Half Discovered Wings

by David Brookes

  ~

  An hour before dawn they dressed and then ate. Cleric was nowhere to be seen.

  Johnmal watched Rosanna as he spooned his wheat to his mouth, as she ate her own bland cereal and read one of her magazines. When he finished, he sat watching her until she looked up, having felt his gaze, and he smiled.

  They stood by the inner door and held each other, preparing to go outside. There were no locks from this direction, and he only had to pull the door open to get to the small room where Rosanna often waited for him. She passed through it without hesitation.

  The next door stood like a gateway to freedom, but was dark and frightened her. She gripped Johnmal’s hand, fighting the agoraphobia that had plagued her since she was tiny. Johnmal hadn’t ever told her, but she had been attacked by a bird as a little girl, just outside the facility. Cleric had rushed her indoors, blood dripping from the back of her neck. She still had a scar at the top of her spine that she had never seen, the incident forgotten or repressed.

  Together they touched the handle, ready to open it to the sweltering rainforest outside.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked her.

  She shook her head, and pulled away from the handle, then led him back to the guard room and slammed the second door.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said feebly, and he got her a glass of something fermented to steady her nerves.

  He left her to her guard duties with a soft word of encouragement, and one kiss on the mouth that left a lingering sweetness on his lips.

  ~

  The boss greeted a sweaty Johnmal in the lounge. ‘Son,’ he said, and clapped the man’s naked shoulder.

  ‘Mister Cleric,’ Johnmal replied, between swigs of water.

  ‘I’d like you to check out the boy again,’ said the boss, switching on the gas stove and placing a small black kettle on it.

  ‘Mister Cleric.’ Johnmal set down his drink and turned. ‘I’m not sure I want to try and use my ability again. The last few times—’

  ‘Have been fine,’ Cleric finished for him. ‘And the booth is there for you, child, it’s always there! You know it’s working to stabilise your talent.’

  ‘So far it has.’

  ‘It will always work, and if ever it doesn’t, I’ll fix it. Don’t worry.’

  ‘I can’t help but worry. I don’t want to be unseen forever.’

  ‘One last time,’ Cleric promised, and Johnmal couldn’t help but feel like he’d heard him say it before.

  The boss allowed him to use the booth beforehand for once, just to see if it made any difference. Johnmal stood in the metallic niche in the wall in Cleric’s laboratory, surrounded by the wires, the odd glowing transparent plates, the humming circuitry, and closed his eyes. Cleric inserted an object into a specially made socket. Cables ending in needles were embedded into his skin and began to tingle.

  ‘I’m switching it on now,’ the boss said, and the panels glowed inside the niche.

  Johnmal felt ill every time. The pervasive waves of whatever the boss pumped through him to keep his cells from bursting made him dizzy. The feeling was soporific and unpleasant, but if it helped, Johnmal would endure it.

  With the unpleasant experience behind him, Johnmal now confronted another. The boss led him back down into the subbasement, down the stairs and the ramps and past the holding cell for those hideous abominable creations of his, and to the cell where the prisoner now slept.

  They stopped just short of the cell entrance.

  ‘Now you can do this,’ Cleric said. ‘One more time for me. I need to make sure! I was so certain … But if there’s nothing this time, then you don’t have to do this for me again. I won’t ask you again.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Johnmal replied.

  The boss put his hands on Johnmal’s shoulders. ‘Good lad. Now, off you go.’

  The errant closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and felt his body turn itself inside out. He pushed the latent feeling at the back of his mind, forcing it forward, into the air, into the minds of those around him like a fog. He was altering the perceptions of those close to him, psychically telling them that his skin was turning into a pinkish mist. His mouth felt intensely dry, and then, all at once, he vanished.

  Cleric patted the indiscernible figure and smiled, then stepped back. He watched as the keypad to the cell’s energy field was activated, and the semi-transparent sheet of light disappeared for a moment.

