Operation Blackout

by J. L. Middleton

  - - -

  A firm knock on the door roused Orion from his studying, in which he was only half invested. His professors had been kind enough to grant him an extension on his exams once he’d explained that he’d had a family emergency, but his sister hadn’t been grateful enough to spare him her enmity. She was moody—almost sullen—and fought him on every subject. He’d very nearly given up on her, and at times he sympathized with animals that ate their young. His freedom came when she was absent, and he took every opportunity to study and make up for his falling grades. He was physically and emotionally exhausted, but he knew that he would make it through this trial. He had to for her sake.

  He ran his fingers through his defiant curls, ensuring that his appearance was at least passable, and then he answered the door. The semi-friendly smile he’d hastily crafted fell immediately as he was greeted by the sight of the pushy BSI agent. He was still dressed in his shabby suit with the incongruously tidy shirt and tie, and although he was clean-shaven, something about him made Orion think he was running on autopilot, much like himself. His dark eyes were shadowed and distant, as if he was trying to stay focused on the now and was barely succeeding. “Oh, Special Agent…”

  “Connor,” he finished. He glanced around the foyer. “Mind if I come in?” Orion faltered, stammering a weak excuse about needing to study—anything to keep him out of the apartment—but the agent insisted. “Won’t take but a moment.”

  Orion reluctantly acquiesced, inwardly resenting his irrational fear of, and inability to stand up to, authority. He was a college student; shouldn’t challenging the establishment be a part of his repertoire? Yet, he could never muster an objection stronger than a meek apology. The agent strolled in, surveying the apartment for any changes that might have been made since his last visit. “Your sister around?” he asked, glancing up the stairs.

  Orion coughed and shook his head. “Not very often these days.”

  The agent nodded and took a seat at the bar. “Probably for the best,” he remarked, seemingly preoccupied. He didn’t take out his notebook, nor did he fidget as he had done during their previous interview. Instead, he sat with his hands folded in his lap and his attention focused solely on Orion, who then noticed that the agent’s tie was a bit looser than it had been during his previous visit and that his hair lacked its taming gel. It was as if the agent had come for a casual visit and had decided at the last minute to make it more formal. It was odd. The agent inclined his head as he addressed him earnestly. “Have you been having problems with her?”

  Orion scoffed, jamming his hands into his pockets; he didn’t know what else to do with them. “Aside from the fact that she’s a teenager? No.”

  The agent smirked, nodding. “Any experimentation, like burning a few candles?” he continued probing.

  Orion scowled darkly and crossed his arms. “She wasn’t very encouraged by her last experience, was she?” he pointed out irritably. The recent trauma had driven a wedge between them that he had yet to remove.

  “Suppose not,” he conceded. “What about any new friends? Has she been meeting with anyone new? Someone you haven’t met?”

  “No,” Orion replied coarsely, his increasing fatigue emboldening him. He was under enough stress, and he didn’t think he had the fortitude to deal with this new problem. Perhaps his irritation could be fashioned into a weapon. “What’s your point?” he snapped, hoping his feeble voice was like the whip crack he imagined it to be.

  The agent grinned wolfishly, and there was no mirth in it—only bitterness and soured anger. “My point is that you’re a terrible liar, and you’ll get rid of me much quicker if you just tell me the truth. What’s going on?” he barked with a level of confidence that Orion could only wish he’d someday muster.

  His fragile bravado crumbled in the face of the agent’s cruel amusement. Deflated, Orion shoved his hands back into his pockets, slumped his shoulders, and stared at the floor as he formulated his answer. “She’s scared, but I don’t know what of,” he admitted quietly, finding it easier to speak to the ground. “She called me last week sounding strangely jumpy. At first, I thought maybe she’d changed her mind about coming home on the subway by herself. She’d gone back to her routine like the mugging had never even happened.” He shook his head incredulously, proud of his sister’s toughness and, at the same time, jealous of her strength. “But there was something off. She wanted me to meet her, just not at work. She was terrified—paranoid even. We ended up staying overnight at a hotel.” He shrugged helplessly, again wishing his parents provided more emotional support than they did. “Then we stayed a few more nights until she felt safe again.”

