by Stuart Jaffe
But they failed.
“You used me,” Nathan said. “You couldn’t find her yourselves, and you couldn’t use common means without risking exposure.”
“That is so.”
“It was no accident that I saw Crystal’s image on Clockwork’s computer. You wanted me to go after her. You practically guaranteed it by shutting me out. After all, you’ve been at this game for centuries. You know how to read and manipulate people. So, you played me. Even gave me the false belief that you were after me. Then all you had to do was follow the tracking device inside of me.”
Mr. Larkin chuckled. “You really see me as some movie villain, don’t you? If that was the kind of convoluted planning I used, I’d have died ages ago. No, we truly hoped you’d join us. When you ran, I wanted to send people after you. Clockwork, however, suggested we wait to see what you do. As always, our patience prevailed.”
“But what if I hadn’t come here? What if I had gone back to Jennie?”
“I expected you would go see her. I thought we might get some useful information to add to our data on handling newcomers. Meanwhile, we would have resumed our slow search for Crystal. But you did come here, and you did admirably well in bringing us here, too. Unfortunately, you won’t be allowed to go on. You’ve become a liability, and I have the luxury of being able to dispose of liabilities with ease.” He stepped around the chair and placed his knife against Nathan’s throat.
“You may not think you’re a movie villain, but you’ve got the evil madman speech down pat.”
To Maggie, Mr. Larkin said, “Would you like to live forever?” He slit Nathan’s throat, and Nathan decided in that instant that Larkin no longer deserved the respect of being called Mister — a small detail, of course, but his heart swelled as though it were a great triumph. Or perhaps it swelled because his blood poured out of his neck. Maggie screamed. His head slumped forward, and though she could not see it, Nathan knew his second soul had left his body as a mist through his eyes.
Healing a knife wound turned out to be far less painful than bullets or broken bones. It burned a little, and then sealed up. The blood in his body refilled so fast his head swooned. When he looked at Maggie, her eyes were stuck wide open.
“How did you do that?” she said. “What’s the trick?”
Larkin chuckled. “No trick at all. You see, young lady, both of us gentlemen are immortal as long as we have two souls. Now, I just removed one of Nathan’s precious souls. So, if I kill him again, he will die for good. Or, and this is the part you really need to think about, I can replace him with you. You can live in his body, you can learn to have two souls, and you will live forever.”
Nathan saw the struggle on her face. She did not consider the offer; rather, she struggled to believe what her eyes reported.
Larkin appeared to see the same thing. His shoulders dropped, and he turned his back on her. “No matter. I know how to keep you close to death for a long time. Long enough to get you back to my island and replace you with someone more suitable and deserving of that body.”
Nathan strained against the handcuffs, but he could not break them. His eyes darted around for any usable weapon. His mind raced through all of his training, seeking out any piece of information that would save him. But he found nothing.
Larkin stepped closer, moving the knife slowly. Nathan could see in the man’s eyes that he did not intend to terrorize. He simply did not want to rush and accidentally kill Nathan prematurely. The fact that his motions and his psychotic expression did terrify was an added benefit.
But any joy Nathan saw in that old man’s face disappeared as Maggie rose behind him. Her face locked into a determined scowl. She bellowed a husky war cry and winged her chair across the back of Larkin’s head. He dropped heavily. Sawdust puffed into the air. Stepping over Larkin, Maggie rushed to Nathan. She had a small safety pin in her hands and went to work on the handcuffs.
“How did you do that?” he asked.
“A girl’s got to know these things. Handcuffs, ropes, anything like that. My dad taught me.”
“Your dad?”
“When you were a teen trying to figure out how to unclasp a bra while making out, I learned how to save my ass from horny fools.”
“I’m tempted to comment on your father’s parenting style, but since the ass you’re saving right now is mine, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
She grinned and popped open his handcuffs. From the floor, Larkin groaned. Maggie glanced down. “Let’s go.”