  ~

  Johnmal watched Cleric walk away before he moved unseen toward the sleeping figure, hunched up against the dirty white-tiled wall. Even to his own eyes he was entirely transparent, invisible, despite the fact that his mind knew he was there. Not wishing to disturb the prisoner just yet, the hidden Johnmal sat up with his back to the wall and looked out past the filthy plastiplex and into the corridor opposite. The windows in the wall were in hideous disrepair, and though they looked out into the rainforest, there wasn’t much visible through the filth and mould that lined the glass.

  Such dirty accommodation.

  ‘Prisoner,’ he said quietly into the boy’s ear. ‘Wake yourself up.’

  The boy stirred. Johnmal reached out with his fingertips and touched his dark cheek. It came back with dirt on it. This young man been captive for way too long.

  ‘Who’s there?’ the boy asked sleepily, in English. ‘Who is that?’

  Johnmal stayed silent, observing his boss’ test subject. There was something about him, something in his features that reminded him of … what? There was that fullness of mouth, the thickness of his black hair. Something in the way he held himself was reminiscent of a figure Johnmal couldn’t locate in his memory.

  ‘You’re here again, aren’t you?’ asked the boy.

  ‘I’m here,’ Johnmal whispered. ‘Keep your voice quiet.’

  ‘Why do you keep coming here?’

  ‘To test you. My employer says that you are an errant. He thinks you can be of use to him; he is collecting errant blood. He’s built up a fine catalogue over the years. Soon, after he has completed his current plans, he intends to resurrect them. Imagine how spectacular that new world would be, boy.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m right here. Beside you.’ He touched the boy’s cheek so that the boy knew where to direct his gaze. ‘I’m not supposed to talk to you, only take blood and observe up close. But you are a human being and I can learn much more this way.’

  ‘Last time you said you wouldn’t see me again.’

  ‘Did I? I don’t remember that.’

  ‘You say that every time! What’s wrong with you?’ The young man sat up, and tried to see some sign of the invisible man.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong with me.’

  ‘Then why can you never remember my name?’

  Johnmal said nothing, shifting his weight in his unease.

  ‘It’s Isaac Catling,’ the prisoner said, ‘and your name is Johnmal. Does he let you remember your own name?’

  Johnmal stood up and looked out into the corridor again. This all sounded so familiar. Of course he could remember his own name – why wouldn’t he? – but why did this boy ignite distant memories in him that he couldn’t access, and why did the name sound like something that had run through his mind a thousand times before?

  ‘Father!’ the boy said, and Johnmal spun around. Isaac was still looking at the spot by the wall, in the opposite direction to where Johnmal was really standing. ‘Every time you say this: “That name sounds so familiar; who are you; have we met before this?” Johnmal, I’m your son, Isaac!’

  ‘Isaac?’ Johnmal muttered, and his eyes searched the walls and came across some symbols etched into the tiles. He instantly knew that it was he who had inscribed them: the word SON in a messy, angular scrawl.

  ‘Do you remember?’

  ‘You are Sarai’s child.’

  ‘Yes! My mother, she must miss me … Johnmal, you said you’d help me, get me out … Lord, every visit I have to remind you!’

  ‘Get you out? I wouldn’t
say that, Mister Cleric—’

  ‘Is the one who keeps you from remembering!’ the young man cried, and stood.

  ‘I’m over here,’ Johnmal said, and stepped toward the teenager to hold him by the shoulders. His body was lithe, muscular, hard. There was strength in his flesh as well as in his heart.

  ‘Will you show me yourself this time?’ Isaac asked quietly.

  ‘I’ll try,’ said Johnmal, and closed his eyes.

  ~

  The booth, he thought, stepping invisibly back out into the filthy corridor outside of Isaac’s cell. The booth is what’s keeping me from remembering.

  But, the other side of his brain said, it’s also keeping me visible.

  Perhaps, perhaps … If Cleric was truly altering his memory – Why, for what purpose? – then maybe the booth did nothing else … Maybe it wasn’t helping him keep his power in check at all.

  Quietly he walked down the corridor back to the laboratory, passing through the dusty shafts of light coming in through the filthy broken windows. There were leaves and soil on the ground, sticking to the undersides of his naked feet. All the while he thought of his son, trying to dredge up the memories he knew he had somewhere. As he did so he realised that he had done this so many times before, like some ghastly chronic merry-go-round, each time going into the cell not knowing, and each time returning thinking, ‘Cleric is lying to me.’