  “What scared her?” asked the agent with concern that seemed genuine.

  “I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me. She just didn’t want anyone involved.” He sighed deeply. “But she is scared of you… I mean, the BSI. She’d freak out if she knew I was speaking to you.” He stole a nervous glance upstairs, hoping his guest wouldn’t notice.

  The agent shook his head contritely. “We’re still the proper authorities, and we will help your sister,” he asserted firmly. “It’s better for you to contact me over anyone else. They might not understand the delicate nature of your situation, and you don’t want to make it any worse for her. She’s got enough on her plate.” His expression had become frank, as if he didn’t expect Orion to trust him but he empathized nevertheless. “So do you, mate. You don’t need to shoulder all the burden.”

  The corners of Orion’s lips twitched upward; he was entertained by the unexpected commiseration, but it didn’t change his circumstances or opinions. “I’ll keep that in mind if I find out anything,” he promised, assuming it was what the agent wanted to hear.

  Silence blanketed the room, and despite the agent’s struggle to wear an encouraging expression, Orion did not want to break it. He wanted the uncomfortable encounter to end, and after several minutes, it became apparent to the agent that he would get no further. He stood, readjusting his suit to give Orion a longer opportunity to speak, and pointed at the door. “Guess I’ll be going,” he concluded with disappointment.

  Someone fumbled with the lock, jamming the key into it sloppily and activating the tumblers. The door swung open, bearing the weight of Orion’s father, who resembled a stumbling survivor of a manmade disaster. One bloodstained fist held Pierce’s keys against the doorknob as he tried ineptly to shut the door behind him. His other hand was clamped firmly over his neck, and more blood leaked through his pallid fingers. The agent reacted immediately, rushing to his side and offering his support, while Orion could only shout at his father in alarm. The agent braced Pierce so he wouldn’t fall, attempted to navigate him to a chair, reached for the makeshift bandage so he could examine his neck, and calmly announced that he knew first aid and could help him if he could see the wound.

  Orion didn’t know what happened next. There was a clap of thunder, distorted and deafening in the small space, and his ears rang. The agent fell away, and as scarlet began to blossom from his stomach, he grunted. But Orion hadn’t heard the sound. Instead, he saw his father point the stolen weapon in his direction, and his heart began to pound loudly in his ears. It must have drowned out the sound of his sister’s rushing footsteps, for she was suddenly on the stairs behind him, and he froze. He couldn’t possibly move quickly enough to protect his sister, but he couldn’t face his father either. Pierce was pale—almost as white as the kitchen tiles—but he still projected unyielding strength. Orion was cemented to the spot.

  Pierce switched his aim from his son to his daughter. Despite having staggered into their apartment, adrenaline steadied his feet beneath him, and his eyes were steel. He spoke slowly and deliberately as if each word drained some of his vitality. “Help me like you did that beast that night. Make me whole.”

  Confused, Orion tilted his head and replied, “What?”


  “Make me whole,” Pierce growled again. “Close up my wound, or I’ll shoot her… and then you.” Using the appropriated gun to emphasize his point, he added, “This makes it a lot easier to kill you.”

  Perhaps his sister had fewer qualms about confronting their father or had honed her skills, because Orion knew that what followed was the result of her actions. The florescent lights flickered and then exploded as they must have on the night of the mugging. The fragments showered the two of them, pricking Orion like glass rain. Incandescence engulfed their father and transmuted into a warm yellow flame that danced over his form and quickly faded, leaving behind raw, wine-colored flesh. All of his hair was singed away, and his clothes turned to ash, but the flame must not have been searing enough to heat the gun. Pierce sneered, likely from the pain, and pulled the trigger, though Orion didn’t know whether the action was the result of reflex or malice. His heart stopped when Cassie’s body was suddenly propelled backward against the wall before she tumbled down the stairs. He briefly felt a second flash of heat as the paralysis of his legs suddenly lifted, and he sprinted to his sister’s side. He caught her awkwardly, her fingers and hand already twisted beneath her in an attempt to stop her fall and her head an inch away from impact with the carpeted stairs. He cradled her limp body against his, negating the remainder of her inertia. There were already tears streaming down her face, and she was wailing and sobbing like the child she still was.

