Sweet Desire, Wicked Fate

by Wray Ardan

  Jaden stood fidgeting, struggling to gather her thoughts. Her chances of surviving the Mal Rous unscathed were slim. What choice did she have but to trust this pixie? Setting her stick down, she studied the branch that held Violet captive. If she set the Bellibone free, would she help Jaden in return? She reached over to remove the branch; if she was going to be murdered by anyone—anything—Violet seemed to be the better choice.

  “No, please don’t.” Violet raised her voice with some effort. “They’ll know it was you that helped me. They will harm you sooner than they have already planned.”

  Jaden feigned courage. “If they’re going to waste me anyway, I might as well save you from them.”

  “It is very kind of you. However, you are not obliged to me.”

  Obliged. Jaden had only heard people say that in old movies. “Yeah, well, it’s because of me the repulsive things are free.”

  “True,” Violet agreed. “Though it is because of the Professor that any of us even exists.”

  “I don’t know what to do, where to go for help. Everyone’s going to think I’m nuts. I think I’m nuts.”

  “My dear girl, I am sorry to say you are in your right mind. We are quite real.”

  Jaden held her stomach, which was churning as if she’d drunk a carton of curdled milk. She wanted to dash out the door and keep going until she reached Colorado. But she couldn’t leave her mom and sister here to deal with this mess she’d unleashed. “So, what can I do?”

  “I suspect that if you inform others about our existence, the Mal Rous would make certain that all involved would live to regret it.”

  “Oh, that’s comforting. It’s a real win-win for me.” Jaden spoke more loudly than she’d intended.

  “Yes, you have created quite a destiny for yourself.”

  “Nightmare! Nightmare is the appropriate word! I don’t get it. Why don’t you want to run away? I would if I could. What’s wrong with you?”

  Jaden felt her panic growing, giving birth to feelings of defeat. And her day had just begun. She didn’t want to take it out on the Bellibone, especially since Violet was probably her only hope of survival. Shifting from one foot to the other, she glanced down at her backpack. Trying to make up for her rudeness, she said, “You must be thirsty; do you want some water? I have a bottle.”

  “I would appreciate that.”

  Jaden placed a cap full of water in Violet’s hands, then stepped back and studied the Bellibone. Everything about her seemed so vulnerable. Pitiful. Reminding Jaden of herself.

  Violet drank deeply, then the empty bottle cap slipped from her hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Jaden asked, picking up the cap.

  “For everything.”

  Everything. The Bellibone sounded as if she felt guilty. “Can you help me?” Jaden could hear the hope in her own voice. “Please. Please.”

  “I can give you information about how the Professor created us. It may help you survive.”

  “Created you?” Jaden’s eyes widened. “On purpose?”

  “Yes, that is correct. May I ask why you and your mother and sister are renovating the large house? Have you purchased the plantation?”

  “How do you know about my mom and sister?” Jaden asked sharply.

  “I saw the three of you at the house. And you mentioned them to Datura.” Violet inhaled deeply, then said, “Jaden, you need not worry, I would not …” She gestured at her leg between the branches. “I could not hurt you or your family. I have never harmed anyone. The manor is my home. When the three of you arrived, I came out here. I had nowhere else to go. Of course, I had no idea of the danger I was placing myself in. But who can predict when or where lightning will strike? It seems that my life is in the hands of the fates. Why else would I end up trapped beneath the same tree that the Professor wanted to bury me under so long ago?” Violet flinched, her discomfort more apparent. “Again, I must ask, why are the three of you here?”

  “We inherited this place from my dad’s sister, Amelia.” Attempting to exude the persona of a fearless badass, Jaden put her hands on her hips, taking stock of the dump.

  The creases framing Violet’s eyes deepened.

  “Elvina was pregnant when they took Professor Thatcher away?” With a tone of regret, Violet added, “Well, I suppose it was to be expected.”

  “Thatcher,” Jaden squealed. “Thatcher was the professor’s name? Not Lisette?” She couldn’t hide her relief.

  “Of course, child. Professor Dekle Thatcher.”

  “So how did my grandparents know this professor?”

