by Sean Platt
He’d never seen anyone run onto a televangelists’ stage and expose their hypocrisy. But that’s what Jesus would’ve done. He wouldn’t be selling overpriced tchotchkes with his name on them.
If Jesus were real, and on Earth today, Boricio was goddamned sure his own believers would nail him to a cross and claim their Lord and Savior was a commie hippie with a vendetta against commerce. And ain’t no way on Earth Big Religion would allow any deity to come before the Almighty Dollar.
Sorry, Hey-Zeus, but we get fuckers doing the shit you would do, and we’re plum out of business.
And what would Jesus do if held prisoner after ending a nest of hillbilly knuckle draggers?
There was no FUCKING way Boricio was about to let anyone nail him to a cross, strap him to a chair, or set him toe-to-toe with whatever death penalty they handed out in this godforsaken putrid taint of a state.
What would Hey-Zeus Do? No, fuck that, What Would Boricio Do?
Except, for the first time in memory, Boricio didn’t know what to do, or what he could do. No cavalry was coming to save him. He had no family or people to count on.
Mary and Paola were the closest things he had to friends, but Boricio hadn’t heard from them since shit hit the fan at the motel. He’d tried calling Mary and Paola, but their phones only rang. He’d searched the motel, and had even driven to Colorado, but found only nothing.
Boricio assumed that The Darkness got them too. He hoped it killed them quickly rather than claiming their bodies and corrupting their memories.
He tried not to think about them, or Rose. He tried not to tumble down the same abyss of gnarled thoughts that had kept him in search of every next bottle’s bottom. Now that Boricio had actual feelings for people, he realized that giving a fuck was one hell of a curse. It was a bowling ball to the baby maker when people you let into your life were suddenly taken away.
Boricio laughed again, staring up into his cell’s utter darkness.
God was a cruel fucker if he wasn’t a fairy tale, to make people care so much about those he’d pluck from the planet one by one.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to be.
Boricio did what he wanted, when he wanted. He killed fuckers in need of a killing and stuffed his stainmaker wherever he wanted — goddamn any asshole who stood in his way.
But as Boricio sat in the darkness, he wondered if this was his perfect justice.
He was being made to pay for all the lives he’d destroyed. Not just his victims, but their families. Had Boricio been caught before now, before he’d been “fixed,” it wouldn’t have mattered. He would’ve thrived in jail until they put him down.
It would’ve sucked, but Boricio wouldn’t have really felt much of anything at all. He certainly wouldn’t be thinking about his friends and the only woman he ever loved being taken from him. Sociopaths can’t care. A fixed Boricio could. Worse, he could regret.
And nothing hurt worse than regret.
This was a perfect, almost cosmically planned justice. Make him care, then lock him up tight.
“Fuck you, God,” he growled into the void.
Boricio woke to the sound of an opening door.
Light flooded his cell, and a blurred shape formed before him.
Is it Guard Tard, or has someone else finally realized I’m in here?
It was someone else.
It was the black guard, the one who’d reamed Guard Tard.
Boricio was so happy he wanted to cry.
He tried to remember the man’s name, but couldn’t. He saw the brass pin on the man’s front left pocket.
BOYLE
“Well, hello, Boricio.”
How the hell does he know my name?
Boricio’s mind reeled as he tried to imagine the circumstances that led to his name’s revelation. He hadn’t used his real name in forever. Only Rose, Mary, and Paola knew him as Boricio. Anyone else would only know one of his many pseudonyms.
If they know everything, then this is the last yellow brick in the road.
Boyle spoke again.
“I bet you’d like to get out of here, eh? Looks like they’re treating you like shit.”
The man’s eyes went down to the piss and crap carpeting the ground. Boricio wanted to stand and smack the fucker.
How dare you judge me, you cunt!
Boricio said nothing, waiting to discover why the man had come to see him.
“I can get you out of here.” He leaned closer, his brown eyes meeting Boricio’s.
There was something oddly familiar about his eyes, though Boricio’s hammering head wasn’t about to tell him what in the hell it might be.
The man spoke again, but this time in a voice that belonged to a woman: Rose.
“I can get you out of here, love.”
A sledgehammer slammed into Boricio. His heart started beating hard enough to burst from his chest.
“What the fuck?”
“I’m projecting into this shell. I don’t have long before he starts to resist and I lose my connection.”
Projecting? Into a shell? Fucking alien talk!
“You’re not Rose.”
“She’s still here, Boricio. With us. And you can be with us, be with her again. You can be free.”
Boricio laughed. “Free? Have Alf controlling my brain? I’d rather rot in here.”
“Suit yourself,” Rose’s voice said as the guard stood and turned around.
“Wait!” Boricio said, surprising himself.
The guard turned back to Boricio. “Yes?”
“What are you doing with her?”
“We’re doing something fantastic, Boricio. Something I think you’d approve of.” The voice fell to a whisper. “We’re evolving humanity.”
“Yeah, I saw your ‘evolution’ on the other planet.”
