The Crimes of Orphans

by Obie Williams

  Though he had given away his position, Rain had still startled the Visgaer, and he seized the opportunity. Bursting from his hiding place, he thrust his staff out hard, connecting with the creature’s sternum. It cried out, reeling backwards as Rain rocketed the end of the staff up to crack it under the jaw. The second hit felt softer, more buffered. The Visgaer had blocked it somewhat, but still not completely. It fell on its haunches in the space between the opposite bunk and the wall.

  Rain’s first instinct was to attack the cornered creature, but he quickly realized that would be a mistake. Its psychic defenses would be back up once again, so now was not the moment to get in close. Instead, he pulled back and dashed to the far end of the room, where he crouched and waited.

  He remained still and watched as the Visgaer reached up and wrapped its bony fingers around the corner pole of the bunk bed, then pulled itself back to its feet. It stepped back in line with him, directly in front of the door, and began scanning the room, first to the left, then to the right. It opened and closed its jaw, jagged teeth tapping together and an annoyed clicking sound emanating from its throat.

  It looked over the room once more and then suddenly slashed its claws from left to right in a blind swing. Its reach was incredible, probably close to five feet with those talons. It took a step forward and swung at the empty air again with the other hand, hissing angrily when it failed to harm anything but a top bunk mattress, its stuffing popping out and drifting to the floor. Not breathing, not moving, not thinking, Rain remained crouched and waiting.

  The Visgaer advanced, one step and one swing at a time.

  Step.

  Swing.

  Step.

  Swing.

  Still, Rain did not move. He waited with the patience of centuries until the Visgaer was right on top of him, its sharp knees inches from his face. Above him, he heard the swing of the creature’s arm and felt dust from its scratch across the wall fall on the back of his coat. Before it had time to let out a screech of anger, Rain swung his staff around at the back of its knees, connecting beautifully. The Visgaer stumbled backwards and fell on its back with a thud. Jumping to his feet, Rain raised his staff high and brought it down as hard as he could towards the creature’s face.

  It stopped mere millimeters shy of hitting its mark, and in that instant, Rain knew he wouldn’t get another shot.

  Gripping the end of the staff tightly in one hand, the Visgaer suddenly thrust its other palm upwards, and Rain felt a searing tightness in his chest. He struggled to release a cry, but nothing would come out, and a split second later the Visgaer was on its feet and slamming Rain’s back against the wall. Every muscle in his body went simultaneously taut against his will, forced rigid by the creature’s telekinetic hold.

  The Visgaer moved in close, its blind, bandaged eye sockets coming within inches of Rain’s fixed gaze. Its impossibly wide mouth somehow grew wider, turning up into a fanged grin as it hissed in Rain’s face, its acrid breath curling around him with the stench of carrion and decay.

  He felt it working over his body with its mind. Every single muscle wrenched and turned, burning under the creature’s psychic manipulations. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. No function in his body was under his control. And then, just when he thought the pain was too much to bear, he felt some invisible force begin to bore into his mind.

  Rain closed his eyes and felt the world fall away around him. He was still aware of the pain that the Visgaer was inflicting on his body—all too aware—but in his mind he was suddenly transported someplace completely different.

  He was back in his own living room, in the house he had built with his bare hands. All the furniture was gone, and the lights were out. The curtains had been thrown open and bright moonlight filtered in, illuminating the room more than enough for him to take stock of the carnage that lay piled at his feet.

  Bodies. Scores of them heaped on top of one another all around him. They lined every inch of the floor and were stacked three deep all the way up the staircase. He recognized every one of them. The gutted Catholic bishop. The dissected elderly couple. The skinned pair of twin toddlers. This place and this vision weren’t real, but every one of these people had been…and every one had died by his hand.

  As he slowly turned and looked downwards, his eyes filling with tears at the sight of every unspeakable thing he had ever done, he issued a small cry when he noticed his freshest victims at the top of the pile.