“No,” Nathan said. “You need to get out of here without me. Don’t argue. This man here is going to keep coming for me. When it comes to you, he was nice this time — he let you live. But if we run off and he catches us, he won’t hesitate to kill you. Especially if it works to cause me pain.”
“So, you’re going to sit here and have him cut your neck open again? This time, he might not miss, you know. You might actually die instead of bleeding a lot.”
Nathan didn’t bother answering. Her mind had decided what it could accept and fashioned a memory to suit. Instead, he picked up a hammer. It’s weight felt good in his hand. “He’s one old man. I think I can handle him. Now, go.”
“But —”
“Go!”
She backed up, stepped forward, and backed up again. Finally, she threw the handcuffs across the room before storming out. Larkin’s heavy breathing lessened as he got back to his feet. “You lied to her,” he said. “I would never kill an innocent person.”
“And who makes that decision?”
“You think I would abuse that power? You are wrong.” Larkin walked over to the chair Maggie had used against him and set it right. “I do understand why you think that way. You are ridiculously young by our immortal standards. You have so little life experience to draw upon. Everything for you is now or never. But when you’ve lived through a century or two, your perspective will shift. You will see that killing people, that violence as a solution, is never a good long-term strategy. And for us, there is no point to any other strategy except long-term.”
“Shut up and sit down. You can find out how uncomfortable those cuffs are.”
Larkin turned his head slightly as if hearing a song in the distance — one he knew but could not quite place. “I don’t think I will.” He placed one foot forward and rested his weight on the back foot. A classic martial arts fighting stance. “I can’t allow you to leave here, so let’s see what kind of job Octavia did in training you.”
Nathan rushed forward, the hammer leading the way. But Larkin side-stepped, took hold of the hammer, and kneed Nathan in the gut all in one smooth motion. “Tut-tut, now. None of that sloppiness. You should certainly know better than that.”
With his stomach refusing to unclench, Nathan straightened painfully. Larkin simply observed Nathan’s rise like a cat toying with a caught rodent. Nathan settled into a horseback stance — slight bend at the knees and equal distribution of weight as if sitting in the saddle. Larkin smirked and returned to his basic stance.
Neither moved. They stared into each other, seeking out any sign of weakness in defense. Accomplished martial artists often twitched and feigned movement in an attempt to force the other into an attack, but even that was too much for these fighters. Nathan knew Larkin had been studying the art of fighting for lifetimes. He couldn’t simply bluff his way into winning, and any motion, no matter how small, might ruin him.
“Good,” Larkin said. “Now there is the beginning of an excellent fighter. I could teach you a lot, if you’ll give me the chance. Forget about all of this quest for justice or freedom or whatever cloak you’re wearing over these bad decisions. Return with me and Octavia. Let us fully train you.”
“Then what? In ten or twenty years, you’ll let me go?”
“I should hope by then you will have come around in your thinking.”
Nathan shook his head in response — the mistake Larkin sought. Moving faster than any old man ought to move, Larkin flashed in close and stru
ck four times, starting at the chest and finishing in the gut. He jumped back and reset his stance as Nathan dropped to the floor spewing saliva and gasping for air.
Nathan rolled onto his back, coughing in the sawdust. He rolled again onto all fours, each turn of his body bringing him closer to Larkin. Despite the pain, he lunged forward. At the last instant, he pushed up with his planted foot and turned his fist toward Larkin’s chin. The maneuver was awkward and desperate, and Larkin had no trouble evading the initial attack and slapping away the second.
He stepped forward, positioning behind Nathan. With a swift chop, he struck the back of Nathan’s head. Stars dazzled Nathan’s eyes as he found himself, once again, kissing the floor.
Forcing out a chuckle, Nathan pushed his body back up. “You move fast for an old fart.”
“You could move faster, if you complete your training.”
“Do you still think you can change my mind?”
“If I didn’t believe that, I would have killed you already.”