  “Jaden,” Violet spoke slowly, “Professor Thatcher was Elvina’s husband, which would make him your grandfather.”

  “No, no, no.” Jaden’s head bounced forward with each no. She found herself almost yelling. “My grandmother’s last name was Lisette. Even the deed to this land says Lisette. My dad’s last name, my last name is Lisette.”

  “Jaden, Elvina’s maiden name was Lisette. This is her family’s estate. I gather that when she left Louisiana, she chose to no longer use the last name of Thatcher.”

  Jaden looked frantically around the disheveled room. “You’re wrong. You have to be!” In Jaden’s mind, the photograph of her grandfather burned brightly. A part of her knew it was true. “There’s no way that I’m related to that, that Professor Thatcher.”

  Compassion filled the Bellibone’s eyes, making Jaden feel worse. Her skin crawled, and not because of the sores Ivan had inflicted on her. Was she really related to a mad scientist who created demented demons?

  And now they were her demented demons.

  “What am I going to do? No one’s going to believe me. No one’s going to help me.”

  “Perhaps you will find someone,” Violet said. “Many years ago, I never expected that Elvina’s friend, Dr. Whiting, would have helped her. But he did.”

  The weight of Jaden’s fears was compressing her chest. She sat on the floor, tugging at the front of her shirt as if it could relieve the discomfort.

  “Jaden … are you going to be all right?”

  “Oh yeah, sure, no problem. Maybe I can get beamed up to the mother ship with all the other wackos.” Sarcasm had always helped keep her sane while living with Ava. Right now it only made her feel worse. Her questions rattled in her mouth. She couldn’t stop the words from blasting out. “What are you, anyway? And the Mal Rous? You said the Professor made you. From what?”

  Violet held a hand over her heart, as if she were shielding herself from Jaden’s outburst, then said, “It is my understanding that your grandmother never spoke of your grandfather Dekle. Is this correct?”

  “I never even met my grandmother.” There was sadness in Jaden’s voice; not for family she’d never known, but for the mess they’d left behind. “I don’t know anything about her or my aunt. I only saw Amelia on the day of my dad’s funeral.”

  “Oh. I am so sorry for the loss of your father.”

  Jaden felt her throat constrict. It seemed that no matter how much time passed, grief over her father’s death would unexpectedly swell in her. Swallowing hard, she pushed it back down into the small hollowed-out place in her heart where it normally resided.

  “Yes, well … the loss of a loved one is never easy.” A moment later Violet continued, “As for the Professor, he was a very brilliant man. He created us from unique blends of DNA. At the time, he was the only one in his field to accomplish such a feat.”

  Jaden considered the fine line that lay between brilliance and insanity. “So you’re genetic experiments gone bad?”

  “I understand why you might think that. I was the Professor’s first successful attempt at cloning, though he had conducted other experiments in England, before he moved to Louisiana.”

  “My grandfather was British?” Jaden saw the influence in Violet’s demeanor and the proper way in which she spoke, with only a suggestion of southern inflection.

  Violet gave a nod, then averting her eyes, said, “There we
re other Mal Rous before these five. The Professor took them away.”

  “Took them away?”

  “Yes. They were a bit … cannibalistic.”

  Great. More Mal Rous. Probably buried nearby. And you? Are you a cannibal? Hateful and bloodthirsty like the others?

  Mean like Ava?

  Families, they’re all the same. Even genetic crossbreeds.

  “So, why aren’t you vicious?” she asked. Hopeful that Violet was a vegan.

  “I am from your grandmother Elvina’s DNA.” Shyly looking down, Violet continued, “Bellibone is a long forgotten word meaning ‘a female excelling in beauty as well as goodness.’ To the Professor I was akin to Elvina, which was wonderful in the beginning. Until he changed. As he grew to detest her, he felt the same toward me.” Violet shifted, flicking her elegant wings. “I also have damselfly DNA.” Gesturing at her untamed hair, she added, “Pampas grass. And violets, Elvina’s favorite flower. Each of us is named after the plant DNA we were created from: Anders for oleander, Ivan, for … well …” Violet gestured at the poison ivy sores under Jaden’s ointment. With a long, drawn-out sigh Violet added, “I will never forget when Elvina discovered us. She was terrified.”

