DC Suburbs -- Part 24
by Martin H Slusser

Cindy motioned the guard out, was careful to dim the lights and stop the recorder. Cindy eased down in the chair, the seat still warm from the man on watch. She stared into the screen. Benny was an unmoving reddish lump of heat in the infrared camera. Weary of it all, she sighed. He was crouched on his heels in the center of the room, meditating again. Monitors recorded every brain wave with a greedy detail.

How gentle he looked. Without thinking about his powers, she reached out and caressed the screen.

Benny's eye popped open. He reached behind his head and scratched at a scar. The hand smoothed down the nervous hairs on the back of his head. His finger trembled on the scar. Under it, attached to his cortex, was the microchip that enslaved him to the woman.

“Who's there?”

Cindy shrank back in the chair. He couldn't see her, but he knew someone was here. Nonsense, she chided herself, Someone is always here. She tried to smile. Her Benny. He was different, but still the same. Hers.

“Hello, Benny.”

He bared his teeth.

“Let me alone.”

“Benny, please. We need to talk.”

With a wolfish grace, he arose, stretched, and stepped off the narrow confines of the room.

“Lay off me, Cindy. Stop pretending you care. Ok? We both know better. All I am is some Nobel Prize. I ain't even human. A prize stud, a two-legged bull.” Benny shoulders hunched forward and in a movement too fast to follow, his right fist dented the half inch thick walnut paneling.

Benny cradled his hand and cursed her in a dull monotone.

“Benny?” Cindy rose from her chair in fright. “Are you all right? I'm calling for my doctor.”

“Send him in, and I'll kill him.”

“Don't be foolish, Benny. You may have broken your hand.”

“I'll cut the bastard up and eat his goddammed liver, Cindy. I'm an animal, remember? A wild animal. You said so yourself lots of times. And there's only one way to tame a wolf.” Teeth bared in an ugly grin, he whispered, “You got to kill him.”

She gasped. Benny told her in almost gentle words, “Don't cry, lady. We all want to live free, in this world and the next.”

Ten minutes later the locks on the door clicked. Benny crouched, the knife held at an awkward angle in his left hand. The door swung in and an elderly, grandmotherly sort of woman stepped over the threshold.

His jaws sagged. Against an old woman, no real man has a defense. Elder, sacred because of age and her duties. Every male part of him cringed at the thought of harming her.

In soft German accents, she said, “Benny. I am the Doctor Traub, personal doctor to Ms VanTur. Please to be putting down the knife. I only wish to help you.”

He snorted and stretched up. Christ, he was a head taller than she was. “Ain't that what they always say, Granny?” He mocked her, “'We only wanna h'ep you.' Sound like the last five centuries of American history and the last couple of thousand of Roman-shadowed Europe. Suckers.” Benny cocked his head at her and gave the old woman a cold leer. “Get out, Doc. Let me alone and live another day.”

She stiffened and glared back.

“If you permit me to see the hand, Mr. Greylov, Ms VanTur has assured me that you will be allowed to see your son.”

“Total and unmitigated bull shit, lady. Def’netly.” Benny raised the knife before his reddened eye and snarled a low growl of hate. “Get out of my way.”

“The guards won't allow it. They have orders to shoot you.”

“Screw the guards.” He laughed, thin and on the verge of insane. “Let me die. Let me die, you old quack.” Benny slipped around her, his attention on the door and the motionless shadows beyond.

She took a small canister of what looked like an antiseptic and sprayed him in the face.

Jason Dellamar took another sip from the pocket flask. It glowed in the moon light. As he lowered it, something hissed passed his face. With an oath, he dropped backwards to the ground and rolled, his hand jerking at the holster under his shoulder and tangled with his jacket.

The axe flashed again and stars exploded in Dellamar's head.

The last thing he heard was a bitter laugh and the sound of feet dragging through the dead leaves, coming nearer.

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