PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  Now she's ready to walk out the door.

  I go numb in a detached kind of way. I don't know what I did. I don't know why she's leaving. So I just stand there.

  She glances over her shoulder at me. Tears stream down her face, and her expression is like she is being made to go. Like she wants to stay, but can't.

  I find I'm speaking, though I'm not really thinking. “It wasn't going to happen, was it?”

  She swallows hard, visibly. “What?”

  “I can't keep up with everything.” The words just come, the ones I've been stomping down. “I can't be here when you need me. I can't runaway to Italy. I can't even go to New Mexico for a weekend.”

  She stares at me, door still wide open revealing the night. If she steps out into it, she will never return.

  “I can't change anything, no matter how angry it makes me.” I lower my head. “If you stayed, you would have to give up everything. Your life, your band, your freedom.”

  “My what?” Her eyes narrow, but it's like she's trying to see inside my head because my words aren't making any sense.

  I wish she could to read my mind. It's the only way she'll ever know the entire truth.

  “I don't have a band.” She takes a step back indoors, but there's no reconciliation in it. “Why would you think I have a band?”

  I hesitate. “You told me. At the bar, when we met. You told me you were in a small band or something.”

  “No, I did not.” She halts. Then she laughs but it's bitter. “You think I'm . . . in a band? What on Earth gave you that idea? My clothes?”

  I'm back to just staring at her. My mind reels, trying to recall the exact moment, the exact verbiage, when she told me about her music.

  She never did. Nothing even close. What the hell is wrong with me?

  “You can't judge people by how they look, Dimitri. A band—are you serious?” She shakes her head. “My father is the second oldest of four brothers, and everyone holds at least one PhD. They all try to outdo the other. I just finished my bachelors in mythology, and I'm getting ready to start a dual masters in sociology. When I finish, I'm going for my doctorate.

  “This is all my family cares about. My grandmother can't stand the way her sons treat each other. She's disgusted by it, so she left for New Mexico. It wasn't far enough, Dim. That's how awful they are. Their own mother moved to Italy to get away from them. I wanted to go too . . . but I stayed.”

  She looks at the floor, lost in thought.

  I want to tell her that I'll take her to Italy. Or at least tell her why I can't. I would settle with anything at this point except what is happening.

  Syd is leaving.

  And I can't stop her.

  She finally looks up. She's not angry anymore, but the disappointment is undeniable.

  “You don't know anything about me.” A frown pulls at her face. “Nothing at all.”

  “I do now,” I say, lamely.

  It doesn't matter if I do know her. She will never know me. The only fair thing to do is let her leave. She'll cry, and then she'll rationalize that I'm a loser. Then she'll move on.

  At least one of us will. I'm not sure I can, or that I even want to.

  “It doesn't matter anymore.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper. “All I wanted was an apple.”

  I grit my teeth, my hair falling in my face, willing her to understand why I'm silent. If I can be trapped in a genie bond then it can't be too much to hope for one spark of telepathy before this situation shatters completely.

  Whether it's too much or not, the spark doesn't happen.

  She continues to stare at the floor. “Aphrodite had many suitors. People claim it's because she was beautiful, but I always thought there was more to her than that. Whatever the reason, she had a long history of being courted. Dionysus fell in love with her, and to prove it, he created the golden apple and gave it to her.”

  Syd uses her hand to wipe away a few tears lingering on her cheeks. “It wasn't about the apple, Dim. I just wanted to know that you thought of me outside of the bedroom. And you don't.”

  With that, she leaves. I continue to stand there long after the front door closes behind her.

  ***

  The urge to call Syd has me tapping my fingers over my phone. Maybe I should let her go, but I can't. I don't actually press any buttons though because calling her right now will just make her angry.

  If I don't push my luck, I might be able to work out something before she starts to hate me.

  I can't blame her. I would hate me, too. I never acted like anything more than the one-night stand who kept her on speed dial.