“This is not like that. The Darkness was selfish and messy. In trying to claim the world, we destroyed humanity. Everything devolved into chaos. This time, we’re doing things the right way. We will become one with humans, rather than destroying them. We will evolve both species into something better than the sum of our parts. Admit it, Boricio, you’ve felt like a better person since Luca fixed you, right?”
“For all the good that’s done. Look where I am now.”
“A minor inconvenience if you allow us to help you now.”
“I don’t want no fucking aliens in my head!”
“You act like we’re not in there already.”
Boricio stared at the guard or whatever it was, hating it for using his Rose’s voice. “The fuck you talkin ‘bout, Willis?”
“Luca was the first to be ‘infected’ by our species, as you all seem to see it. Yet he’s not some monster, is he? He saved you. And a part of him is still inside you. A part of us.”
“Bullshit! And besides, the Boy Wonder is dead now.”
“Not the other version of him. He’s with us, helping to make this dream a reality. We’re not your enemy, Boricio. These, these people in this prison that are treating you like a dog, and all the old thinking humans, they are your enemies. We can make this all go away. You can join us and be truly free for the first time in your life.”
Tears welled in Boricio’s eyes as he imagined a reunion with Rose. Hearing her voice, even if bastardized from some guard pig’s mouth, felt like an invitation to go back in time and spend a few months back when everything was perfect.
God, he wanted to be with her again.
But as Boricio stared at the guard, he couldn’t shake the reality. Rose wasn’t Rose. By any other name she was an alien’s marionette.
He remembered staring into her eyes after The Darkness took over. How she had begged him to run.
Boricio couldn’t forget the look.
That Rose wouldn’t want him to say yes to the guard.
That Rose would tell him to keep running.
“Well?” the guard said. “Do you want to be free?”
“Fuck you, Alf!” Tears streamed down Bo
ricio’s face. How dare they use Rose to try and lure him?
“Sorry, you feel that way, love,” Rose’s voice said.
The guard stood, turned around, and left Boricio alone.
Again.
Boricio wailed into the darkness.
Twenty-Eight
Mary Olson
As morning sun creeped through the blinds, Mary rolled over in bed to avoid the light, and bumped into Desmond.
She opened her eyes to find him watching her.
“Stop.” Mary covered her mouth, not wanting to blast him with morning breath.
“Stop what?” Desmond smiled in the morning’s dim light.
“Stop watching me sleep. It’s weird.”
“Hey, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Every new morning beside you is a miracle.”
“Oh, please. Do you want to write my greeting cards now?”
“I’m serious.”
Mary blushed.
While her ex, Ryan, hadn’t been a jerk, she wasn’t used to such a saccharine-sweet guy who said the sorts of things no real guy ever said. Ryan had been a gentleman, sure. He held doors open, bought gifts — when he remembered — and was always respectful. But he was never the kind of guy who flowered Mary with compliments, or flowers.
And yet, he was that way with Paola.
Guys were rarely willing to reveal raw emotion to their partners. And yet, they had few qualms saying sweet, silly things to their children.
Perhaps it was a defense mechanism meant to keep them from being hurt by a woman. Mary imagined that guys probably had to grow thick skins, dealing with denial as often as they did. Maybe all that rejection tempered their romantic sides.
Desmond was sweet during their short-lived romance following the events of October 15, 2011. Even so, he had still seemed to bury most of his feelings.
But this Desmond wore his unapologetic heart on his sleeve and didn’t care if Mary laughed. It was as if he’d watched the world’s chickiest flicks, made it a point to find out what women wanted to hear most, and was going all out with Mary.
She thought of something he’d said the other day, how she “completed him.” Like in stupid Jerry McGuire. Mary had laughed when he said it, thinking he was just messing with her. But then he asked her what she was laughing about, and insisted that he’d never seen the movie.
She couldn’t believe it then, and still couldn’t believe he’d never heard the expression now. His utter earnestness only made Mary think he was cornier.
She giggled, remembering his total lack of a clue.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Just not used to people saying such sweet things to me.”
“Well, you should be.”
The old Mary might’ve barfed, then smacked the guy who said it and ordered him to stop screwing with her.
But Desmond, she could tell, meant it.
“Ever since Luca brought me back to life, I’ve decided that I’m not going to let my thoughts die on the vine. If I feel something, I’m going to tell you. I don’t want to leave this world with things left unsaid, or regretting what I wasn’t brave enough to do.”
“That’s sweet.” Mary traced her fingers along Desmond’s strong arms.
He touched her lips with his fingers then ran his thumb down over her chin, staring into her eyes. “Would you rather I keep these things to myself?”
“No.”
“Good, because I don’t think I could if I wanted.” He paused, then, “There’s something else I’ve been wanting to talk about, but I’m not sure how to broach the subject.”
Mary knew what he wanted to say before he brought his warm palm to her nervous stomach. “You said you lost our baby, and that the doctors thought it was stress. Of course they couldn’t have had any idea what sort of stress you’d really been under.”
Mary said nothing, putting her hand on top of Desmond’s. She hated talking about their never-born child. Just like she hated contemplating something bad happening to Paola — again.
