Not Even Bones

by Rebecca Schaeffer

  She didn’t want to stop.

  But when—if—she ever got out of here, she’d never be able to work in the black market again. It was a slow, sad realization. Memories of smiles shared between her parents, dissections to Disney songs, and brushing sweaty hair out of her face after labeling the last jar of the day took on a dark tint. The memories didn’t feel happy anymore, overshadowed with the knowledge of what had gone into them.

  Eventually, she managed to cry herself to sleep.

  Her dream started out well. Nita was standing in her white lab coat, and there was a body on the dissection table in front of her. Sighing in familiar pleasure, Nita picked up the scalpel and began the first incision. She worked at it for a time, taking out body parts, weighing and labeling them. Then she went to scoop out the eyes.

  The body had Kovit’s face.

  His eyes were closed, but she didn’t hesitate to pry them open. It was the fuzzy way of dreams that all she could think at the time was she was dissecting a zannie, and everything was fine. But then she scooped his eyes out and took a closer look and found that they were golden-brown.

  They were her own eyes.

  The face on the table was Nita’s face, and suddenly she was seeing the room through the eyes dangling from her hand. Except it wasn’t her hand anymore, it was an older woman’s hand and when she looked up, Reyes smiled back.

  Nita woke screaming.

  Thrashing around on the cot, she kicked off her blanket and clutched at her hair, as though she could pull the dream right out of her skull.

  Her screams eventually faded into sobs as Kovit ran into the room, wearing black sweatpants mismatched with a button-up pajama shirt. His hair was mussed from bed, but his eyes were wide and nervous as they flicked around, trying to see what was panicking Nita.

  He hesitated. “Nightmare?”

  Nita nodded, not trusting her voice.

  Kovit looked at Nita, but she turned her face away, wondering what kinds of things he’d done to Mirella before Nita came here. Maybe that was why Mirella had been so scared of him.

  He didn’t say anything, just padded away and left Nita alone again.

  That was okay. She liked being alone.

  Or she had. Now there was an empty space across from her where Mirella had been. She still hadn’t returned.

  Nita was surprised when Kovit came back a few minutes later. He looked even more tired, if that was possible, with tight lines around his mouth and heavy bags under his eyes. But he gave her one of his characteristic, slightly-off grins that made something inside her wriggle with fear.

  Maybe she was becoming accustomed to him, though, because this time she didn’t feel quite as scared. Or maybe fear was like tears. Once you cried too much, it was hard to cry more. So if you were permanently scared, you just became numb to it.

  He plopped himself down cross-legged in front of her prison box, the stupid device through which she was being fed every day. He took a stack of pieces of paper tied with an elastic band out of his pocket. Snapping off the elastic band, he began shuffling.

  “What kind of card games do you like? Poker? Big two? War? Solitaire?”

  Nita stared at the small pieces of paper in his hand. “Did you make those?”

  Kovit laughed, showing her a card. It was a badly cut out piece of printer paper with a heart and a three scrawled in ballpoint pen. “It didn’t take long.” He continued shuffling. “Let’s play poker.”

  Nita nodded, not trusting her voice. Her throat felt scratchy and rough. He passed her cards through the food tray, and Nita picked them up with unsteady hands.

  She put the cards in her lap and looked down. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m bored.” His voice was flat. “There’s no internet and no books. Reyes only lets me have a cell phone from the dinosaur age with her number in it, and I hate going outside in this shithole market.”

  Nita didn’t respond.

  Kovit sighed. “I thought you might be bored too. Shall I leave?”

  “No,” Nita whispered, for the first time in her life wanting company, even if it was a psychopath. “Let’s play.”

  She ignored his victory smile. It was too creepy, too hungry, for her to look at.

  They played a few rounds in silence. Nita lost most of them. She hadn’t played much poker before. As they continued, she started to do progressively better. They played in silence for a long time before Nita finally felt like she could speak.

