Murder Genes (12 page)

The man was in his forties.
 
Beside him lay a blue flag and to Jay's eye there was no defining marks that labeled the man's team.
 
He looked like he could've been your neighbor from some suburban neighborhood.
 
The guy moaned again, and coughed.
 
"Oh, they're coming."

"I'll jus' wayt here, then."
 
Jay took the blue flag and turned to leave.

"You aren't going to kill me?"

You broke the rules first.
 
Jay turned the flashlight back on him.
 
"You wannt me too?"

"No."

"Didn't think soh."
 
Jay saluted the air as he limped away and flipped the switch to the flashlight off.

"Hey!
 
I can get those bells off you."

Jay paused, kept walking.
 
He knew better than to trust people here.

"Hey!" the man called again, but Jay had made his decision.
 
He'd deal with the jingling tomorrow himself.
 
Three flags.
 
Not bad for a night's work.

Chapter 9

There is a call to arms.
 
A trumpet blows.
 
Banners are raised and cries for Tolerance, Equality, Privacy and Justice.
 
Freedom.
 
Their war cries storm the streets.
 
But it is not the Homosexuals who raise the flag of "Intolerance!" this time.

These are the beggars, the janitors, the low-income, the slum dogs and society's lowly educated.
 
And the criminals.
 
From petty thieves to murderers.

They say we've taken the freedom to choose away from them.

They say society has created their self-fulfilled prophecy.

They say they want a chance.
 
They are not predestined and they could be more than their genes.

Dare we?
 
Do we give them their chance?

-Sheppard, Peter.
 
"A Call to Arms.
 
Sides are Drawn, War is Declared."
 
Life
.
 
Nov 11, 2016.

Kyle sat in the chair with his head down.
 
Staring at the ground because he didn't know where else to stare.
 
He'd killed Callie's brother and he shouldn't even be allowed to live.
 
He understood why they put his father into Murderer City now and why
he
should be in there too.
 
Because he killed people, and that wasn't right.
 
It wasn't fair.
 
It hurt people like Callie who didn't deserve to be hurt.
 
Jeff hadn't been nice, but he hadn't deserved to be murdered either.

"We're going to test him, Del," Tim said.
 
"If you don't, I will."

Del was crying.
 
Kyle could hear her choked sobs.
 
"NO!
 
...no," she said again, softer.
 
"It wasn't his fault, it was just an accident."

"That's what we told the police, Del.
 
We gave them the forged papers, we lied to them and said he was clean.
 
There's bound to be an investigation..."

"Don't!" Del's voice snapped.
 
Kyle looked up.
 
She had streaks of makeup running down her cheeks.
 
She gave Kyle the most sympathetic and loving look he'd ever seen.
 
A look he didn't deserve.
 
"Don't even pretend that this is about an investigation.
 
You believe in the The Code like everyone else and you always have.
 
So don't!
 
Just quit pretending.
 
Please."

Kyle put his head back down.
 
He felt a tear starting in his own eye but he sniffed it away.

"Fine.
 
You're right.
 
I believe in The Code because it's true.
 
Why is it so hard to believe?
 
Little did we know that when homosexuality activists were saying they were 'born this way', they were right!
 
When we joked about 'being as smart as your dad' or being born to an occupation, WE WERE RIGHT!
 
We've identified the
genes to behavior
and you can't accept that.
 
Look around, Del!
 
LOOK.
 
There are no more murders, death in countries that built Murderer Cities is down more than ninety-five percent.
 
Ninety-Five!
 
So, yes, I believe in The Code."

Del just kept crying.

It seemed to make Tim even madder.
 
He started shouting.
 
"You get it, don't you?
 
We aren’t doing this any longer."

Kyle ran up to Del and hugged her.
 
"Don't yell," he said to Tim.

Tim stared at him as if astonished.
 
"Sit down and shut up, kid."

"You're my 'dad' now, aren't you?
 
You can't talk to me like that."

Del knelt and hugged Kyle back.
 
Squeezing him tight and rocking.

Tim spoke in a whisper, as if to himself.
 
"Enough is enough."
 
He walked forward and grasped Del under her arms, forcefully lifting her to her feet.
 
Kyle hugged her tighter, but Del pushed him gently away as she hung limp in Tim's hands.
 
"Enough, Del," Tim said, ignoring Kyle.
 
"Choose.
 
Him or me.
 
We test him or I leave."

"Tim..."

"Choose."

She cried some more, shaking her head.
 
While she did, she looked at Kyle and he understood.
 
She wanted him to go sit down.

He sat and was back to hanging his head.

"Choose," Tim said again.

More sobs without answer.
 
He heard Tim pace the room, growling under his breath.
 
There was a loud bang and Kyle saw Tim hit the wall with his fists a second time.
 
A third time.

"I can't!" Del screamed.
 
"I can't choose.
 
Stop, please."

Tim turned.
 
His hand was bleeding.

"I'll leave," Kyle said.
 
He'd been meaning to anyway.
 
He hadn't been planning on staying forever.
 
It wasn't safe anymore.
 
Not for Del and Tim or Kyle.