  There was Alex, his side slashed open with a dagger, his dead eyes wide open and staring at Rain in a final pained look that seemed to condemn him for his betrayal.

  And there was Lita, her throat torn out, her lovely blonde hair matted with blood, her face a twisted vision of pain and suffering.

  Then reality rushed back in around Rain, and when his eyes opened, they glowed deep, furious violet.

  The Visgaer’s grin disappeared as it felt its grip loosening. Straining every muscle in his body, Rain focused all his will on his hands, forcing them to move despite the crushing strength of the Visgaer’s hold on him. Those hands were still wrapped firmly around his staff, and inch by inch he took them back into his own power, just enough to move the tip of the staff under the Visgaer’s chin.

  In the last second, the Visgaer must have sensed Rain’s intentions, as its hollow eyes seemed to widen just before Rain twisted his hands and the staff’s blade jutted up into the creature’s skull.

  Rain sighed as he felt the monster’s psychic hold fall away just as hot blood poured over his hands. With a grimace, he tossed the scrawny thing aside. It slid off his staff and fell to the floor in a heap. Rain snatched a blanket from one of the beds and quickly wiped off his hands and staff, then headed for the door.

  In the hallway, he pocketed his dagger retrieved from the door, but kept his staff at the ready as he broke into a quick jog, intent on catching up to Lita and putting an end to this whole thing.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I

  Lita grumbled to herself as she strode down the hallway. She wondered just what the fuck he was thinking, locking himself in a room with that fucking thing. Even after he had pushed her out, she had tried to go back in, but the door wouldn’t budge. She had stood outside that door for nearly a minute before forcing herself to move in the other direction. Waiting around wouldn’t do either of them any good, and she had to guess, hope, or believe that Rain hadn’t survived such a ridiculously long time by getting himself into situations he wasn’t sure he could get out of.

  Still, she was frantic with worry about him, and she didn’t like that sensation one goddamn bit.

  She had passed the door they’d entered through a little ways back, and with every step she took around the curvature of this corridor, she was more and more sure she’d come upon the doorway to the inner arena. She hadn’t actually been walking that long—a minute at the most—but the repetition of the torches on the wall was driving her insane.

  Finally, Lita saw dim moonlight illuminating the hallway up ahead. She stepped more quietly but kept up a steady jog until she came around the bend to find a wide doorway that led into the Construct’s arena. Five feet away, she slowed her pace and crept up to the edge of that doorway, seeming to feel every pebble under her boots as she walked. She pressed her shoulder against the wall, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and tightened her grip on her handgun as she slowly peered around the corner.

  She only peeked out for a fraction of a second, then quickly drew back. It was more than enough to get a feel for what she was up against. Cleric was the first thing she noticed, standing a few feet from the center of the arena with shotgun in hand, apparently monitoring her entrance and the one across the way simultaneously. She didn’t see Amelie anywhere, and she didn’t get a look at the moon, but she knew time must be running short. Alex looked like a sacrificial lamb strung up crucifixion-style with who she assumed must be Michael standing just a few feet away from him. She couldn’t tell if he had been wearing any gauntlet, but
she knew she had to act fast. If he got a chance to use it, she’d be the only one left alive.

  She wished Rain was there. Not that he’d be much help. He didn’t even have a gun, the fucker. Still, she wished he was there. But she didn’t have time to wait for him.

  She slipped her handgun into the back of her belt and pulled the automatic rifle from her shoulder. It only had twelve rounds in it—she had checked hours ago—but it was something. Closing her eyes, she released a soft sigh through her nose as she tried to steady her nerves. She thought of all the things she was going to get after this was done. A hot meal, a tall drink, and a nice, long shower…possibly with some company. Her cheeks burned at the thought. That would be just fine by her.

  Her eyes snapped back open.

  Time to work.

