2 Brooklyn James

by James, Brooklyn

“You noticed,” he says, flattered. “Pee-Paw’s technically Castilian. Not a brown-eyed one in the bunch.”

  “Who knew the bayou was so cultured,” she thinks aloud.

  “Rich and decadent.” He winks.

  “Although I could do without the diverse animal population.” She mimes holding a long rifle, aiming it at a formidable black snake slithering around in the cloudy water at the front of the airboat. She pulls the make-believe trigger as it disappears from view underneath the flat-bottomed vessel.

  “You’re safer out here than in town dwelling among the two-legged variety.”

  Probably, she thinks to herself. “What?” she questions the immediate concern in his expression.

  “What the hell?” he muses, the boat rounding a desolate corner.

  Emily trails his line of sight to what appears to be a burned-down shack on the bank of the highland. He steers the airboat straight ahead, letting it bottom out beside the flat wooden beams anchored to the edge of the marsh. The ripples from the boat send the boards awash, shifting atop the current. Max piles out onto the solid turf briskly approaching the wreckage, his head craning, assessing the scene. A stone sign etched with the words Castille’s Casa hangs limply off an erected wooden two-by-four. Emily ponders, Castille? Where have I heard that before? She takes off after Max, ducking and diving under trees sporting low-hanging limbs.

  “Pee-Paw?” he calls, his hands busily picking up toppled beams, his eyes searching. Emily stumbles over the ash, her attention drawn to a set of short, melted ivory keys, at one time most likely part of an accordion. A charred picture frame lies among the rubble, the glass broken. She bends to pick it up, her introduction to Pee-Paw and Mee-Maw, their smiling faces marred by the wilted photo stock. She stands helplessly watching Max in debris up to his knees, his hands and arms covered with black dust, frantically digging and flinging the waste from his path. “Pee-Paw!” he yells, turning circles. “Goddammit,” he wails, falling on all fours, searching through tear-stained eyes.

  Emily approaches him warily, kneeling in front of him. “Maybe he wasn’t here,” she consoles, feeling that her heart may tear itself from her chest looking at him in such turmoil, his steel blue eyes saturated.

  He nods, gritting his teeth, continuing to shuffle through the remains of sixty years of life.

  “You’re not gonna find him,” a rough, dark voice sounds, appearing from the trees in direct line of Emily.

  She squints, identifying the ink marker on the man’s neck, a black spider web tattoo. Her mind working in snapshots—Castille...Brianna...Gina...spider web tattoo...Manny Briggs. “Get in the boat,” she orders Max, circling around him, facing her adversary. “Go!”

  Manny Briggs laughs triumphantly. “I fed him to the gators before I burned the place down.” He runs his fingers through his stringy, greasy hair. “Gotta hand it to the old fuck, he took it like a pro. No squealing or begging. Not even a tear.”

  Max spins around in Manny’s direction. Emily pushes against his chest, holding him at bay.

  “Bet you’d take it like a pro.” Manny eyes Emily, licking his lips.

  Max lunges at Manny, his momentum stalled mid-stride as Emily initiates her kinetic wiles on his body. His face and eyes murderous in their intent, undelivered as she holds him captive.

  Manny claps facetiously. “Very impressive.” He rubs his hands together, his eyes instantly ablaze, red and scorching. “You hold him nice and still for me,” his voice melding into something distorted and demonic.

  Emily releases Max. Hell Hound’s scorching fireball just missing him as his body jolts forward with his initial momentum. Emily follows the whizzing red ball of fire with her eyes, watching it whirl toward the airboat. BOOM! It connects with the gasoline reservoir, blowing the boat to bits, the pieces scattering outward. Naturally, she guards her face with her arms, watching the tiny flames fizzle out upon the wet marsh. The sound of Max’s footsteps digging into the ground recaptures her attention. She channels Hell Hound, attempting to mute his reaction.

  Manny laughs, grabbing Max by the neck as he lurches in his direction, slamming him onto the ground.

  “Ugh,” Max expels, the air knocked from his body.

