Mortal - Chapter 10

Premise: In this young-adult dystopian novel, people can no longer die. But they still feel pain, and suffer--and it's maddening. Because of the chaos that ensued, the US Government created a program to figure out how to kill people. When Garrett, a teenager, falls into a coma for weeks as a result of an experiment, the Program sets its malicious sights on him.

This is the tenth chapter of the novel, Mortal. Click here for the beginning of the story. Or, click here for Chapter 9.

I’m twelve.

 I hazily awake from my nap on the couch. The air is stiff and warm with the stench of lingering grease from the sandwiches I grilled a few hours ago. I rub my eyes as I sit up to the sound of sirens.

I rise from my seat and head for the window, shifting open the blinds. It’s difficult to see in the blackness of night, but the street lamp and the red swirling lights of an ambulance illuminate the street well enough to see a mangled body face-down on the ground. My eyes snap shut and I inhale deeply. I close the window, and drop the blinds down before I can open my eyes once more.

I nearly trip over my backpack as I head towards my bedroom, but the sound of my parents’ whispering brings me to a halt. They should be sleeping by now. I glance to the digital clock on the kitchen counter, and it reads past midnight. They should definitely be asleep by now. Something is wrong.

I slide my feet across the floor to their door and knock softly, and their voices disappear in the eerie drone of the sirens. “Mom? Dad? Is…is everything okay?” Of course it isn’t. I know that. Even to an extent, they know that. But it’s what got me through the day, the faulty normalcy of it all.

“Go…go to bed, Garrett,” my mother exhales, and I can tell by the frailty of her voice that she’s been crying.

“Mom…” I trail doubtfully. My hand drops to the door knob, and I begin to turn it.

“For God’s sake, Garrett! I said go to sleep!”

My mom’s hysteric screams force me to drop my hand from the knob, and jerk my head towards the front door, waiting for the men in white—the Corpses we sometimes called them, for they worked for VitCorp—to burst through the door and take my parents away. I watch the door anxiously for about a minute before returning my gaze, back to their door. My parents must think I’ve obeyed because they restart their murmuring.

“Come on, Marie,” my dad urges with a ragged breath.

“I can’t,” my mom’s voice cracks, “What…what about our son?”

“We’ll save him too,” my dad responds, “We owe him that much.”

My stomach knots, and I can feel the blood drain from my face. What are they talking about? Being saved?...Saved from what? The fear of what they might be doing, what they might be planning, forces me to open the door and flick on the light switch.

An anguished shriek escapes my lips as I see my dad lying in a pool of his own blood. The carpet that was once off-white is now deep red, and by the looks of it, I’m sure the blood has started to seep through the ceiling of the apartment below us. His head leans up against the wall, and there’s a creepy smile on his face that sends chills down my spine. I glance to my mom whose holding the knife so tightly, her knuckles would be ghostly white if not for the crusted blood all over her fingers, hands, arms…face. She’s looking at me. With wide, quivering eyes. Her long hair is damp with sweat, and her whole body is shaking. I’m so terrified of the image ablaze in my eyes and mind that I barely have enough time to react when she lunges for me.

I fall backwards and land on my back with a thud. She’s crawling towards me, and I try to squirm backwards, but my head crashes into the metal filing cabinet, and I’m caught in a daze, just for a moment. Right before she grips my ankle, and pulls me into the bedroom. I scream as she wraps her bony arms around my chest, and pulls me into her lap.

“Shhhhh, my poor baby, shhhh,” she coos as she strokes my hair with the hand that isn’t gripping the knife.

“Mom, please!” I cry, and I continue to struggle, but her grasp is surprisingly strong.

My ears ring, forcing another scream from my throat, “Somebody help me!”

“It’s okay, son,” my dad says calmly. My mom kisses my head.

I stare at my father with tear-stained eyes, and my mom lifts the knife.

“We’ll save you, son,” my dad says, “We’ll save you if it’s the last thing we do.”

My mom presses the knife against my neck. My heart rages in my chest, and I realize the want to live is too much. I elbow my mom in the stomach and jolt out of her lap. As I rise, the blade skims into my shoulder, and I run out of the room. Run out of the apartment. Run to my neighbor to borrow a phone.

And make a call I had vowed to never make.

**** 

A pained grunt emerges from my mouth as I wake in the infirmary, in the middle of the night. I pull myself into a sitting position, my chest heaving. Sweat trickles down my back, and wets my hair.

“Calm down,” I breathe to myself in heavy pants, “It was just a dream…not…real.”

My eyes widen as I grow unsure, and I fall out of the bed, and onto the linoleum flooring. It was a dream, right? I try to think back to the days when I took care of my parents but come across nothing that would tell me anything but that this dream was real.

I want to throw up. My parents tried to kill me…they were crazy enough to try and slit my throat, and hope that their twelve-year-old son would die. But…no! Everything I did before this point tells me otherwise. I remember telling Abel a few months ago that it was their screams that brought the Corpses in. But then why can’t I…

Suddenly, I remember something and I pull up the sleeve of my right arm, so that my shoulder is showing. I grab for the flashlight that the woman left on the table, and I press the button on its body, illuminating the dark room and direct the light towards my shoulder.

It’s there.

There’s a small white scar on my shoulder from where my mother cut me.

Only…

I believe it wasn’t there before I went to bed. Not the scar.

Not the memories.

Thank you so much for the support! It means so much. See you soon. xoxo, Liv