  “So . . .” Nita tried to think of a conversation topic. Since she had Kovit here, she felt like she should fish for information. But for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  He raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Yes?”

  “You haven’t cut my fingers off.”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to?”

  He was silent for a long time. Nita raised her eyes to find him watching her. She shifted in discomfort.

  “No,” he finally said, looking over his cards.

  When he didn’t continue, Nita fidgeted. Part of her told her to drop it—she didn’t want to push. What if he changed his mind? But the rest of her wasn’t smart enough to listen, so she asked, “Why?”

  He shrugged. “It seemed like a waste. All that pain and suffering, and no one to benefit from it.”

  Nita stared at him. “You didn’t do it because you couldn’t eat it?”

  “Of course.” He looked away.

  Nita licked her lips. “Liar.”

  He laughed. “Maybe. I do lie.”

  “Everyone lies. That’s not saying anything.”

  “Exactly.”

  Nita shoved her losing hand back through the food tray device thingy.

  “Well, whatever your reason. Thank you.” Nita brushed a hair out of her face. “I didn’t expect that kind of thing from a zannie.”

  Kovit scowled. “I hate that word.”

  “You mentioned that before.” Nita folded her hands in her lap and watched him. “Why?”

  “It’s one of those Englishisms that really annoy me.”

  “Oh? That’s not what you’re called?”

  Kovit shuffled the cards and shook his head. “It’s from back in the eighteen hundreds when European countries were doing all these land grabs in Asia. The British had what’s now modern Malaysia and Singapore, and the French took over Vietnam and Cambodia. Thailand, called Siam at the time, worked hard to remain independent, both politically and militarily. To make a long story short, there was a ‘zannie’ who, uh, enjoyed the conflict. No one’s sure whether she was hired by the Siamese government or not. I dunno myself, I think there’s a good case either way.”

  Kovit gave her a tight smile. “Anyways, the French nicknamed her ‘Sang’—which means blood.” He shrugged. “Someone along the line miscommunicated the nickname to the British, and it became ‘zannie.’ ”

  “I never knew that.” Nita shifted position. “So what are zannies really called?”

  He hesitated. “There’s a debate. I mean, these days because zannie is what INHUP calls them, it’s sort of a standard. But some people say we’re actually krasue.”

  “What language is that?”

  “Thai.” He brushed a hair out of his face. “But there’s names in other languages. Kasu in Lao and, uh . . . ahp? In Khmer. I think the Malaysian name starts with a p sound, but I can’t recall it right now.”

  Nita folded her cards on her lap. “I’ve never heard these names before.”

  “You wouldn’t.” He shrugged. “I mean, traditionally, those names only refer to women.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, people thought that krasue were floating women’s heads with a bunch of internal organs hanging down. They left their bodies behind and came into town and ripped unborn children from their mothers’ wombs, eviscerated people, ate their flesh, you know.” He smirked. “Some people say it was just ‘zannies’ who went a little overboard back in the day and used to loop people’s digesti
ve tracts around their necks like scarves.”

  “That’s unsanitary.” Nita cringed at the mess.

  Kovit laughed. “Not disgusting?”

  She shrugged. They were just organs. “So why did people think there were only women krasue?”

  He winced at her pronunciation. “Because the men joined whatever army or dictator was around, or even outlaws and such. In other words, groups where . . . the kind of behavior we exhibit would, uh, not be uncommon. I guess we blended in.” He snorted. “But there were no career paths open to women that could explain them torturing people. So people tended to notice more when women came into town eviscerating people than when men did the same thing.”

  “Interesting.” She wondered how many other oral legends about unnaturals had been blurred or warped because the lens they were being viewed through was wrong. She pursed her lips. “But this is all a theory.”

  “Yes.”

  Nita tilted her head. There was something in the way he said it that made Nita think it was more that he wanted to be connected to these legendary monsters than any real evidence he was.