  “Doesn’t work on me,” Manny says, his head pivoting side to side and up and down akin to a serpent. His red eyes searching the outline of Emily’s face, the heat from his stare radiates over her body. “I’m a different breed.” He maneuvers toward her, his body loose and slinky.

  Max turns over attempting to recover his footing, the heat from Hell Hound warming his otherwise icy flesh. Emily stoops defensively, coming up off her heels onto light toes bracing to dodge the next blazing fireball, sure she is the projected target. Manny inhales deeply, his back and neck arching, his pointed tongue exposed to the air tracing the scent of his prey. With his exhale, a flaming sphere lobs through the air end-over-end, headed straight for Emily’s chest. She tracks it with her eyes waiting for the precise moment to duck, the heat causing her to break out instantly with perspiration.

  The fireball stops midair, its molten crimson exterior crackling. Shades of blue forming at its bottom spread quickly around the globe, sealing it at its top as cooling vapors cloud around its form until it shatters, splaying tiny shards of ice over the ash in which she stands. Darting her eyes in Max’s direction, his steel blues sparkle, casting intermittent specks of white reminiscent of a diamond’s brilliance.

  Hell Hound turns swiftly in Max’s direction, dumbfounded and irate at his interference. A low rumble escapes his throat as he slithers toward Max, his body coiling and striking out. He flies through the air nearly parallel to the ground and connects with him. They grapple end-over-end through the cluttered remains of the house, the wood and ash popping and fizzing with their alternate contact, fire and ice.

  Do something! Emily scolds herself, unsure of what to do, her powers seemingly void without Gina to channel them through. She looks about the rubble pulling from it a large iron rod. Dancing around their twisting bodies, she seeks a clear shot at Manny Briggs. The rod positioned in her hands above shoulder level, she releases, bashing him in the middle of his spine. His attention pulled from Max, he stumbles to his feet. Emily connects again and again smack dab in the middle of his stomach, backing him up with each contact. The heat from his body causes the iron rod to bend, molding it into a crescent.

  “Emily,” Max calls, warning in his tone as he gathers himself upright, his cool body sensing the brink of a heat wave.

  Hell Hound releases a devilish laugh as the iron pipe falls from Emily’s hand, her body scorching, unable to move. The dryness of her throat burns excruciatingly as if she had walked a hundred miles across the desert. Her internal furnace raging, she feels like she is on fire from the inside out. Her hair falling loose begins to flow against her neck. She sighs with the calm, cool relief cascading over her from head to toe.

  “No,” she whispers, her throat still inadequately lubricated to form resonant sound. She shivers, whipping in Max’s direction, the last steel blue ray escaping his eyes.

  Hell Hound turns knowingly to the now defenseless Maxim Kiesel, unleashing a flurry of radiating heat. Max falls to his knees toppling over onto his back, his body completely paralyzed and frying just beneath the surface.

  “What do you want!” Emily screams, her voice now returning. She jumps in front of Max, facing Hell Hound.

  “Vigilare,” he answers in his disturbing tone. With the mention of her name, his eyes dart further open surging with a violent red glow.

  Emily shakes her head, challenging him to come up with a different answer.

  He steps to her. “Ooh, refreshing,” he says, her icy shell cooling his. “You give me Vigilare or I’m gonna let loverboy fry.” He moans, his tongue darting out of his mouth picking up the scent of her neckline. Emily fights the urge to kne
e him in the groin, his breath and his closeness making her nauseous. “You’ll be feeding him pureed meat through a straw. He won’t even know your name.” He shrugs, continuing with his distorted garble. “Or his.” He sticks his blood-red, raw tongue further out of his mouth, his target her neck, aching for the soothing cool relief. She pushes his face away, the contact of their skin creating a searing sound.

  She nods her head incapable of rendering a verbal agreement, her facial expression a mix of disgust and shame.

  “Be seeing you ice queen,” his voice now devoid of the evil distortion, returning to his human form. The heat from his body, gone. His hungry, glowing red eyes now are replaced with a dark, empty shade of brown. Manny Briggs disappears into the low-hanging trees.