  She pushed off the wall, stepped into the doorway, and started shooting. She kept the spread of her fire tight as the rifle blew through rounds in a series of explosions which seemed to overlap as they bounded off the corridor walls. So sudden was her attack that Cleric didn’t even budge until the second bullet had left the gun, but then he didn’t dawdle. He dove for cover behind one of the altar’s tall stone slabs, squeezing off a near-blind blast from his shotgun just before disappearing from sight. The boom of the shot echoed loudly across the arena and chunks of rock rained down in front of Lita from where the slug hit just above the doorway. Michael took even longer to react, but once he realized what was happening, he scrambled behind the pillar to Cleric’s right.

  “Hoo, fuck!” Lita said excitedly to herself after she dashed the rest of the way across the doorway. She pulled the rifle clip briefly, then reinserted it with a click. Four rounds left. She waited for a moment, listening for any signs of movement.

  She couldn’t help but smile when the next thing she heard was Alex’s voice calling, “Lita, is that you?”

  “You fucking know it, kid! You okay?” she hollered back.

  “I’m fine, but watch out! You hit Cleric in the leg, but he’s not hurt badly. He has that gun, but Michael only has a sword and a dag—aagh!”

  Lita felt her stomach drop. “Alex?”

  “I’m okay. Cleric threw a rock at me.”

  “Don’t sweat it, kid. I’ll kill him for you here in just a minute.”

  “Is that so, young lady?” Cleric’s voice boomed.

  “You’re goddamn right, old man! You’re outgunned. So long as I stay back here, you’ll never tag me with that shotgun!”

  Cleric let out a bellow of laughter. “You’re forgetting my lessons! Never get in a standoff unless you have time to kill! I can sit here all night, but your little friends only have about ten minutes to live!”

  Lita clenched her jaw as her mind raced. He was right. She didn’t have time for this. “I guess I’ll just have to kill the kid!”

  Alex and Cleric’s voices both came in unison, “What?”

  “Alex, listen to me! If Michael goes through with this thing, it won’t just kill you, but also every nonhuman and Gifted on Earth, including Rain and Amelie. If I kill you, it’ll save them and thousands of other people! Do you understand?”

  “You have to stop her,” Michael hissed. Cleric waved for him to shut up.

  There was a pause. “Y-Yes,” Alex said, barely loud enough for Lita to hear him.

  “I’m sorry, kid! I wish there was another way!”

  “It’s okay,” Alex yelled shakily. “It’s not your fault. Just tell Rain…”

  “I will, kid! And don’t worry, I’ll make it quick!”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you ready?”

  Another pause. “Yes.”

  “Cleric!” Michael urged.

  “Lita, stop!” Cleric yelled.

  “I’m a little busy here, Cleric!”

  “Come now, young lady! Surely you’re not too busy to talk business! Michael here has—”

  “Save your breath, Cleric! You couldn’t offer me enough!”

  “What about the fight you really want?”

  Lita smirked. It was working. “Go on!”

  “We both throw our guns away and you come out and face me! If you win, the children are yours!”

  “What are you doing?” Michael whispered.

  “Shut your mouth,” Cleric shot back. “This is the only way to buy you enough time to do what you need to do.”

  “How do you know she’s not bluffing?”

  “She doesn’t bluff. I trained her better than that.”

  “You’ve got a deal, Cleric!” Lita yelled. “You first!” Leaning over, she peeked around the corner just long enough to assess Cleric’s hiding place. A moment later, his shotgun came flying out from behind the pillar, landing in the dirt several feet away.

  Lita stepped out into the arena then, rifle still drawn. “Now give me one good reason why I should drop mine!”

  “What have you done?” Michael whispered.

  “Michael, do us all a favor and shut the fuck up,” Cleric replied. “Oh, you’ll toss it away, Lita, because I’ve still got a knife in my hand, and you know good and well I can kill the boy with it and not have to step foot out from behind this stone! You may be willing to kill him, but I know you won’t pass up a chance to save him!”

  Lita lowered her eyes and considered this for a moment, then stood up straight and tossed the rifle, followed by her trusty handgun. “So how do you want to do this?” She glanced up at the moon. Only a tiny sliver of white was still visible against the creeping red shadow. She was going to have to make this fast.

