they no longer emitted luminous rays. “We’ll have to hide from paparazzi. You look like a supermodel who dyed her hair. Can you change back and forth?”
She cringed at her pale arms and hands, and flickered back to her normal hue. “It’s easy. Just makes me look so awful. What if Malcolm’s not like his voice, but as ‘dangerous’ as that Jane Doe? I don’t understand why she’d hurt him.”
“I can get you there safely. But if you aren’t ready, I’ll find another way.” He pulled her against his chest and stroked her hair. Her face hid in his green shirt, her nails clawed into his back. “Trust me. Your fear doesn’t help. We should get moving if we’re to rescue him ourselves.”
“Tell me what to do.”
He pried her loose and smiled down. “Let me put your hair back, find you a scarf of some sort. Get those sandals on. Wear the sunglasses, it’ll make the light less bright, and I’ll bring you to the car after I change. I think I have a black shirt.”
Within minutes, Jade shivered in the California day and headed for the Ohio night. Surrounded by sunlight, by color, why’d that feel so wrong to her? How could Aaron protect her from such strange phobias? He sure hoped the blue man survived and didn’t need an arm around him to function in the daylight.
Chapter Fourteen
Damon wanted arms round him, to be protected under the blanket like he’d held Caream. It’d been two minutes, forever, since he’d left her on his hunt for clothes. Sunglasses, though broken, helped. But the light outside the shelter irritated him, and his head hurt from trying to think past all the noise.
The language remained a problem, yet each word yelled at him vibrated with clear emotion. Want, anger, and much fear toned the words. Either malevolent undercurrents, or blatant hostility bombarded him, even if he didn’t understand what all the words meant. It’d be nice not having to fight the desire to strangle the teachers. He’d avoid more aches in his shoulder, if he could learn without being hit or giving in to smash-maybe-kill.
Jaylynn. He bit his lip and stopped his sad feelings from falling out. He couldn’t locate her, not anywhere. He’d listened for mile after mile, his range expanding as his head grew angrier and angrier. He’d filtered the din, blocked sections of the uproar, until his hands tried to rip his aching head off. He’d given up—for now. No matter how much it hurt, how long it took, he needed to hear Jaylynn, despite her yelling at him, the “mean cruel demon.”
He sighed and slunk past six doors toward the airflow of two creatures behind the seventh. Maybe he wouldn’t crack more fragile heads if they stayed shutdown. With a slight clasp
, he destroyed the metal knob and created yet another mess. Specks of pulverized metal fell to sparkle on the deadly concrete.
Inside, they lay on the bed. No clothes on the one shaped like a girl. At least he couldn’t see anything other than girl body under the thin, death sheet. An ugly box, named pizza, smelled terrible and lay next to the man on top of the sheet. He wore lower clothes. They’d be too big for Caream, and they contained metal, like the ones Damon wore. He understood he couldn’t remove lower clothes from a man’s body without breaking them. Maybe only girl clothes were metal free. It seemed reasonable that lower clothes stayed on a man, to keep the man part from moving so much.
There. A safe, black mess of girl clothes on the floor.
Hands shaking, trying hard to be gentle, he picked up the top. Small, soft, it didn’t break. Invincible! He stopped his happy feet before he woke the potential annoyances and grinned at the sight of black lower clothes. No metal, girl ones. The Ya-man in the closet should be pleased.
Good sunglasses lay on the counter.
Certain they wouldn’t like the light sneaking in, he closed the damn door behind him.
Damn doorknobs were fun. Snickering, he destroyed each one he passed.
No sounds came from the shelter adjacent to where Caream waited. He killed another metal knob and entered. The TV teacher in this room looked asleep. He filled the closet with undesirables and left the clothes and sunglasses on the bed.
This time he broke the damn door off the hinges. “Come.”
Caream’s ugly eyes widened at the sunlight behind him and she shook her head. He waited one long second before stomping to the bed—she sprang back—she wanted him to be the demon? No problem.