  “Max,” Emily calls to him, covering his scorching body with her own attempting to cool him. She channels him with her telekinesis, searching his wide-open immobile eyes for some trace of identification. “Take it back. Please take it back,” she refers to the icy synergy he so willingly bequeathed to her. Tears form in her eyes. She wipes at them briskly, convincing herself they’re caused by gratitude and nothing more. She lifts his torso against hers tugging at his black leather jacket, discarding the molten material. “Max, please,” her voice breaks giving in to more tears. She shakes him, his limp body finally growing resistant with a shocking inhalation. Emily presses her mouth against his delivering to him a long, cool expiration. The searing heat from his lips transforming to lukewarm as he breathes her in. His legs bend behind her supporting her back, his arms intertwining snugly around her waist. His mouth and his tongue awakened, he kisses her deeply accepting the icy relief she so willingly gives. Her hands cupping his face, the corners of her lips turn upward into a smile at the ever-growing crisp, cool feel of his skin. Her body returning to warm-blooded homeostasis, she pulls her mouth away from him.

  “What the hell happened?” he gasps, his chest heaving up and down. “Where is he? What the hell is he?” Max peers over the landscape, the steel blue color returning to his eyes.

  “He’s gone.” She rises, helping Max to his feet.

  “We have to find him.” Max looks around the wreckage, his hands clasped at the base of his neck. He clears his throat, successfully fighting off the moisture attempting to collect in the corners of his eyes, grieving for his grandfather and for his legacy, everything representing Pee-Paw turned to rubble and ash. “How many others are there? Like him?”

  “Like him, I don’t know.” Emily shrugs. “Like you...and me, a few more,” she freely divulges, her reluctance toward his loyalty extinguished.

  “Take me to them,” he says somewhere between a plea and a demand.

  She nods, her eyes conflicted.

  He steps toward her, wrapping himself fittingly around her torso, his mouth hovers over hers. “Thank you,” he says giving in to the urge to show his gratitude. She returns the gesture, her full lips moving skillfully against his with newfound trust. Coming up for air, he takes her hand. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Back at the compound, night has long since fallen along with the first significant amount of fresh white powder in the rugged mountainous terrain. Gina, Aubrey and Officer Sam Marks sit in front of a looking-glass encasement staring out at the moon cascading off the snow. Their object of investigation, Tony Gronkowski, completes the last of his Vigilare testing. Still suited in his black martial arts gi, his bare hands and feet now blood-tinged take turns sinking in and out of the frigid snow striking at the upright wooden makiwara wrapped in thick, dense rope. His hazel eyes coming in and out of Vigilare-mode, a part of his control training, at times they are dull, at others they reflect colors around them, most notably white, creating a spotlight of sorts darting on and off the snow.

  “Hasn’t he had enough?” Gina asks.

  “His body will tell him, and us, when he’s had enough,” Dr. Godfrey points out, running a consoling hand across her shoulder. He stands behind the trio, faithfully documenting Tony’s performance.

  “This is what Vigilares do?” Marks asks, his intonation reverberating slight contempt.

  “It’s our responsibility to know what we’re capable of,” Aubrey explains. “From the most mundane to the most extreme.”

  “How’s he doing?” Marks continues.

  “He’s charting new territory.” Dr. Godfrey smiles, pleased, glancing at his wristwatch.

  “His stamina and tolerance are unmatched,” Gina marvels, a more profound respect surfacing.

  “Does he operate independently?” Aubrey inquires.

  “Ah, somewhat. Show them Gina,” Dr. Godfrey urges.

  Gina stands, walking away from the window. Aubrey and Marks keep their eyes on Tony whose endurance begins to falter, his strikes and kicks now sluggish and ill-timed. Gina proceeds, moving further away from them, from Tony, barricading herself on the other side of the double-paned glass laboratory. With each measurable distance from her, Tony loses strength and focus, stumbling to his knees intermittently, clouds of condensation from his labored breathing spouting from his mouth.

  Dr. Godfrey scrunches up his nose hoisting his glasses up on his cheekbones. Squinting through them, he motions Gina to return. With each approaching step, Tony grows stronger, more agile and aggressive, fully recuperating, his contact with the makiwara precise and lethal.