Tim didn't answer but Del...Del turned on Kyle.
 
"No," she whispered.
 
"You are my son now and it is not your choice if you can leave.
 
You're mine and we are your family..."

The words stunned him.
 
He hadn't realized she could care so much so fast.

"...and YOU," Del pointed at Tim, "how dare you make me choose between my son and you?"

Except Kyle wanted to know, too.

He pushed himself from the chair and walked over to Tim, holding his arm out.
 
"Test me.
 
I want you to."
 
It wasn't fair for Del to be defending him.
 
Not when he deserved to go to Murderer City.
 
"If I have The Code, I leave.
 
If I don't, I stay."

When Tim met his eyes, Kyle saw respect.
 
Then it was gone and Tim was dragging him to the blood-taking chair.
 
He got in the chair and leaned back with his arm out.

"Wait," Del said.

"What?" Tim's hand paused over Kyle's skin.

"If he...if he's positive, what are we going to do?
 
Where's he going to go?"

Tim didn't answer.
 
Instead he pulled out the needle, the smaller one.

Kyle nodded.

Tim nodded back.

The needle went in, it didn't hurt.
 
Kyle watched the blood slowly fill in the container, and then Tim pulled the needle out.
 
Tim snapped the rubber stop on, and the glass vial with Kyle's blood was lifted, hovering in front of Kyle's eyes a brief second before disappearing.

"Tim," Del's voice still shook, but there was a strength in it now.
 
"Let me do it."

Tim hesitated.

"I want to.
 
It should be me, like when I did your test.
 
I want to know first.
 
Plus," she held out a shaking hand, palm up, and smiled faintly at Tim.
 
"You might screw up."

Tim faced Kyle.
 
"It's your choice."

It would be good for Del to know first.
 
"Yeah."
 
He said in answer.

She took the vial in both hands and cupped it to her chest.
 
He saw her close her eyes for a second and murmur what looked like a prayer.
 
When she opened her eyes again, she was a doctor.
 
She went about the trailer, gathering items efficiently and quickly.
 
"Tim, would you grab me a new bulb?
 
I think the rubber has finally worn through."

Tim nodded and poked his head into another room to pull out a piece that looked like a baby bottle's top.
 
He handed it to Del.

She took it.
 
After a few drops to tiny bits of glass, she put it in a clear plastic container that made noise like a loud air conditioning unit.
 
Del stood back.
 
Watching.
 
She looked like she was holding her breath even though minutes and minutes and more minutes passed before she reached into the container and pulled out the glass piece.

Del sat to the ground, her hands in her face, crying all over again.

Tim ignored her and walked to the table.
 
He picked up the bits of glass.
 
The glass was a bright orange color.
 
He tossed it into Kyle’s lap.

"What does it mean?" he asked Tim.

"It means you're clean.
 
Congratulations."

Then...it really was an accident?
 
He wasn't a murderer?

It was Kyle's turn to cry.
 
And when Tim's arms wrapped around him, Kyle thought Tim might have sniffed.

Chapter 10

A comparison of entrepreneurial behavior between identical twins have shown a straightforward relationship.
 
90% of entrepreneurs are born, 10% made.
 
In a few years, that number may become narrower and perhaps genetically predisposed entrepreneurs may be identified through DNA testing.

-Steed, Hold F.
 
"Entrepreneurial Genetic Predisposition."
Fortune.
Sep, 2018.
 

"He's awake."

"No he isn't.
 
His eyes are closed."

"But his eyes aren't moving in his lids anymore!"

"They only do that during REM, dummy."

"Then he's waking up, isn't he?"

*chirp chirp*
 
Damn right, I'm up.
 
And who are you two?
 
Jay sat up and grabbed the two by the throat.

The two, twin Asian boys, simultaneously chopped his arms with their hands.
 
"Heeyaaah!"

"What tthe...?" Jay said, still holding the two by the neck.

"You're getting sleepy, veeerrry sleepy," one said, waving his fingers at Jay's eyes.

The other pulled his chin back and looked at Jay's hand attached to his neck.
 
"You'll never hold us with that kind of grip.
 
You have to squeeze and hold your hand like this."
 
He showed Jay his hand, holding out three fingers curled.
 
"Eagle claw!" the boy suddenly yelled, grabbing Jay's wrist between his fingers.

It...kinda hurt.
 
Sorta.
 
Not really.
 
Jay stood up and let go of the boys.

"Where you going?
 
You can't go!
 
You're our prisoner."

"Yeah, don't move!"
 
They took on a fighting stance and kiyyaahhed again.

"Hey!
 
How'd you get that in your face?
 
It's cool!" one of the boys said.

"Shh, don't talk to the prisoner," the other reprimanded.

Jay searched the space where he had been sleeping.
 
"How oltd are you boys and wherre are my flags?"

A man materialized from empty air in front of Jay.

How?...
 

The man stepped forward, the air around him shivered.
 
He wasn't invisible, just...really hard to look at.
 
Like Jay's eyes couldn't follow anything he did.
 
The man spoke.
 
"They are eleven.
 
And I have your flags.
 
The flags will do you no good where we are going."