“It’s not your fault.”
Mary felt a surge of emotion, and was unable to stop the words before they left her mouth.
“I know it wasn’t my fault, Desmond. I’m not an idiot.”
It came off worse than Mary had meant it, but at the same time, she didn’t want to take her words back. She wasn’t even sure why she was angry at Desmond for wanting to discuss their child, but couldn’t deny her brewing rage.
She tried to pull her hand away from his, but he grabbed it. “I never said you were an idiot, Mary. And no, you shouldn’t feel guilty. But I know a part of you does. That part of you that wants to be Super Mom and protect her family with a lioness’s ferocity. And you are that mom, Mary. You are the strongest woman I’ve ever met. But I know you hate what happened, and feel responsible.”
“You’re going to tell me what I feel?” she asked, even though Desmond was entirely right.
Tears began to roll down her cheeks, which only made her angrier.
Mary got out of bed, walked to the adjoining bathroom, and closed the door behind her. If it had had a lock, she would’ve used it.
She sat on the toilet, peed, then kept sitting, crying and feeling stupid.
After several minutes of weeping and blowing her stupid nose, the door pushed open and Desmond appeared with his understanding expression to infuriate her further.
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he said. “But you need to forgive yourself.”
Mary stared at the tile floor.
Desmond turned to leave.
“You’re right.”
Mary didn’t look to see if he’d turned back around. She could sense him there, waiting for her to continue.
“I did … I do blame myself. I know it’s stupid, and that I shouldn’t. But who else am I going to blame? Aliens? God? It’s not like either gives a shit what I think. And neither can bring our baby back.”
“So with no one else to blame, you blamed yourself. It was something you could at least allow yourself to feel. Right?”
Mary nodded. She said, “Jesus, you really need to stop watching so much Dr. Phil,” then broke into a much-needed laugh.
Desmond came to Mary, hugging her as she sat on the toilet.
She stood up and followed him back to bed.
“Can we just lie here? It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it anymore, but I just can’t. Not right now.”
“Anything you want.”
She turned away, allowing him to spoon her and melting into his body and warmth.
Mary had never felt like someone who needed a man to complete her. She did better without Ryan than with him, and had learned plenty in the months since their return from the other world. She had learned how to fight, how to survive, and most importantly, how to protect her daughter. But there was comfort in a strong man beside you, and grace in having someone know you well enough to lie in silence with your truest self.
They woke to the sound of Paola at the bedroom door.
“You two alive?”
“Yeah!” Mary laughed, looking at the clock: 12:13.
“Oh wow,” she whispered to Desmond, then turned back to the closed door. “We’ll be out soon. Just had a late night.”
“Okaaaay then,” Paola said, retreating from the door, probably grossed out at the thought of her mom having sex.
Desmond slipped his hand between Mary’s legs and gave her a wicked smile.
She whispered, “No, she’s right out there in the living room,” and slapped his hand away.
“Oh, come on, she already thinks we’re doing something in here.”
His hand slid up to her breasts as he leaned in and kissed her neck.
Six minutes later Mary was biting her lip to keep the low moans from rolling out too loudly while Desmond muffled his grunts. Staring into her eyes he panted, “Should I pull out?”
“No,” Mary whimpered, pushing her head up from the bed to meet
Desmond’s lips.
They kissed as he filled her.
Twenty-Nine
Marina Harmon
As Acevedo drove them to Salty’s Pool Hall to find the man known as Beef who may or may not still have the vial, Marina found herself staring out the window, trying not to speak her mind.
Better to keep quiet, not let Acevedo know she was becoming increasingly disillusioned with him. Marina thought of the man in the dark’s warning, to not trust the priest. It wasn’t as if she could invest her belief in a shadow-shrouded man whom she couldn’t see, particularly when the threat against them called itself The Darkness.
Yet Marina couldn’t get over the truth that Acevedo had shot two men in cold blood.
“Something on your mind?”
Don’t say anything. Just tell him you don’t feel well.
Marina ignored her inner counsel.
“Why did you kill them?”
“Because they were a threat.”
“No, they weren’t. Was the guy in cuffs a threat?”
“They both were.” Acevedo turned to meet Marina’s eyes.
His pupils burned at insanity’s edge, yet the rest of him seemed perfectly in control, his voice as calm as his gestures.
“How?”
Acevedo returned his eyes to the road. “Because we need to find the vials. We couldn’t risk Andrew warning Beef we were coming.”
“He said he hadn’t seen him. And you could tell by the way he looked at our vials that he was telling the truth.”
“Doesn’t matter. We can’t take any chances. Retrieving the vials is the only thing that matters right now. Do you understand me?”
“So, what? We’re going to go around killing anyone in our way?”
“If need be.”
“No, no, no.” Marina stared at the priest. “I will not be a party to you murdering innocent people. I won’t help you. I didn’t sign up for this.”
“Neither did I, sister. You think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted these damned things in my life? I was happy before your father came into my life. I was doing God’s work, and making a difference to my congregation. But then he brought this hell into my life and destroyed everything.”
