Made of Scorch Marks

Photo Credit: Adam Wilson

Courtesy of Unsplash

This short story was submitted as part of Catalyst’s 2020 Writing Contest. To view more submissions from the Writing Contest, please visit utcatalyst.org/writing-contest.

My feet lead me towards a path well-traveled. The scorch marks are still present from that day, the blackened surface form the shape of vines crawling up the cement walls. A steady crunch punctuates each step I take, like bullet sounds from that day. I can feel the tingle of sparks just beneath my fingertips waiting to be released, but I clench my fist and drop my arm to my side with an exhale. Another day, another life, what I would give to make this one right.

The leaves beneath my feet give way to asphalt, and the sound of each step becomes muffled, like someone struggling beneath a chloroform cloth. The base was close by now. My gaze shifts left and right, adjusting to the darkness and with a well-practiced eye, I stop in front of what others see as a mere concrete wall. I knock twice in succession, wait, then knock thrice more. That was the code for a Fledgling returning. A click echoes down the abandoned alleyway, and I pull my hood down even more, resisting the urge to turn back.

A metal window slides open revealing a pair of eyes the color of kaleidoscope green framed with dusty coal eyelashes. His wild curls are tamed by the cap he snagged from the street vendors on our last patrol together. Was that only a week ago?

“Tag?” His voice is muffled beneath his mask, but I’m so used to the procedure my fingers move before I even register his words, pulling out my ball chain from beneath my sweat soaked tee so that the faint light from inside catches on the metal.

He briefly glances at it before sliding the door open and gestures for me to get in. Once fully inside, he slides the door shut, the secret doorway unrecognizable again, save for the sliver of a crack in the concrete.

“Welcome back, Danny,” Shane pulls down his mask, revealing a grin, though the crinkles around his eyes are absent.

I nod my head in response and expel the breath that I’d been unconsciously holding all this time. With the entrance closed, we’re left in the dark, save for the faint light streaming from the canteen at the end of the hall. My fingers instinctively find the grooves on the wall and trace the “T + D” Tam and I had etched with canteen knives all those years ago. It has become my ritual every time I come back.

Following Shane’s silent footsteps, we enter a room bathed in artificial white. A handful of Specials are scattered about the long steel tables dressed in their usual black garb with semi-automatics at their waists. My hands itched to hold one of those Glocks, but only Specials that have completed Intel Academy got them. I still had half a year left of being a Fledgling and another year of being a Halfling before I achieved Special status.

A familiar figure sashays along the left side of the room where all the infographic posters are plastered, her flowing caramel weaves dance along her hips, the same color as her skin.

“Tam.” The name comes out unbidden, and I can’t help the way my voice cracks.

Her feline gaze falls on me, her face a stone wall to be cracked. Her eyebrows raise and her lips part ever so slightly. Just being in her presence sends a warm, giddy feeling rushing through me.

“Danny?”

I weakly raise my hand in response, and she rushes towards me like I’m the oasis in her desert. The impact of her arm almost sends me sprawling, but I catch myself just in time. “Where have you been?” The intensity of her gaze coupled with her hands at her hips has me looking everywhere but her.

“Well...” I scratch my head, trying to decide what to tell her. The truth would get me killed, but Tam can sense lies like a German Shepherd sniffing out contraband, so I settle on the half-truth.

“I ran into a couple of Sprites,” I say slowly, watching her expression. “Went ahead to neutralize them but ran into some difficulties bagging and tagging.”

Her brows furrow at this, but I continue, “Had to stay low for a couple of days.” In the basement of the training grounds with my sister, I don’t add.

She knows the protocol for patrols gone awry, so she won’t question my absence. It’s what happened to the Sprite that’s in question. Daphne should be safe and back at home now. I glance at my watch, it’s 2 o’clock in the afternoon; she’s probably hacking into Intel’s database, trying to find “tea” on her latest boy crush.

I note Tam’s slow nod and the purse of her lips, and I bite the inside of my cheek, a nervous tick of mine, waiting for her response.

After a moment of shifting her weight, she places her hands on my shoulders and brings her forehead against mine.