  He laid his sister on the floor tenderly while murmuring half-spoken prayers and reassurances; some were in her direction, but they were mostly for his own benefit. Her panic rose as she saw the blood soaking into their respective clothes, and he caressed her red hair softly in an effort to reassure her. He thought that if her anxiety increased, she might go into shock. “It’s not bad. Some wounds just bleed a lot,” he whispered, hoping it was the truth. He knew that areas of the human body were more prone to superficial yet unpleasant-looking damage. “You just need to relax, Pickle. Breathe in and out,” he coached. His heart broke, and he felt helpless against her pain.

  She moaned, and in her distress, she clenched her fists and tried to tear his shirt. “I don’t think it’s one of those places, Ryan,” she whimpered. He shushed her gently, stroking her as if she were a frightened animal, and then laid her across his lap. His hands searched out the edges of the wound beneath her shirt, and he shut his eyes, closing out the world, save for his sister’s breath and body. His senses extended until he could feel the inside of her wound as clearly as a surgeon would see it, and he carefully called her flesh into service. Muscle and soft tissue began to knit back together, slowly reversing the paths of the fractured bullet, while separated bone interlaced again and produced new plasma. Her pallid complexion paled further, but this would only be a temporary loss of constitution that could be replaced by a robust meal and a full night’s rest. Her death grip loosened as she drifted into a peaceful slumber and started to snore softly. With a relieved smile, he kissed her forehead, tucking strands of her hair out of the way, and laid her gently on the floor.

  Knowing that this wasn’t the end of it, Orion rose and approached the agent, who’d shifted onto his back with his knees bent and his hands pressed firmly against his abdomen. Tears streamed down his face, and he was muttering to himself as he stared at the ceiling.

  Orion hesitated. The puddle of blood was growing, and the agent would soon bleed out. The right thing to do would be to treat him as he had his precious sister, but the threat of the BSI loomed in the back of his mind. If he let this man die, would the threat die with him?

  The agent’s gaze turned to meet his, and he swallowed hard. “Stern,” he breathed in anguish. The sudden regret in his brown eyes stirred deep recognition in Orion’s breast, though he could not identify the feeling. The man’s inhalations became labored, and he was almost wheezing, signaling that the end was near. Orion knelt beside him immediately; he couldn’t be callous. He placed his hand on the agent’s skin, which was now slippery with blood, and willed the wound to heal. The bullet had remained whole, so he would not need to force its pieces through innumerable ruptures, and the majority of the damage it had caused was a nicked vein rather than shredded entrails. As with his sister, he forced bone marrow to create new platelets and plasma, and then he repaired any superficial damage to the agent’s internal organs. His patient’s breathing eased and normalized, and he sat up unsteadily, reeling from his sudden lightheadedness.

  “Whoa, lie down,” Orion cautioned him, but the agent shook his head. His balance was shaky as he rose to his feet, and his legs wobbled as he stepped closer to the corpse. Pierce’s leathery skin had become patched with black, waxy white, and brown and had peeled down to the fatty layer in some places. This was not the flash burn that Cassie had initially created; it must have been the result of the second wave of heat that he’d felt. The agent reached down for his weapon, and upon trying to take it from Pierce’s grasp, he discovered that it had become fused with his flesh. Nevertheless, he pried it free with disgust and fired once into the remains of Pierce’s blackened skull. When Orion looked to him for an explanation, he shrugged and said, “Zombies.” He then dropped the gun as his legs failed him, and he collapsed onto the floor. Like Cassie, he fell into a deep slumber, leaving Orion alone with his thoughts as sirens sounded in the distance.