  I sit on my couch—it's not even my couch; it belongs to Karl, like every aspect of my life—staring at my phone. My leg bounces as I debate when I should call her and what I should say. Then I pull to my feet and pace the living room, back and forth, resentment and despair growing with each step.

  If I call her, I have to give her an explanation.

  If I don't call her, she will believe that I really don't care. That I only think of her when I want to go spelunking in her caves.

  I grind my teeth as I continue to stalk across the room. There was always so much more to her. If I was just after easy parking, I could get with Silvia Strange. Hell, if I was smart, I would have done so and gained an upper hand in the future arrangement.

  With a sigh, I collapse onto the couch again. I don't want Silvia. I don't want anyone else, just Syd. She gives me a little slice of another existence and makes me think it could be mine someday too.

  She really is my rockstar.

  Or was.

  I don't text her, because I don't know what to say to bring her back.

  Chapter 9

  I dress and sit on the couch. I'm not really awake, but I'm not asleep either. Somewhere in the zone, I think: This is it. This is the rest of my life. I will sit here until I am called to action.

  Maybe killing and kidnapping won't be so bad now. I don't care anymore.

  When my vision tunnels, I'm not surprised. Not even worried.

  I open my eyes to Karl. His smirk does nothing to me. No more fear, and no more hatred. Apathy might be the answer. Maybe that's how all the other genies did it. Maybe Syd's purpose in my life was to numb me so I could survive the next twenty years. Everything makes sense now, in a screwed up kind of way.

  Karl says, “I need you to kill this man, Dimitri.”

  The guard hands me a manila envelope. My life is packaged in these. Delivered one piece at a time. At least I don't have any worries. I don't have to get a degree, or pay bills, or deal with volatile family. All I have to do is follow orders.

  The words come next: “This . . . I . . . wish.”

  The hum is sort of comforting. Maybe if I let it grow loud enough, it will drown out any thought I ever had about Syd. Then I will be able to focus on the wish. I can't keep the monster locked out anymore, so I'll let it in.

  Why not? Syd had said it herself: the jinn aren't even human.

  I have been relieved of my moral compass.

  As I exit the summoning chamber, I slip the papers from the envelope to meet my latest lucky contestant. His name is Mark. He has his Masters in Biological Anthropology. He lives local, but just returned from staying abroad for a year.

  I study his picture. He's not much older than me. Clean cut. Beaming smile. Bet it's hiding a lot of terrible deeds. Those kind of smiles always do.

  It won't be for long though. Welcome back to the wild, wild west, asshole.

  ***

  I sit in the Civic in the mansion carport and sort through the case file more thoroughly. Mark lives in Tempe, which one of those cities that pretends not to be part of Phoenix, but no one really cares. It's all one big sprawl of buildings and people.

  I punch his address into my phone GPS.

  Someone taps on the driver window. I jump and look up.

  Silvia is staring at me, her eyes lifeless enough she might be a possessed doll.

&nbs
p; I roll down the window. Before I can get a word out, she bursts into tears. Then she hurries around the front of the car and drops into the passenger seat. Her hair is frazzled, and black makeup streams from her eyes.

  Yeah, this is exactly what I want to deal with right now.

  “I'm not going back in there,” she says around her sobs.

  “Well, you're not staying at my place.”

  She glares at me. “My father owns that house.”

  “Gee, thanks for the reminder, Silv.” I back the car onto the road. “What's got your hormones in a twist this time?”

  Her tone is bitter: “My father has been sleeping around.”

  Somehow, that doesn't faze me.

  “Got tired of the Venus Flytrap, eh?”

  Her head snaps up so fast I think she might actually strike. If she were in her natural form, she would be rattling her tail.

  “These things happen.” I try to sound like I give a shit. “They'll probably go to counseling and fall back in love with each other's deplorable personalities. Or, your mom could get a boob job. That'll work too.”

  Silvia replies, indignant, “He wants a son.”

  “Ouch,” I say, without any emphasis.