“I’m just glad you came back in one piece, Danny.” Her breath tickles my nose, and I hold back the apology forming inside. She breaks away first, shifting her attention to Shane beside me.

Her eyes automatically light up, her voice higher pitched, “Shane, how did patrol go?”

His glances at her, his face expressionless. “It was fine,” he replies, and his attention drifts elsewhere. The corner of her mouth falls as she bites her lip. With nothing more to say, she forces a smile at me and excuses herself.

With Tam out of sight, I elbow Shane. “What was that?”

“What was what?” He levels a glare at me.

“You know what.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to survive this hell hole of a world, not make babies.”

I feel the heat instantly coursing through my body, a steady hum of energy to be released, just like that day when the sparks flew out of control. But that can’t happen now or ever again. I take a couple of deep breaths with my jaw and fists clenched, resisting the urge to grab Shane by the collar and shove him against the wall.

Instead, my lips form a thin smile. “Bold of you to assume people actually want to make babies with you.”

He turns towards me, face flush, “Say that again.”

I put both my hands up in mock surrender. “Are you sure you want me to?” The corner of my mouth lifts up in amusement while Shane scowls, looking ready to stick a knife in my back the next time we patrol together.

Shane glowers at me for a couple more moments before walking away, silently brooding. He’ll probably go neutralize some dummy Sprites at the training grounds next to the base, his form of letting off steam.

My feet draw me to the infographic posters spanning the entire left wall. I’ve always been intrigued by their gaudiness. One shows an image of a figure with a zoomed in section of the eye on the side. The iris is colored a neon red. Underneath the figure in all-caps are the words:

Sprite

They look like us, but they’re not one of us.

Look for the red eye.

The words are like daggers cutting against my skin, and I swallow down the nausea. My eyes glance at the inscription at the bottom of the poster. Some Sprites may also have special abilities. My fingers tingle, and I ball my fist. They don’t know about me, an anomaly, a Sprite without red eyes but with the power to burn, to destroy.

My gaze drifts to the next poster that details the steps of neutralizing a Sprite. First, confirm the presence of scarlet eyes. Second, inject the anesthetic. Third, dismember and bag.

Lastly, preserve the members in labeled glass containers at the base.

That would’ve happened to Daphne if … I push away the memories from that day as I feel liquid coat my eyes. Blinking rapidly, I train my attention on the last poster with two large pyramids on top of each other. The top one shows a hierarchy within the academy: Specials at the very top, then Halfings, and Fledglings at the very bottom. The bottom pyramid shows the hierarchy of Iulea: Sprites at the very bottom, then Originals who were normal civilians, and then Intel, the governing body of Iulea, at the very top. Lost in thought, I almost jump when the intercom sounds.

“Daniel, Tam report to the Icebox now.”

A pool of dread gathers at the base of my stomach, like the puddles of blood forming from their prone bodies on that day, their souls like petals plucked and carried with the wind.

I shake my head as if trying to dislodge the memories and make my way to the Icebox, the nickname for the cellar where we store our cargo for shipment. The room is almost pitch black and noticeably cooler to the skin. Glass containers of varying size line the wall. They’re filled with members like arms and feet that don’t need to be chilled for whatever purpose Intel has for them. An extra-large refrigerator occupies the middle of the room filled with the most valuable commodity, Sprite heads. There’s a rumor that Intel officials are eating the brains because they think it will grant them special abilities, but I don’t trust rumors. Tam pushes a cart next to the fridge and opens it.

Swallowing down a lump, I take the gloves hanging from the steel hook and slide them on in one swift motion, the rough cloth chafing my skin.

“Let's get this over with.” I mutter under my breath and reach for the first glass container filled with liquid the color of dark rum. I try not to focus my attention on the floating head inside, their eyes, a brilliant shade of scarlet, frozen open, eyebrows raised, like in a state of surprise.

The weight of the container causes a noticeable dip when I place it on the cart. As I turn to grab the next one, my eyes catch on the string of beads around her neck, the same wooden necklace Daphne had worn, and my vision swims with the memories from that day.

***

The air was suffocating. Sand danced with the wind, making clouds of dust that stung my eyes. People usually weren’t out in this kind of weather but patrols never stopped for anything.