  An image now, drifting up from the deep recesses of his mind interfered: a dark face, with all-green eyes. The picture surfaced and he stared at it with his mind’s eye. It was Sarai.

  The mother of my child.

  ‘God damn it,’ he said, and for the first time felt no guilt for the blasphemy.

  He arrived at the laboratory.

  Cleric was sitting quietly in a chair, consulting a book. His back was to Johnmal as he sat unaware; he felt at home, surrounded by all his equipment and electronic toys, the errant thought, that monster, that cyborg, with his plans…

  And all the while, raping my mind. Liar! he projected, and hoped Cleric could hear him.

  And now, so close, right behind him … If he wanted to, Johnmal could just reach out and take his throat, grasp it in both of his faux-transparent hands and just squeeze…

  But then, would that solve anything? Did the boss even breathe?

  ‘Mister Cleric,’ Johnmal said. The man jumped in his seat.

  ‘Johnmal!’ he sang. ‘Where are you? How did it go? Did you find out anything?’

  ‘I don’t think that he’s an errant. He’s shown no signs.’

  ‘Did you speak to him?’

  He knows I spoke to him.

  ‘Yes. I let him know I was there and initiated an attack; he could do nothing to protect himself. He has no errant abilities. He’s just a normal boy.’

  ‘But I was so sure,’ Cleric replied, putting a star-tattooed hand through his white hair and frowning. He stood, moved slowly around the back of his chair, and his eyes moved from one side to the other as his mind wandered. ‘The tests show him to be the child of two errants.’

  ‘If that’s the case, he doesn’t seem to have inherited either of their abilities.’

  And it’s true, Johnmal thought, he doesn’t. Not even my own.

  ‘Curious,’ Cleric said, suddenly becoming animated. ‘Oh well. At least he’ll serve as some pet food. It doesn’t matter, Johnmal, because he’s not essential. The machine I found will do most of our work for us.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Only by doing what it was meant to. If only the men who built it were alive to see what wicked undertaking it would be part of! We’ll set out tomorrow night, when it’s cooler. Please tell Rosanna. We’ll get there within a few days.’

  ‘Then we’re nearly finished,’ Johnmal muttered.

  ‘Nearly finished,’ Cleric repeated. ‘Son, you’re still invisible. Can you turn back?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Into the booth with you, then, and let’s see what we can do. You must have a strong mind, to influence your abilities so thoroughly.’

  ‘The booth doesn’t seem to work, and it makes me feel ill.’

  ‘Of course it works! We’ve seen improvements, haven’t we? Haven’t you been able to turn back much sooner now?’

  Yes, Johnmal thought, but then, have I? Have I really? Or is that … a planted memory?

  ‘I’d rather not,’ he said.

  Cleric laughed and put his hand on Johnmal’s shoulder. ‘Oh, really. I made this for you!’

  ‘I’ll go in it later, I just want to see Rose for a few minutes.’

  ‘You promise? I only want to help you.’

  ‘I promise, sir.’

  ~

  Cleric, with his hand on the errant’s shoulder, felt the man shift and turn, then walk away. He heard the flat footsteps making their way across the cold lab floor. A small heap of clothes lifted themselves up from a chair and floated up the ramp and away.

  Cleric frowned.

  ‘Liar,’ he said.

  ~

  Johnmal had seen the cables linking one room to the next before, and often wondered about their purpose. They connected Cleric’s booth to a small chamber next door. The chamber had a small device like a metal lock, which was situated on a table in front of a chair. Johnmal never knew who sat in that chair, but he had a good idea. He tore the cables from the wall and started to run.

  He rushed up the second ramp and into the main section of the complex, pulling on the fraying sweater as he ran. He had his underwear and a pair of trousers under his arm.

  He fell through one of the doors, out of breath. Rosanna was in the room. Startled by the sudden and apparently causeless noise, she jumped and braced herself.

  ‘Rose,’ said a disembodied voice.

  ‘Johnmal?’ The floating sweater bounced up to her. Invisible hands grasped her own. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Rose, we’re in danger.’