  Jaden could hear sadness in Violet’s voice but couldn’t comfort her. She was trying to cope with her own new, perverse reality. “What about the others?” she blurted. “Please, tell me what I need to know.”

  “For them, your grandfather mixed his own DNA with myomorpha, poisonous plants, insects, and venomous snakes—whatever he found to be a tenacious survivor in the elements.”

  “Myomorpha?”

  “Rodents.”

  “So why did he call them Mal Rous?”

  Violet’s long pause made Jaden even more uncomfortable.

  “In Latin Mal means bad, evil. Cajun folklore tells of a beast that is said to prowl the swamps, a rougarou; part human, part animal. The first batch of Mal Rous’ genetic dispositions inspired the Professor to give them this nickname. He rather enjoyed the sound of it.” Violet shifted her gaze away from Jaden. “Their scientific name is Cerophagous Cautelosus.”

  “Do I even want to know what that means?”

  “No. Nonetheless, you should, so you will better comprehend the damage the Mal Rous are capable of—if they become as inhumane as their predecessors.” Violet spoke calmly. “Cerophagous is Latin for flesh-eating. Cautelosus, for treacherous and cunning.”

  Jaden slumped forward. There was a loud pounding in her ears. In the distance she heard Violet repeatedly saying her name, but Jaden couldn’t respond. She could barely breathe.

  CHAPTER 8

  The raw elements thriving in the tangled mass of undergrowth invigorated Datura and her family of Mal Rous. The damp earth enveloped their bodies like a moist mantle of belonging, enlivening their self-righteousness. They knew their innate cruelty came from the poisonous sources of DNA they were derived from. The poisons were not only harmful to their victims but to their own souls as well. This awareness empowered them. They equated kindness and soulfulness with weakness. The Mal Rous believed the part of their DNA that was human gave them a bit of compassion—at least, toward the Professor.

  Datura pushed past Ivan and led the way.

  Her saliva overflowed from the excitement of knowing that they were closer to finding their creator. Spittle rolled down her chin, splashing onto the ground. She knew the others missed the Professor as much as she did and would do anything necessary to get him back—destroy whatever or whoever got in their way.

  “Is ya sure we goin’ the right way?” Ivan interrupted Datura’s thoughts.

  Datura didn’t answer. She looked back at Ivan as his ears twitched and his eyeballs swiveled like marbles settling on Tig.

  Datura and Ivan watched as Tig snuffled the air. A snake spiraled up behind her. When it rose to the full height of her fifteen-inch body, Tig’s tendrils sprang from her head and hit the snake dead on, piercing its scales, sending it squirming and hissing to the ground.

  The Mal Rous feasted on their unexpected treat while it was still alive. It was only a mud snake, not poisonous, but still a delectable snack.

  With their stomachs full and their minds dulled, they continued their journey. The trek through the mud and dense growth was harder than Datura had expected. Judging from her siblings’ appearance, they were as tired as she was by the time they got to the open space at the back of the old estate.

  At least an acre of land stretched between them and the house. Ivan’s ears curved forward, taking in the sounds of the hammering and chattering.

  Datura sucked in a deep breath, hopeful to smell their dear Professor Dekle. Her tentacles hung limp on her head. “This ain’t good. My feelers should ‘a picked up the Professor’s scent from here. Somethin’ ain’t right. We should wait.”

  Esere got in her face. “We come all this way, we gonna see what’s up. He might be sick. Or maybe he’s in the cellar. We got to look in there. Maybe he needs our help.”

  Ivan stood at least three inches taller than Datura. Straightening up, he looked down his nose at her. “We is this close, we’re goin’ in. ‘Sides, if the Professor ain’t here, we’ll get to see who is.”

  “Fine. Ya think yer so smart.” Datura’s remark implied, if yer wrong I’m gonna punish ya. “But we has to split into two groups, so we don’t get caught.”

  “Ya gone soft.” Esere flicked one of Datura’s limp tentacles. “When has anyone ever tried to capture us?”

  “I ain’t soft! The Professor never released us in daylight. Them times we snuck out, he was mad as all get-out. He had his reasons. So we is gonna be careful, not stupid.”