  “And you know what that means.” She lights a cigarette.

  I shrug. “Maybe he just wants a son so they can go to Little League.”

  “I wouldn't be laughing.” She puffs out smoke. “He could turn out more demanding than my father.”

  “Maybe it'll be another girl, and then you won't have to worry.” I stare at the desert stretching before us, my mind a hazy mixture of nothingness.

  Silvia scoffs. “He'll just keep trying.”

  “That Doctor Glenn must've hooked him up. Maybe his heart will give out.” I grin at the thought. “They do always warn about it on the commercials.”

  A little smile plays on her lips before she scowls and takes another puff. “Can't fertility doctors make sure it's a boy these days?”

  I shrug. “Probably, but once Mistress Darkness—I mean, your mother—finds out, she'll castrate him. Problem solved.”

  “She's already aware.” Silvia tosses her cigarette out the window. “She told me herself. He doesn't know she's onto him.”

  “And the wholesome Walker family comes to an end.” I mentally wander through the different possible scenarios.

  If Eileena takes half of the Walker wealth and runs, Karl is going to work me overtime to recuperate his loss. If Karl does produce a son, the kid might not delight in drowning kittens, but he will still be a Walker—and he will still own me.

  Basically, I fold.

  “My mother leaving or not has no impact on where the inheritance goes, anyway,” Sylvia says, interrupting my thoughts. “It's all about blood. If he does have a son, I hope it gets eaten by a bear.”

  “All right, Queen Bavmorda, take a deep breath. You can stay the night at my place if you promise to keep your clothes on and not steal any of the neighbors' pets.” I glance at her. “Got it?”

  She lights another cigarette and flutters her eyes. “Whatever, Dim.”

  “No, not 'whatever'. I have to get rollin' as soon as we're in Phoenix. I'll take you back to the mansion after I'm done.”

  “What is there to do around your place?”

  “What do you mean? You're wanting to go out?” I frown, because Silvia running amok on her own does not sound like a good idea.

  “No, Dim, I'm going to watch Wheel of Fortune while you're away.”

  I sigh. “Just go get something from McDonald's and chill for a bit. This wish shouldn't take too long. Maybe you'll be calmed down by the time I get back. Maybe you'll be ready to talk to your father by then.”

  She takes a puff. “Maybe he'll be dead by then.”

  ***

  I swing through Tempe to case Mark's house. Tonight, I plan to break in and shoot him in his sleep. Simple. The neighbors are best not to investigate noises until morning. I'm not in the mood to give anyone a head start.

  When I reach Mark's place, my enthusiasm sinks. He lives in a condo, on the fourth floor. It's upscale, with rounded balconies and glass walls.

  I head for home. Silvia sits quietly in the passenger seat, chain-smoking half a cigarette after another.

  While she's scheming how to Cain her Abel, I try to figure out how to get into that condo. The windows are likely damn near shatterproof, and bashing them in would be too loud anyway.

  So I'm left with outwitting Mark. I don't want to put a significant amount of thought into this—I just want the guy dead before the hum evolves—but I can't risk showing up on camera again. I've gotten lazy over the years. All I worry about anymore is getting rid of the hum. Fear, worry, and guilt all come in second.

  My first kill wasn't like that, though.

  I had been under Karl's command for a year, fulfilling petty requests. He summoned me one afternoon, and I expected to have to lift from a store again. Instead, the envelope had contained the profile of a man he wanted dead.

  The man had been the owner of commercial real estate. Karl had wanted several of the man's properties, but the man wouldn't sell. Since the properties were still under mortgage, Karl decided to put an end to his existence and then pick up the buildings at auction.

  He isn't one for noble causes.

  But something had glimmered on Karl's face when he made his wish. A look I have tried to forget, but without much luck.

  As soon as he had spoken, I knew all the prior requests—the ones that I had decided I could live with—had been tests. Nothing more. He had been building his confidence in me before ordering the crux of the operation: kidnappings and murders.