“Caaaream.” He brought his fist down on the bedpost, and the frame shattered. Another mess, but enjoyable. Maybe Ya-man would wake, and then he’d smash him too.
Disappointed it was so easy, he cornered, grabbed, and cut off her howl. His rage lessened. Not afraid, this fun-girl wanted to kill him. She kicked, squirmed, tried to bang her head into him. He strode from the shelter with her crushed silent under his arm.
He pushed into the next room, flung Caream so she didn’t damage the wall, pivoted to kick the damn door, and as usual, it broke but stayed where it belonged. One yank closed the ripped window curtain, and he glared at the girl scrambling to her feet.
“Clothes.” He gestured.
Arms folded, she shook her head.
“Damon wants to find home. Wants teacher.” He stomped to the bed and threw the clothes at her.
She caught them, but made no move to cooperate.
“Caream can’t stop Damon. No one can.” He sneered and pointed at the closet. “Damon put Caream in. Not let out.”
She shrugged and pulled the shiny lower clothes on. The leather hung loose, covering her feet. The soft upper silk slid over her head and down. His irritation pounded on the floor, he carefully scooped up the sunglasses and flung them at her.
Finally, the girl obeyed, hiding her stupid eyes while Damon stalked. The first TV knob he twisted crumbled. When the second knob shattered, he raised his hand. Caream grabbed his arm. He swatted her, and she retaliated. He absorbed the mean blow to his stomach. If he punched her like that, would she sparkle as pretty as the pulverized metal? Before he showed her what a real blow was, he shook her off. Didn’t she know how hard it was to control the demon? What was she doing?
Caream reached for the TV teacher…and woke it up! Sound and wrong color poured into the shelter. This time, he stopped her from smashing. He yanked her off her feet, stepped back, and dropped her beside him.
He protected Caream from the weirdness and then forgot her. An ugly-green car fled, chased by pretty-red and deadly-white cars, named LA POLICE.
The images the teacher shared riveted Damon, before he grunted at the problem the next room over. Ya-man snorted angry words and staggered from the closet. The man’s bootless feet took him past Damon and Caream. Maybe, hopefully, he’d keep running away.
They watched the chase involving much noise blasting from…guns. The guns looked like fun, bothering the green car. LA POLICE had trouble staying on the road and smashed into silly messes.
Three fast minutes later, Caream glanced at him. She finally heard the footsteps. Damon shrugged, his attention on the screen, and he grinned while she giggled. Five vehicles collided, two fell off a bridge into a large water, and he lost his smile. Despite the horrible mix of wrong colors, this TV teacher was amusing. Why learn from a confused man? The closet hadn’t been filled yet. This time he’d hit harder.
Ya-man burst into the room and pointed a gun at Damon.
“I’m gonna kill ya, ya fuckin’ demon freak.”
“Close damn door.” Damon turned back to the teacher.
“Your funeral.”
Damon whacked Caream down and twisted. Clicking, fire smell—metal hit his right shoulder and forced itself through muscle, bone, but no further—Caream was in the way.
Hurts. He took the impact without a stumble and his fury ignited. The metal bringing sharp pain could have hit the girl scrambling to her feet. What was Ya-man’s problem? Another mean man that wanted Damon broken, gone, killed?
Rage surged within him, his fists balled tight. The sound of the gun firing again coincided with Damon’s foot lashing out. His careful kick knocked the gun free. The second metal cylinder hit the TV, and the man’s arm bone cracked. Ya-man gasped. He shifted afraid-eyes from the gun on the floor to Damon. Maybe he understood the demon could have shattered all his bones.
Beautiful fluid left Damon, dripping down his shoulder. Metal had created a small, circular opening in him. A long minute passed, and it still hurt. Caream’s howl bothered Damon’s head. She clamped her hand over his wound and threw her arm round him. Too busy for Caream to try fixing him now, he peeled her off him.