  She could understand that. There were no traditional legends about whatever she was. She didn’t even have a name. None that she could find, anyway. She’d always felt a little jealous of all the legends and hype surrounding vampires, and the near reverence that Chinese dragons received. There was something appealing about belonging to a tradition like that, being included in something with so much history and culture.

  “How popular is the theory?”

  “Somewhat.” He shrugged. “Some people think krasue are a different species entirely. One that’s been very good at keeping off INHUP’s radar or blaming other unnaturals for their . . . messes.”

  Kovit’s smile seemed to conjure images in Nita’s imagination of what those messes would look like.

  She shoved them aside and changed the subject. “So, you speak Thai?”

  “Yes.”

  “First language?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Were you born in Thailand?”

  “Yes. I lived there until I was ten.”

  “Then what happened?”

  Kovit stopped shuffling the cards and put them down. His fingers lingered on them. “My mother was captured by INHUP and executed.”

  Nita blinked, opened her mouth, and closed it. She’d lived her whole life in fear of INHUP, worried they’d come and arrest her parents, take them away to be charged with crimes against humanity or some such thing. She imagined them as towering men in dark suits with glasses, blank stony faces devoid of sympathy as they tore apart her life.

  If she ever got out of this cage and got cell phone service, they were the first people she’d call.

  She wished they were here right now—or even better, that she’d gone with Fabricio when he left Lima to meet up with them. She wouldn’t even have minded if they arrested her mother anymore.

  Well, maybe a little.

  “I’m sorry.” Nita hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. “I guess your mother was a zannie too?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did they catch her?”

  Kovit raised his eyebrows, and his mouth formed into a twisted smile. A self-deprecating, I’d-love-to-comfort-torture-you smile. “I called them and told them about her.”

  Nita stared at him. “What?”

  He shrugged, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. “I called them. My sister was furious. She hid me under the floorboards of the house so INHUP wouldn’t find me.”

  “Wasn’t your sister worried about herself?”

  He snorted. “Hardly. It’s not like she’s a zannie.” Seeing the surprise on Nita’s face, he continued, “It’s a recessive gene, like blond hair. My mom had it, and I got it. But my father was human, so my sister didn’t end up like me.”

  Nita wondered what it would be like to grow up in a household where half the people were zannies and half weren’t. She couldn’t imagine zannie children were nice. Had little baby Kovit toddled around stabbing his father in the shins and ripping his sister’s hair out?

  Actually, that probably wasn’t too different from other children.

  “Where’s your sister now?” Nita asked.

  “No idea. I haven’t seen her since INHUP took her away.” His voice was casual, but she had a feeling he’d been closer to his sister than to his mother. Since he’d called the police on one and the other had protected him. “I was ten so that was . . . ten years ago?”

  Nita wasn’t sure if she was supposed to express sympathy here, or how to express it appropriately. “I’m sorry.”

  He waved it away. “It was a long time ago.”

  Nita hesitated, wondering if she should let the topic drop. But she wasn’t sure if Kovit would ever talk about himself like this again. She wasn’t sure why he was talking now. “Why did you turn your mother in?”

  Kovit met her eyes. His were black, iris and pupil, and seemed to go on forever. It was like looking into a well leading deep into the earth. You could fall in if you wanted, but at the bottom, there’d only be a painful landing followed by a slow, agonizing death.

  He smiled. It was charming. Nita was more terrified of it than his creepy smiles. Then he deftly changed the subject. “What about you? Who betrayed your trust and turned you in?”

  Nita dropped her eyes and looked down, a sudden stab of hurt slicing up through her rib cage. She pressed her nose into her sweatpants and whispered, “My mother.”

  “Sorry? I couldn’t quite hear that.”

  Nita raised her chin, almost defiant. Her voice didn’t even tremble. “My mother.”

  “Ah.” His smile fell, and he just looked tired. Even more tired than before. “Mothers, eh? Never like the movies portray them.”