Maggie returned, her face flushed with excitement. “The truck is still here. There’s two guards, but —”
Larkin glanced at her. It was only a flicker of a look, but Nathan knew when he had the advantage. He launched forward, his arms wide, and tackled his opponent. He felt Larkin pound upon his back but kept running ahead. He thought he might toss Larkin off the building when he heard a grunt and all the momentum stopped.
His shoulder stung from the sudden shift. He looked up — Larkin had been impaled on three long pieces of rebar sticking out of an unfinished support. In the limited light, Nathan had not seen the obstacle, and it hit him that had he been a step to the right, he would have impaled himself and Larkin would have been fine.
Maggie hurried over and helped Nathan up. She gazed at the bleeding, shocked face of Larkin, and she spit on him. To Nathan, she said, “Come on. It’s over.”
He put his arm on her shoulder, more for support than comfort. “Not yet. Stay focused.”
She yelped when Larkin brought his hands up to the rebar and began pulling himself free. Nathan turned her away, but she stared over her shoulder. “H-How?” she managed, but he pushed her harder toward the elevator.
As they made their way to the ground, Nathan had to fight the urge to tramp back up and kill Larkin for good. It would be easy with the man skewered, but doing so would start a war — one in which Nathan barely knew all the players. Most importantly, they would never stop coming after him. At least, with Larkin alive, Nathan would gain some breathing room to figure out his way forward. Provided, of course, that he survived the night.
He stopped at the opening which would one day have a huge glass doorway. On either side, he saw the shadows of two guards formed from the arc lights surrounding the work site. As promised, a hardtop pickup truck had been parked only twenty feet away.
Maggie appeared to have regained her composure. Her mind had been working overtime rationalizing the evening, and Nathan hoped she could hold out a bit longer. He motioned for her to wait, took several deep breaths to center his focus, and then leaped forward.
Though both guards were tough, neither appeared to be too interested in fighting nor did they have much skill. Nathan spun to the right and knocked out the first guard with three blows to the head, grabbing the man’s assault rifle as he hit the ground. The other guard laid his rifle at his feet before backing away. Nathan motioned with his chin, and the guard ran off.
“All clear,” Nathan said.
Maggie sprinted for the truck. Nathan leaned over the unconscious guard. He needed a second soul, and it would be easy enough to kill the guard right away. Except Nathan didn’t know for sure if the guard was just a guard or if, perhaps, he was an immortal as well. He also didn’t know if the guard deserved such a fate. Other than working for Larkin, there was nothing to suggest if this man was bad or good. Besides, Maggie was watching.
He heard the truck come to life. He knew somewhere several floors up, Larkin had removed himself from the rebar. He would be calling in for help, for a second soul, and for somebody to go kill Nathan.
Maggie pulled up beside him. “I don’t think that guy’s getting up anytime soon.”
Though Nathan’s thoughts had been of mercy, his hands had gone in a different direction. He removed them from the guard’s throat and looked at his chest. Still breathing.
Nathan jumped into the truck. “Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Nineteen
Neither of them spoke. Only the steady rumble of the truck’s engine made a sound. Maggie directed Nathan back to town by pointing at turns and exits.
About ten minutes out, Nathan pulled into a WaWa gas station/convenience store. He had heard about this chain — supposedly had some of the best coffee around — but really any gas station would do. He had a few things to accomplish before going any further.
“You okay?” he asked Maggie, his voice sounding deeper and louder after the long silence.
Her lips trembled. “I will be. Hasn’t hit me, yet. Or maybe it has and I can’t see it. I don’t know.”
“I’ll be right back. You want anything?”
“Just to get home.”
“Soon. I promise.”
As he walked into the store, dawn reflected in the glass entrance. He cruised the aisles, grabbed a disposable razor, a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a roll of paper towels. As he passed by the coffee machine, the rich aroma enticed him to stop. He reminded himself that he didn’t like coffee and that it always smelled better than it tasted. But he poured a large cup, secured a plastic top, and brought everything to the counter.
A long-haired, pimpled kid rang up the purchase. He looked bored — not only with his job but with his life. His age pegged him to be either a college dropout or a languishing high school graduate. The heavy odor of incense permeated the kid. He made no comment on the items Nathan placed on the counter — he barely even glanced at Nathan. He simply did his job and moved on.