He’d protected Caream from the gun and the man from Caream. He’d try to protect the man from Damon. “Pretty, but hurts. Damon broke Ya-man’s arm. Damon will break head if don’t teach. Why hurt Damon?”
The man’s mouth hung open, and the pounding noise grew louder in the man’s chest.
Damon scowled. He tapped his foot, hurting the floor instead of the man. Ya-man cringed and stared at Caream. She was dressed, and the strange man still wanted something from her? Caream ignored the man. She glowered at the mess by her feet, and intense anger filled him as he understood. Metal that came out of a gun killed. The TV teacher was dead.
Damon’s foot went through the floor, and Ya-man gawked at him. The man dove past the dead teacher, grabbed his gun, and raised his broken arm.
Damon let Caream have the fun. Her foot struck, a precise blow against metal. The gun flew out the doorway and across the paved lot while Damon sighed. He’d heard bones in the man’s hand crack.
“What are ya? Wadda ya want?” Ya-man shook with fear and his eyes leaked.
Damon didn’t care. If the man refused to answer questions, did nothing but ask them, he was a problem that had to go away before it got even more messy in this little room. “Damon doesn’t know what he is. Damon told ya. Want damn door closed.” He struck the man’s head, leaving it where it belonged. He kicked the door closed, and it fell outside.
Nothing cooperated in this stupid, stupid world. He hadn’t killed the mean man, but he would kill the damn, damn, damn—Caream rolled her ugly eyes and moved. She stepped over Ya-man, picked up the door, fit it back in the frame, and returned to Damon’s side.
He sank to the floor, pushed his hair aside, and cuffed his fingers along his temple. To his fury, Caream tried to wipe the pretty fluid dripping down his arm. He lunged up, and she went sprawling. “Damon wants home. Wants girl teacher. This no good.” He gestured at the man and the dead TV.
“Caream help.” She grabbed his arm and tugged. “Water. Make stop.”
Relief flooded him. “Yes. Caream stay away?”
Her smile, her nod, and he grinned back. It felt good, wanting her w
ith him, but not sharing. He crushed her in his arms. Caream’s giggle almost made him forget the burning metal. Her touch on his shoulder reminded him.
He threw her aside and headed for the water-room where he ripped the curtain down. His hand hurt the wall next to the metal, water-control knob that’d break if he touched it.
Caream’s little fist pounded him in the stomach. She turned the water on, and fled his large fist. The droplets splashed off his shoulders and soothed him. The touch of red swirling down the drain sparkled so pretty. Caream had been right. Water helped. He’d almost stopped leaking. She paced in the next room. She didn’t need to be afraid for him. He’d hit her if she didn’t stop. He didn’t know why he was here or how to go home. He did know it’d be over numerous, hundreds of broken men before Caream returned to that psych hospital. Thirty or more projectiles would have to burn into him before he lost balance, let alone fell. The damaged metal gun in the paved lot outside would be a fun weapon.
Water, doors, guns. Maybe Caream understood fire.
* * *
Caream shifted her toes through the shards of TV. Not a spark anywhere. It’d be impossible to fix something this dead. Rage at the man littering the doorway made her want to howl. She understood why Damon liked pounding his feet through the floor. Tempted to do the same, she stepped away from the dead-teacher and continued pacing.
From the moment she found herself surrounded by impure hues, the only time she felt safe was with the loudmouth in the water—happy she wasn’t taking a droplet from him. She should join Damon just to irritate him, but that wrong fluid dripping from his shoulder frightened her. She didn’t want him hurt, not ever.
Without Damon, this horrible world would be unbearable. He made her on edge with his constant yelling, and he was ugly, very ugly. But he’d taken Caream from the nightmare. She’d found herself in a room of deadly hue, surging all alone, trapped inside this body. Panicked, sickened with impurities they’d called “alcohol,” she’d collapsed and resurfaced strapped on a stretcher entering a contaminated building. Men in white had jumped on her, locked her in a coat of death, and forced more impurities inside her to immobilize her.