  Confused, she stood and watched as the clothes seemed to pull themselves onto nothing. ‘If you don’t give me an explanation, Johnmal…’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe me. We’re in danger. Rose, we have to escape.’

  ‘Escape? From what?’

  ‘Cleric’s been deceiving us. He says his machine helps make me better, but it’s really wiping my mind—’

  ‘Oh, Johnmal…’

  ‘…He can’t be up to good if he needs to do this! I’m freeing the boy.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, exasperated.

  ‘Because I made a promise to someone.’

  ‘You made a promise to the boss,’ Rosanna objected, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around the hollow jumper. It didn’t feel hollow; it felt hard and solid, filled with Johnmal’s body. ‘And to me,’ she added.

  ‘That’s why you have to come with me.’

  ‘I can’t leave Mister Cleric.’

  ‘Rose, didn’t you hear me? He’s been erasing my memory to keep me here! Each time I decide I want to leave, that it’s time to save this boy, he knows somehow, and he puts me in that booth and he wipes my memories!’

  ‘Johnmal, that’s rubbish.’

  ‘If he can read minds like a book, why can’t he tear out a few pages?’

  ‘Rubbish, Johnmal!’ she cried, and she actually covered her ears. ‘I can’t believe you’re saying this, all this nonsense … The boss has done nothing but look after you; he raised you, he raised me…’

  ‘I have to go. You still have time if you want to come with me.’

  There were tears on her face; she shook her head no.

  She felt invisible lips kiss her neck and shoulder. ‘I love you.’

  And then he was gone.

  ~

  Running, glancing down at his hands – I can see something – down the stairs, down the ramp, then slowing and stopping for Cleric’s office. The boss wasn’t inside.

  Probably at the pen, he thought, walking slowly past, then going back into a sprint as he made for the prison cell that held his son.


  ‘Isaac,’ he hissed. No reply. ‘Isaac!’

  A whisper: ‘Father?’

  ‘I’m here,’ he said, putting his hands on the energy field, making it buzz. ‘Come here, quickly!’

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘It’s time. Hold on.’

  Johnmal opened the field, then reached in. Isaac jumped when he felt the invisible hand, at the edge of a hovering sleeve, take his. They ran together, past Cleric’s empty lab, back up the ramps – for the final time, Johnmal thought – and then down the horrible, scentless corridors.

  ‘Can’t you change back?’ Isaac said, breathless.

  ‘I’ll try…’ Slowly, a form began to appear within the clothing. ‘It takes longer each time. Next time, I don’t think I’ll be able to … Am I back? Am I visible?’

  ‘Yes.’

  They arrived at the lounge. It looked cold and desolate to Johnmal, who saw it with the eyes of someone departing.

  ‘Quickly.’ He pulled Isaac toward the door and wrenched it open.

  Rosanna stood before them. She hefted the scy-staff onto her shoulder.

  ‘Johnmal,’ she said.

  ~

  ‘Rose, you don’t have to do this.’

  ‘Johnmal,’ Rosanna said again, ‘don’t try to—’

  ‘You don’t have to stay here with him.’

  ‘I do have to.’

  ‘You can come with us,’ he said, glancing at a confused Isaac.

  Rosanna’s grip tightened on the handle of the weapon. She looked down, and her eyes closed softly. Her long ponytail swung down past her elbow.

  ‘Let Isaac go, Rosanna,’ he said. ‘Cleric doesn’t need him anymore. He was going to let him go or kill him anyway.’

  ‘The boss is going to kill everyone anyway!’ she scowled. ‘And only we’d be left. The strongest. The most fit. So why are you trying to save him?’

  ‘He’s…’ Johnmal faltered.

  She shrugged. ‘The boss isn’t concerned with him. He can leave, but seeing as I’ve stopped you…’

  ‘Go,’ Johnmal said quietly to the boy. ‘Head east. There’s a clearing in the forest, a hill, with a tower of rock. Light a fire. Your mother waits for you near there.’

  Isaac nodded, and stepped cautiously past Rosanna and through the doors. Johnmal heard them hiss closed.