  II

  Cleric rose from his hiding spot and rounded the stone pillar to face Lita from about thirty yards away. Even from here she could see that malicious grin on his fucking face. “Why don’t you decide, young lady? Your years of service have earned you a proper severance. How would you like to die? Hand to hand?”

  “Ha!” Lita laughed. “You wish. You’re as big as a fucking truck, you asshole.” She retrieved a combat knife from her boot. “We’ll settle this like we’re in a Maple City alley.”

  Cleric chuckled and held up his large buck knife. It was almost twice the size of Lita’s blade. She didn’t give a fuck.

  “Ready when you are, teacher.”

  “Then by all means, come to the front of the class.”

  Lita broke into a dead sprint, rushing for Cleric. She reached the altar in seconds and passed within feet of Alex as she closed in on her old mentor. But she wasn’t stupid. She knew there was no way she could take him head on. Just a few feet away, she dropped into a slide on the bare earth, and her blade slit a clean six-inch gash in his calf as she passed by. She finished off the slide in a roll and quickly bounded to her feet, turning on her opponent and hopping back to put some distance between them.

  It was a good thing she did, too. As soon as she got Cleric back in her sights, he was rushing at her, bellowing with rage, seemingly unaware of the wound she had just given him. He swung his knife towards her neck, and she ducked and sidestepped, moving her own blade in an arc towards his side. She felt it connect, but knew she had done little more than flay open his coat.

  As they turned to face each other again, Lita was grinning from ear to ear. Cleric didn’t look nearly so happy. “I’d almost forgotten how fast you are,” he growled. “There’s a reason you were always my favorite.”

  “Well then, who better to finish you off than your best student?”

  Cleric snarled and rushed at her again.

  III

  As the two of them went at it, Michael emerged from his own hiding place. Once he was sure the woman was completely distracted, he hurried over to the wooden chest, fumbling to get hold of the key on his rosary.

  “She’s going to kill him and then come over and do the same to you, you know,” Alex said calmly.

  “Shut your mouth,” Michael muttered without looking up.

  “I think she’s almost done. You should probably hurry,” Alex said.

  “I said shut up!” Michael screamed, tu
rning towards him this time. “Just shut your mouth, demon! In just a few seconds, I will—”

  Michael cried out in fright as something hit the wooden box and knocked it right off the pedestal. It fell to the ground, and he looked down to see that there was a small knife sticking out of it. Looking back up, his eyes widened at the sight of Rain sprinting straight for him.

  Moving with surprising fluidity, Michael drew his rapier and raised it for a high block, stopping Rain’s staff mid swing as he tried to bring it down on the young man. Sidestepping, Michael dashed back a couple of steps and dropped into an en garde stance.

  Rain actually looked somewhat impressed. “You’ve done this before.”

  “I’ve been the Chicane Academy champion since I was nine years old,” Michael said. “It’s only fair that you know.”

  Lowering into a fighting position himself, Rain raised his staff. “Ever done it with a real sword?”

  Michael swallowed, but his gaze did not waver. “It’s no different.”

  “We’ll see,” Rain said, and then lunged forth, aiming his blade straight for Michael’s midsection.

  IV

  “You look like you’re getting tired, old man,” Lita said with a chuckle. As Rain entered the arena and began facing off with Michael, Cleric was looking a bit worse for the wear. While Lita had sustained a flesh wound across her upper arm, she had delivered a much deeper gash to Cleric’s hip in the process. He was presently favoring his right leg and breathing heavily.

  “Just getting started,” Cleric growled.

  “You sure? You don’t look so good. Tell you what, the door’s right over there. Throw your knife down and I’ll let you walk out of it. I won’t kill you as soon as you turn around or anything, assassin’s honor.” She was grinning broadly, enjoying this more than a little bit.

  “You little bitch,” Cleric spat. “I made you what you are. I can unmake you just the same.”