Nathan wasn’t sure what moving on actually entailed or if he could ever take life so simply. For the moment, though, he had one important step which he wanted to take care of immediately.
“You got a bathroom here?”
The kid pointed to the back corner.
“Thanks.” Nathan gathered up his newly purchased things and went to the door in the back marked Restroom.
It was a room large enough for a sink, a toilet, and a trashcan. Space had been allotted for a urinal but nothing was there. Looked like somebody had ripped it out and did a sloppy job of tiling over the area.
Nathan placed his items on the floor by the sink and looked in the mirror. It still felt strange to see a face that had not been his originally, yet not so strange that it stopped him like it had back when he first looked at himself. Now, it was merely a passing thought.
Pressing with his fingers, he rubbed his forehead, his eyes and temples, his cheeks, and then his jaw and lips, back behind the ears and all around the neck. Nothing felt out of the ordinary. He started in on the shoulders, moved down each arm, the elbows, the wrists, hands and fingers. Still nothing. He reached behind and felt around his back, trying to see as much in the cracked mirror as he could.
With his arms raised high, he rotated to inspect his torso. That’s when he noticed the slight bump in his left armpit. Hair covered it well. In fact, he would never have noticed the bump if he hadn’t been looking closely — it was no bigger than the tip of a nipple. Just a small piece of skin, really. But hard and square.
He opened the package of razors, took one out, and stomped it into the floor. Sifting through the plastic shards, he found the blade. It took four tries to get a good hold — these weren’t the full-sized razor blades that could easily be handled, but they were sharp, and that’s all Nathan needed.
Pinching the blade between his finger and thumb, he cut the skin under the hard square nub in his armpit. His sweat stung in the small wound. He then took another disposable razor and used the
plastic handle to shove the square from above, pushing it out the slit skin. Each time he saw the square appear — a bloody sliver of metal — he tried to pull it out, but it kept slipping back in. Finally, he used the razor blade to get underneath the square, lift it slightly, and then pluck it out.
He held the tracking device in the light and wondered how many decades it had been inside this body. Not anymore. He flushed it down the toilet.
With the paper towel and rubbing alcohol, he cleaned his wound. When the wet towel touched his skin, he winced — it stung worse than the initial cut. More than his bruised ribs, more than his aching knuckles, more than raw wrists, feeling the burn of alcohol against this cut reminded him that he had become mortal once again. He needed a second soul.
Unfortunately, options were limited for the moment. Unable to afford a private army that could procure the dying or the criminal and unable to afford a private island to house them until needed, Nathan found himself stuck. The only two souls nearby were Maggie and the kid behind the counter. Maggie trusted him, and the kid, in particular, would be an easy target, but he shook off the idea. Neither person was a viable option. Not only because they were both young and powerful, strong enough to kick him out of his body, but because they were both innocent. Not in the purest sense of the word, of course, but they weren’t hurting people, they weren’t destroying things, they weren’t a stain on society. Maybe Larkin, Octavia, and the whole lot of them could kill indiscriminately, but Nathan didn’t want to do so unless he had no choice.
He locked eyes with his mirror image and scowled. He should have rejected the idea of Maggie and that kid instantly. Instead, he reasoned out why he shouldn’t kill them. This kind of debate could not become normal for him. If he allowed such thoughts as acceptable, he would become Larkin in a century. Callous, cruel, and cold.
Nathan remembered the Darkness and felt its chill closing around him. Maggie didn’t deserve that. The kid behind the counter probably didn’t deserve that, either. Then again, maybe the kid was the bad sort. If Nathan took that soul, he wouldn’t risk dying, wouldn’t have to worry about facing the Darkness. No. He couldn’t do that. If he did, a different darkness would form around him — one that would plague him every day. And if he was wrong, well, Nathan would rather live eternity knowing he let a bad person get away from him than suffering the guilt of executing a good one.