  Nita had to laugh at that, just a little. It was a sad laugh, but it was something.

  They played a few more rounds of cards before Reyes interrupted them. Kovit rose and went to her immediately when she walked into the room.

  Behind Reyes, the two bodyguards from earlier dragged Mirella between them. Her feet stumbled as she walked, and her gaze was fixed on the ground. A large patch of white gauze covered one eye. Or where one eye had been.

  Kovit hissed softly as she passed, his eyes slitting in pleasure. Nita felt sick.

  Mirella was deposited back in her cell, where she curled up under her blanket. Reyes nodded to the men, and they departed. Then she turned to Kovit.

  “We have the first group of customers coming in to see our newest product.”

  “Now?” Kovit sounded surprised.

  “Yes.” Reyes turned and smiled at Nita. “I’m sure they’ll be very interested by the demonstration we’re going to provide.” Then she looked back at Kovit. “I see her fingers are still attached.”

  “She opted for torture.”

  “You don’t look like you ate much.”

  Kovit shrugged, and Nita wondered how Reyes could tell. “I ate when you left. That was hours ago.” A small, twisty smile snaked across his face. “Though if you want me to eat more, I’d be delighted to oblige.”

  Reyes smiled. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Kovit brightened. “You have someone?”

  “After this batch of customers, I have a treat for you.”

  Watching Kovit’s face was like watching a child opening an unexpected present. First surprise, then disbelief, then growing excitement as Reyes’ words penetrated, until a huge grin plastered itself across his face. His eyes danced with madness.

  “All mine?” Kovit pressed, leaning forward in anticipation.

  “For an hour or so. After we get through this demonstration.”

  Reyes turned and walked away, waving for Kovit to follow.

  Kovit stood there for a moment, staring after her. Then he turned to Nita, ratcheted up his grin a few notches, and gave her a slight, almost mocking bow. “Thanks for the entertainment. But I’m afraid dinner awaits.”


  Then he spun around and half skipped, half walked away.

  Fourteen

  “MIRELLA, ARE YOU OKAY?”

  Mirella lifted her head up in the cage on the other side of the room and gave Nita a poisonous look. It highlighted how puffy the skin around her eyes—eye—was from crying and the sickly grayish tint to her skin. The white gauze seemed to stare at Nita.

  “What kind of stupid question is that?” she snapped. Then her voice lowered into a cold hiss. “One day, I’m going to kill him.”

  Nita blinked, but couldn’t think of anything to say in response. Mirella didn’t seem to expect anything and proceeded to curl up under her blanket. Nita was beginning to learn that bad things always happened when Mirella pulled that blanket over her.

  The voices Nita had heard earlier rose, and Reyes and Kovit reappeared a few moments later, along with the two bodyguards and four other people. One was a tall woman whose face was veiled by a mosquito net—ever hopeful, Nita wondered if it was her mother, but was quickly disappointed to see it wasn’t. Her voice was too breathy, and she didn’t walk right. There were two older men with rheumy eyes and wrinkled skin in polo shirts and slacks. They whispered to each other in French and ignored the other people.

  The last person was a vampire.

  Despite Nita’s lack of familiarity with vampires, she knew one when she saw one. His hair was brown, but there were bold streaks of perfect white—an unnatural white that shimmered slightly and shifted colors in different light. It looked like he had a weird brown baby zebra on his head. Nita had heard it was impossible to dye the white part of a vampire’s hair, that the dye didn’t stick, but also that young vampires didn’t have a drop of white in their hair. They could walk in the sun, and they were insanely strong, to the point where taking on a baby vampire was considered to be a form of suicide in some parts of the world. As they aged, their hair began to get white streaks in it. The more white streaks, the weaker they became, and the less tolerant of sunlight. It was a tradeoff—the oldest vampires were close to crippled, unable to move or even feed themselves sometimes, but they had to be crafty to live that long. They tended to like heading organized crime—then they could maintain their power and have other people do their dirty work.