The Killing Jar (28 page)

LUNA COLONY

AUGUST 23, 2232

Abraham rubbed his hands together. He couldn’t remember ever being so nervous. Then again, there was so much he couldn’t remember.

Was he a nervous type? Or generally calm? He didn’t know. He only knew Charlene made his heart race.

Even more so with his plans for the evening. Abraham couldn’t begin to guess at what her reaction might be.

He swallowed his nerves and said, “I only made enough for the kids tonight. Would you mind eating later?”

“Seriously?” she complained as she helped the kids wash their hands for dinner. He had no doubt caring for them day in and day out would work up an appetite, but if she could hold out for another hour—

“I’m sorry. I can put something together if—” His stomach sank. So much for that plan.

“It’s fine. Just help me get them to the table.” Abraham did as he was asked, pointing the younger ones to their assigned seats and serving them each a spoonful of salad, a few bites of chicken, and a scoop of sautéed squash.

With no meal of her own, Charlene darted from child to child without the need to stop at her own plate. He had no idea if she noticed he didn’t eat as well.

“Charlie, can I have an alligator?” asked Ellicot, a full leaf of lettuce jutting from his mouth.

“What? No,” she laughed.

The word sounded familiar, like something he knew long ago, but he couldn’t think what it might be. Yet another memory lost to the void.

“I want a weppard!” shouted Kellan, his fork pointed into the air.

“It’s
leopard
, not weppard,” corrected Calla.

“We should get an elephant!”

“I want a blue whale!”

“No, no. We need a lion!”

Abraham knew what they were, but there was only the blank. Like an itch he couldn’t scratch, it tore at him, only mild at first, but then it grew, into something barely containable.

The children continued their discussion for the rest of the meal. Charlene made the rounds and refilled their plates as needed. She and Abraham helped the kids put their plates away, clean the table, and head to their quarters to get dressed for bed. As always, Abraham took the boys.

Most of them were old enough to dress and wash themselves. All but Kellan and Renner. He helped them into their sleep suits, combed their hair, and made sure they brushed their teeth well.

Ten minutes later, he brought them to their group area where Charlene read them a story about a dancing lion. Then, right on schedule, they said their goodnights and went back to their rooms.

All tucked into their beds, Abraham stood at the door and said “Good night, sleep tight, see you when the sun is bright,” as he did every night. Then he turned off the lights and walked back to the kitchen.

With no sign of Charlene, he set to work. Two fish filets, a small green salad with strawberries and a few nuts sprinkled over top, and serving of asparagus. The real treat, however, would be the wine.

The single tablet in Luna connected to the net on Earth, but the information was limited. The hard drive held a series of recipes, which he used religiously, repair instructions for the various mechanical components of life support, and botany files for each type of plant he grew.

One of the recipes mentioned the meal would best be served with red wine. Curious, he searched it and found he could make wine from the grapes he grew. It had taken several weeks, and now, it was ready for the first taste.

He had planned this special meal so the two of them could try it together. Abraham hoped she liked it. Rigging up a distillery from spare parts was no easy task.

By the time she emerged in the doorway, the filets were already in the oven.

“So what’s this about?” Her arms were crossed in front of her chest. Her dark eyes were weary.

“Oh, uh, I made—”

Charlene rolled her eyes. All the cheer from before had vanished. It was the children that made her happy, not him.

“I made wine,” he managed.

Her eyes widened. “You made what?” With her mouth hung open, he couldn’t tell if she was angry or surprised.

“Wine. Red wine. I found out how to make it.” From the cold storage, he pulled out the bottle. It was a clear plastic jug with a tapered neck and wide base that usually held water. This time, it was a deep scarlet. He held it up as proof.

Charlene walked over and collected the bottle in her hands as if it might break at any second. “You made this?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

Abraham shrugged and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I thought you might like it.”

“Thank you,” she said, so low it was almost a whisper.

“Have you had it before?”