  “She’s right.” Ivan grabbed Esere’s arm and yanked him away from Datura. “Us bein’ seen in the day would upset our Dekle. Datura an’ me will check the cellar.”

  Datura didn’t argue. She knew that if blood coursing through a tasty human triggered her mosquito instincts, Ivan had the strength to overpower her. The rats she’d fed on earlier would help buffer her appetite, but the sweet smell of human blood would still make her want to go after any unsuspecting prey.

  “Tig, Anders, Esere, y’all shimmy up that lattice beside the house,” Datura ordered. “Find the Professor’s bedroom. If his belongings is there, it means he’s alive. And sniff around for Elvina. With her perfume she’ll be easy to find. Just ‘cause that stinky Bellibone says she’s gone don’t mean it’s true.”

  * * *

  Esere nodded, pretending to agree. But he had no interest in snooping around the house. The cellar was his idea. He’d be the one going there. Before the others could stop him, he charged out from the cane field and quickly ran the distance to the garage. Hiding in the shrubs next to the building’s thin walls, he rooted among the plants, searching for the window they used to climb through after their nighttime jaunts to town. He stopped himself from letting out an excited squeal when he found it. He was certain his creator would be inside. After all, Dekle practically lived down there with the Mal Rous. Squeezing between the iron bars, Esere pushed on the filthy glass. The small painted window opened, welcoming him in.

  Esere felt elated as he climbed down the brick wall into the Professor’s laboratory. His hawk nose rose up, seeking the comforting odors of sulfur and chloroform. Instead the air smelled musty and organic. Esere’s eyes adjusted to the muted light as he climbed onto the long counter. His head moved like a mechanical toy, turning to look for the Professor’s simmering test tubes, cages of toads, jars of cockroaches.

  There was nothing.

  Leaping down, he hurried over to the corner. The pens they used to sleep in were missing. The room was devoid of everything that once was home. Only the large wooden crate where the Professor had kept snakes sat in its original place. But it was empty.

  Heat rushed through Esere’s body as he recalled the last time he had seen the Professor. It was mid-day when Dekle came down the stairs inhaling a slow, deep breath. His face was contorted and his tongue slid
out, lapping up the air, tasting Elvina’s perfume that lingered in the room. Shaking with anger, the Professor read aloud the words he’d so meticulously printed on the cover of his journal, “Book Four, 1959: DNA/Genetic Testing, by Professor Dekle Thatcher.” Then he left, cradling the journal in his arms.

  By the time Dekle returned, the sun had set. Tig was singing along to Rosemary Clooney’s voice as it crackled through the speaker of a small phonograph while the Mal Rous watched the Professor haul six large stoneware containers into the cellar.

  “You’ll be safe,” Dekle told them. “You can live for years in the solution I germinated you in. I’ll hide you where no one will find you. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

  At first Esere didn’t understand. Then he thought the Professor must have gone mad as he stuck each of them into a vessel. Esere couldn’t stop coughing as the dense liquid slowly flowed into his nose, his lungs, his ears, gradually muffling the Professor’s loud, confident words, “I promise, I will come back for you.”

  Esere was certain he was going to drown in the horrible stuff, but a few minutes later he fell into a deep state of hibernation—until he was freed three days ago.

  Now, looking around the cellar, he missed the Professor more than ever. The empty room made him feel hollow inside. Leaning against the wall, Esere slid down to the cold damp floor and wept. Crying had never been acceptable to his siblings. This was his only chance to grieve.

  His ears spiked up as the door at the top of the stairs opened. Through his tears, he saw the blurry image of a man. With a surge of excitement, Esere stood to greet his beloved creator. The light clicked on and a bulb overhead flickered, then popped. The man cursed as he came down the stairs. Esere’s feral instincts erupted. The voice and everything else was wrong: Professor Thatcher was tall and slender. This man was stocky, and looked as though he’d stuffed a basketball under his stained shirt. He wore shorts that accentuated his thick calves. Stomping down the steps, he skimmed the railing with one hand, while the other held a bucket filled with tools. He reminded Esere of those halfwits they used to terrorize in town.