  I didn't want to kill the man. In fact, I told Karl straight up I wouldn't.

  Karl shrugged. I thought I got away easy.

  I was wrong.

  I tried to deny the truth, that the hum was growing because I wasn't obeying. It made me angry, realizing that I had to do what I was ordered. And I was scared that the situation was completely out of my control.

  Somewhere near the twenty-fourth hour, nearly blinded by a migraine unlike any other, I caved.

  I found the man.

  And I killed him.

  His body crumpled to the floor, and the pain vanished.

  I told myself I would resist next time, but the only thing that changed was how much easier it became with each wish. Death was just an arrangement between me and my victim, one they didn't know about and had no say in.

  I didn't have a say either.

  So I hunted and killed. I became secure in my false identities, assured that if I was tracked down for a crime, Karl would just move me. Not like I need to live nearby. All he has to do is summon me, and I will come crawling out of my spider hole.

  But now I have to be careful.

  Something has changed. He isn't telling me the truth, but I have no reason to try to stop him anymore.

  So I'll figure out a way to take down Mark. I could lure him out somewhere, but that is time consuming and requires energy I just don't have. I need to get inside his condo. That's the only reasonable solution. And I know only one way that isn't going to get the cops called before I finish the job, won't land me on camera, and won't take months of bro-bonding.

  I know exactly how I'm going to kill Mark.

  It's going to be just like my first time.

  ***

  Back at my house, Silvia amuses herself on my computer. Not like I have to worry about Syd showing up anymore.

  I roam between the bedroom, the closet, and the living room, but I'm not really doing anything.

  By the time the sun sets, I'm already feeling worn out. Since I won't be able to sleep, I put coffee to brew before heading into the shower. The hot water does nothing for my state of mind. Doesn't invigorate me, and doesn't relax me. I'm not sure anything can right now.

  When I step out of the bathroom, I find Silvia asleep in my bed. Under the covers.

  As much as I would like to shove
her to the floor, I would rather not wake the beast.

  Instead, I check my guns, load up my jacket, and leave the house. I blast the car radio, but more from habit than anything else.

  Maybe after the hum is gone, I'll take a benzo and sleep for a day. Otherwise, I will just sit around contemplating what to say to Syd and eventually acting on it.

  She doesn't want to hear from me.

  I refocus my thoughts on the kill. I will ring the doorbell. He will answer the door. I will shove it open and pop a bullet into his brain. He will die.

  He only has two parts. I'm confident he will see them through to the end. Literally.

  I park my car outside of the condo building and take the stairs even though the elevators are closer. I like charging up the steps, like I'm building momentum. The climactic scene in a movie.

  I'm not even winded when I reach the fourth floor, and I follow around the balcony to his unit. I knock with my left hand, my right grasping the gun in my pocket.

  He opens the door.

  My gaze lands on the child at his side. My right hand stills on the hidden gun. The girl is maybe four, with red hair and freckles. She's eating a blue Popsicle.

  Mark's voice interrupts my shock. “Can I help you?”

  My gaze snaps back to him. He's wearing a polo shirt and cargo shorts—in pastel. The dude has sunglasses resting on top of his head, even though it's almost ten at night and he is indoors.

  First time I've ever been sent to whack a frat boy.

  “Oh, um, yeah,” I say, my brain clamoring for an actual reply. “I'm new to the area. I was wondering if you knew what there was to do around here?”

  Mark shrugs. “Well, it's a university town, so there's plenty. What do you like to do?”

  I stare at him, lamely.

  I can't even give an honest answer to that one. Not have a hum in my head? Not have the Walker family argue over their ownership of me? Not have the most amazing woman I've ever met mad at me for forgetting to buy an apple?

  “Drink,” I say. “I like to drink.”

  A goofy grin forms on Mark's face. “Listen, I just got back in town, and my buddies and I are going out tomorrow for a few beers. Why don't you swing by?”