“A few times when I was a kid. Sometimes they would let us have a sip at church.” She never took her eyes from the bottle.

Abraham didn’t understand. Wine was definitely alcohol, and the net was quite clear on drinking age. Why would a church give it to children?

When she looked up, she saw his confusion. “It’s a blood of Christ thing,” she explained, though that hardly helped.

Abraham didn’t know what to say. Locked up, yet again.

“You weren’t a Craftsman?” she asked.

He could only shrug. He had no idea. He continued to move the asparagus around the pan so it wouldn’t get black.

“You won’t even tell me your class?” She set the bottle on the table and sank into a chair. “Doesn’t really matter.”

Abraham felt the evening slipping away from him. He might as well have burned the fish or let her starve. He was no closer to earning her friendship than he’d been the day he arrived.

He had but one choice.

“I don’t remember.”

Charlene laughed, though it was more of a snort.

“I don’t remember anything from before. The first thing I remember was a man telling me that I was coming to live here, and I was going to take Kellan with me. We got on the shuttle a few hours later.” Abraham stared at the pan as he spoke, too afraid to look anywhere else.

Then he heard the chair move behind him, heard Charlene get up. His heart raced in his ears. He felt light headed.

He shouldn’t have said anything.

Charlene appeared at his side a second later. She leaned her elbow against the counter so she could look up and see his face. “Are you being serious?”

Abraham nodded.

“That’s why you won’t tell me anything?”

He nodded again.

“You should have told me.”

He nodded yet again.

“Look at me. Abraham, look at me.”

So he did.

Her beauty stunned him. Abraham had no memory of any other women, but he was sure Charlene was beautiful. From her dark hair that hung over her shoulders to the warmth of her eyes, she captivated him.

“You should have told me. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I wouldn’t have asked so many questions if I’d have known. You don’t remember anything?” Her hand reached out and rested on his arm as he moved the asparagus.

“Nothing. Not a single thing. The kids, they were saying things earlier. Lion and elephant. I know what they are but I don’t know. It’s like I used to know.” Abraham felt robbed, like someone had crawled into his brain and pulled out all the good parts. He couldn’t even have a conversation.

“A lot of people don’t know them. They’re animals. The kids learned about extinct species today, that’s all. No living person has ever seen any of them.”

“Animals?” he asked. He tried to picture them, but there was nothing.

“Remind me and I’ll show you the later. Some of them are pretty interesting.”

Relief flooded out of him. His breaths came easier. His heart rate returned to normal, at least as much as it could when she was near. He scooped the asparagus into piles on the pair of plates he’d set out before it got too soft.

With dinner ready, they each grabbed a plate and sat at the large table, empty but for the two of them.

“I wish we had proper wine glasses.” Charlene poured a few ounces into the same cups they used for water.

“Here, like this.” She lifted her glass and tapped the side against his. “My parents used to do that.”

Then Charlene took a sip and coughed so hard she had to cover her mouth.

“That bad?” His brow wrinkled while he watched her regain control.

“Uh, yeah. It’s a little dry.” Her face was one big smile. “You try it.”

Abraham took a small sip and sure enough, it was horrible. A dry, bitter burn all down his throat. He curled his lips in disgust as Charlene threw her head back in laughter.

“It needs work,” he admitted with a wide smile.

Charlene took another sip and, more prepared this time, neglected to choke, though she still made an ugly face at the flavor.

“You don’t have to drink it. I’ll do some research and make a new batch.”

“No, I’m drinking it. I haven’t had a drink in three years. I’m drinking it!”

Abraham decided he could live with that. They tapped their cups together once more and drank the night away.

TORONTO REGIONAL HOSPITAL, OB-532, TORONTO

AUGUST 23, 2232

Silas couldn’t sleep in the hospital. The chair was hard and uncomfortable, the room bright and strange. Most of all, he couldn’t sleep until Maggie was safe.