  - - -

  The water had begun to turn cold; nevertheless, Connor didn’t move. He allowed the spray to spill over him, hoping that the water would penetrate his skin and somehow warm his soul. He had nearly died for the second time, and his survival had yet again depended on an Other. It seemed his fate was forever tied to the offspring of chance and the strange tendency of the human genome to mutate. He’d saved this one though. Orion Starr and his sister were safe—or at least as safe as they could be under the unfortunate circumstances.

  He’d been unconscious when the police had arrived but had revived as the paramedics had pulled up. When he’d tried to secure the scene on his own, he’d been overridden by an officer with a more intact awareness who’d insisted that Connor travel to the hospital to be evaluated more thoroughly. The paramedics had then loaded him onto a stretcher and took him away. He had been fortunate enough to be able to use his cell phone in the ambulance, and due to his forewarning, the BSI had been able to contain the quickly developing situation. Their federal agents had been able to shut out local law enforcement and had changed the facts to suit their needs while sticking close to the truth: Pierce Starr had died in a shootout with Special Agent Morgan Connor, who’d happened to be on site following up on a previous case. The expertise of the first responders had allowed Connor to survive, but they had been unable to save Pierce Starr. There had been no mention of his massive burns or his daughter’s wound, and the scene had been scrubbed clean by the bureau, further burying any evidence that might have contradicted the official narrative.

  As soon as Connor had regained full use of his faculties, he’d located the Starr siblings, and thankfully, they had only been processed into custody at the Plum Island facility. He’d testified to Containment that Cassie had again only acted in self-defense, saving her from being considered for euthanasia, and he’d reiterated that despite being an elementalist, she was trainable and could become a valuable asset.

  Within hours of his release from the hospital, Connor had learned the probable circumstances of Pierce’s grave injury, though it had been primarily through the lens of the story-driven, embellishment-hungry media, who had already tried and convicted him postmortem. It appeared that the adult Starrs had left their post at the observatory to return to New York City, only to fall into squabbling midway. Pierce had slain his wife, who had managed to inflict a grievous wound before her death. Their flight had clearly demonstrated guilt of some kind regarding the Johnstown victim, and a warrant obtained shortly thereafter had revealed that the observatory had hidden an amateur slaughterhouse.
The Bramble Butcher quickly became a plural title applied to the Starrs, who had formerly been best known for their writing skills and interest in astronomy. While Connor still had reservations about the incredible leaps of logic that the media had made, he’d realized the difficulty that this community verdict would create for the Starr children.

  Connor had secured a private meeting with his boss, and he’d been able to negotiate what he’d considered a good deal on behalf of the siblings, despite the rather conservative nature of the BSI. Initially disbelieving in his own eloquence, he’d apparently found the appropriate words to convince Terrance to offer a deal: If Orion came to work for the bureau, he and Cassie would be spared the media circus that would follow the postmortem conviction of their already famous father. Cassie would be tutored by the BSI on how to use her abilities safely and then given the choice to join as an agent or return to civilian life. If she chose the latter, she would be given a new identity free from the taint of their parents. But Cassie had seemed less than pleased with the arrangement, and while her brother had been similarly unenthused, he’d nevertheless accepted gracefully.

  So why, then, did Connor feel cold? A postmortem had been conducted on the adult Starrs: Madeleine had been entirely human, while her husband’s results had been indeterminate. Connor had surmised that Pierce must have had some ability if he’d been able to travel as far as he had without succumbing to his mortal injuries. So while he had been in a direct confrontation with an Other and he’d been on the receiving end of another one’s talent, it had still been one of the better encounters that he’d experienced. He’d also saved the girl from being euthanized, which is what he’d wanted since he’d met her, and her brother, too, as a bonus.