  “You should see him when Gina engages him in Vigilare-mode,” Dr. Godfrey pipes.

  “How’s it feel to know you have that much control over someone? All of us?” Aubrey asks.

  “Burdensome.” Gina stands at the window willing Tony’s body warm.

  “Can I try?” Marks asks, standing from his comfortably seated position beside Aubrey, aware his humanness must make him appear inept, the last image he wants Aubrey to have of him.

  “It’s not recommended,” Dr. Godfrey gently lets him down.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Gina scolds softly, her conscience already troubled enough with the current events, let alone having to worry with Marks’ safety.

  “He has just as much right to be here as him,” Aubrey argues defiantly, motioning out the window in Tony’s direction as she rises protectively beside Marks. “You’re already the fastest, the strongest...the center,” she hovers over the word, her discontent with her beta position festering. “Hell, now you even have a mate...of Vigilare pedigree. If you expect me to cuddle with Emily when the nights get cold, you can forget it!”

  The image intensified by Aubrey’s fiery animation causes the corners of Gina’s mouth to curl unwillingly.

  “It’s not funny,” Aubrey demands, her own mouth giving in to a grin.

  “Ahem,” Gina clears her throat, working to straighten out her lips. “I know.” Her hand juts palm-side out. “I just don’t want you to get caught in the middle,” she explains to Marks. “And I certainly don’t want anything to happen to you. For your sake, or hers.” She motions to Aubrey.

  “Well, then, we better run you through the wringer,” Aubrey exclaims, hooking her arm through Marks’. “Can we use the testing lab?” Aubrey seeks Dr. Godfrey’s approval.

  “Knock yourself out, kiddo,” he says, appreciative of her can-do spirit.

  “Come on.” She tugs on Marks. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

  “Testing lab?” he quizzes, following her lead. “What’cha got...some Vigilare serum?” His eyes popping with the idea of joining the supernatural.

  She giggles, pulling him inside the glass box, locking the sliding door behind them.

  “She’s young,” Dr. Godfrey consoles the worry in Gina’s expression.

  “Is there any way to reverse the process? Make her perfectly normal...one-hundred-percent human again?”

  “I don’t think so, my dear.” Dr. Godfrey continues shifting his glance from his
clipboard to Tony. “You think she’s unhappy?”

  “I think she could be happier.” Gina looks to him from the window. “Maybe we all could.”

  “Are you suggesting a complete Vigilare extinction?” He peers at her from over his bifocals.

  “There has to be a way. It’s the only way, Dr. Godfrey. You created the bloodline, you have to find a way to annihilate it.” Her solemn attention returns to Tony. “Look what we’ve done to him. What ETNA has done to Manny Briggs. Who’s next? Marks? How many others?”

  “Annihilation. Extinction. Only necessary in the case of Manny Briggs...Hell Hound...as with everything evil. You,” he says, his expression affectionate, lightly tapping his fingertips off her chest above her heart before continuing, “Aubrey, Emily.” He marvels at Gina’s hardworking protégé. “Detective Gronkowski. The world needs more of you. The good guys.”

  “The problem with good...it can always turn bad. If you think for one minute Emily is not capable of using her powers for her own personal gain, you are sorely mistaken.” She thumps her hand off her chest. “Even me. How many lives am I responsible for taking? Sure, I can attempt to justify it all day long. They were rapists and pedophiles. But did they deserve to die? Were their lives mine to take? ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions.’”

  “That’s why we’re here. Training and learning how to control the metamorphosis. We’re taking a responsible approach, Gina dear.”

  “How responsible were you and Dr. Ryan when ETNA hoarded my blood?” she bites. “Maybe you should refer to Mary Shelley. Monsters cannot be controlled. I’m sure this is exciting and gratifying for you. Some of your best work,” she further incites. “How warm and fuzzy will you feel when there are a hundred, a thousand Hell Hounds roaming the free world?”

  “You won’t let that happen. Neither will he.” Dr. Godfrey watches Tony, nearly moved to tears at his heart, his try.