He occupied himself wandering about her room, though he didn’t dare leave it, even to venture down the hall for a coffee. There was a plastic door with faux grooves and an ugly brown color meant to emulate wood. A screen displayed Maggie’s heartrate, blood pressure, and other vital signs, all normal. He tried not to watch them too closely.

In a large plastic sack set by the door, Silas found the bag Quincy had given Theo hours before. He opened the bag to check the equipment. He found the clamp, gas canister, and the small flashlight. No sign of the killing jar.

Silas meant to stop there, but he noticed the second bag below it. He recognized it. Maggie’s bag, the one she’d carried the day he recruited her in Chicago.

He was looking for the jar. That’s what he told himself when he opened it.

For a person as complicated as Maggie, he expected more intricacies in her belongings. But there was only a book, a blanket, a cracked cup with hints of gold. Other than the blanket, he had no idea why she kept such items. Clearly they had some sort of sentimental meaning for her. He put the items back and closed the bag.

Sometime around five in the morning, Maggie showed the first signs of life. She pressed her fingertips to the edge of her wound then winced and dropped her hand.

“Don’t touch it,” he whispered. Silas dragged the chair to her bedside and waited for her to tell him when she was ready to go. He would wait as long as she needed.

“What happened?” Her voice was a squeak.

Silas refused to tell her about Theo’s betrayal. She didn’t need that pain added to her current agony. “You fell during the extraction. Hit your head on the desk. Dr. Prataban brought you in.”

“How bad?” Her words were so quiet he almost didn’t hear.

“A good gash in your head. They had to shave your hair on the side. You have twenty-two stitches. Doctor said you can go home and rest whenever you’re ready.”

All too fast, Maggie pushed up onto her elbow and sat up in bed. Her legs hung limp over the side. She reeled from the sudden motion.

Silas bolted up to steady her, afraid she would careen to the floor.

“Not so fast.” Would she ever learn to listen?

“I’m ready.” She said the words with false confidence, her eyes closed as she tried to get her bearings. One hand clung to his forearm for support, the most help she’d ever let him give.

“No you’re not. Take your time. You’ve got a—”

Maggie’s eyes opened and speared right through him. “Get me out of here.”

He would have argued. He meant to keep her there until she was ready to travel, but then he saw the hand move to the back of her neck. An innocent enough scratch, a mindless motion she probably didn’t even realize she was doing.

Silas had seen it too many times.

His heart sank.

“Here, sit here in this chair for a minute. I’ll get your things.” Silas helped Maggie get her feet to the floor, still in those bright blue sneakers, and turn to sit in the hard chair. She kept her eyes closed for the entire motion.

She must have been in considerable pain.

More determined than ever, Silas fetched the plastic bag by the door and pulled out both Maggie’s bag and the equipment bag. He slung both over his shoulder before going back for her.

“Ready?” he asked and she nodded.

Silas wrapped his free arm around her torso and eased her to standing. Maggie’s hand grasped the side of his neck and pulled as she rose. Once to her feet, she struggled for a few ragged breaths.

“Take your time. We can wait a few minutes,” he lied.

Resolved, she flashed her eyes open and started toward the door. Silas kept his hand on her the whole time, refusing to let her go in case she might fall.

For once, Maggie didn’t argue. She held on to him as tight as he held to her. Together, they staggered to the elevator and waited. Had it not been for the large, obvious wound across her scalp, she would have looked like little more than a modern Artisan with a fashionable hair style.

But she did have the wound. It was all he could see.

The two stepped into the elevator. Silas supported a good portion of her weight, though still she felt light. When the doors shut, he didn’t expect her to turn and wrap both arms around his neck, to lean her narrow frame against his chest like a scared child. He didn’t expect to ever have a moment like that, a moment in which she didn’t hold his mistakes against him. A moment in which she was a hurt girl and he was the guy who could make her safe.

Silas kissed the top of her head, careful to avoid her numerous stitches.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her breath warm through his shirt.

“You know I’ll always take care of you. Until I draw my last breath.”