A bell ring caught my attention, and I saw two Originals enter an establishment, the storefront made of dark wood with vines covering the window. My footsteps trailed after them, my sixth sense tingling.

The inside ambiance was serene with murmuring and clinking of glass as backdrop music. The bartender caught my gaze and then quickly looked away, continuing to wipe the countertop. He knew why I was here, since Intel communicated with owners of Sprite hotspots.

A ginger sat near the counter, her hair color reminding me of my task at hand.

I ordered gin and tonic, craving that bittersweet kick, and slid into the seat right next to her. Starting with a smile so not to look intimidating, I asked for her name.

She looked startled nonetheless and watched me warily. Emma, she says, was her name, though I didn’t buy it. During our exchange, I looked for the use of colored contacts, but more importantly if her iris turned any hit of scarlet, but her eyes were a dull shade of copper, so I quickly ended the conversation and moved onto the next person, of course under the guise of meeting up with another friend.

The familiar self-assured demeanor of the next girl sent alarm bells ringing in my head.

“Daphne, what are you doing here?” My voice was a low hiss, and I stopped myself from glancing around so not to attract any more attention.

Her expression unchanged, she folded her arms in front of her before replying, “Well hello to you too, brother darling.”

I groaned. “It’s not safe for you here and you know it.” But my voice softened as I took in the wooden necklace she always wore. “You really like that necklace, don’t you?”

“Are you trying to fish for compliments or something?”

I grin at that. She might be right about that since I was the one who gave it to her.

“Okay, clown, get going. It’s not safe.” I tapped her button nose, and she scrunched up her face like she’d just tasted a sour lemon before responding, “Well, I have your royally upgraded eyewear, so I think I’ll be fine.” Thank God for Intel and their hypocrisy. For all their talk about exterminating Sprites, there were high-ranking Sprites within Intel that needed to blend in, hence these “royal” contacts. But they were only alive because of their connections.

I scrutinized her iris and sure enough I could barely tell that she was using colored contacts and sighed in relief. “Fine, if you’re not leaving, what are you doing here?”

“Ma and Pa want you back home, at least for a little bit.”

“And they sent you here as their ambassador?” I rolled my eyes at this. “It’s not like I don’t want to visit — you know how tough Intel Academy is.”

It’s her turn to roll her eyes. “You know Ma and Pa could easily get you excused.”

I did know, but no one else needed to know how Ma and Pa were high ranking officials of Intel. People would probably say they pulled strings to get me into the academy, which they didn’t. Luckily for me, the public didn’t have information on the Intel officials, not even their appearance, and Ma and Pa kept us mostly out of sight. No one else knew we were both Sprites. We’d probably be killed even with their connections. It would be an “accident,” a political play.

I sighed. “I’ll go back once this rotation is over.” Each Fledgling was assigned a specific set of Sprite hotspots to patrol for the upcoming week. We were then supposed to report back to Intel with our observations on Sprite movements and potential leaders. Neutralize, if necessary.

She nodded and moved to get up, her job done. At that moment, a stranger moving past us, bumped into the edge of the table. Daphne’s purse that was near the edge toppled off, and the contents spilled across the wooden floor.

“My apologies,” the stranger nodded stiffly and bent down to help gather her belongings, while Daphne frantically threw herself onto the floor.

I didn’t understand her state of panic until I saw the item held in the stranger’s hand: a small container shaped by two plastic circles connected together —something you would use to hold contacts.

The sound of blood rushing to my head deafened me. I prayed that the stranger would not connect the dots, but only a hermit wouldn’t know what those were for.

“Are you,” the stranger said slowly, his entire body stiff as he spun the container around his fingers, “a Sprite?”

I could see Daphne visibly sweat. “N-no, of course not,” her voice an octave higher.

The stranger smiled a bit, still twirling the container, “You’re lying.”

“She’s not lying,” I moved in front of her. “I already checked.”

The stranger’s smile grew wider, “I guess I’ll have to check as well.” His hand subtly moved to hover over an object at his waist.

Tendrils of fear mingled with dread snaked up my spine. That couldn’t be a Glock, right? My suspicions were confirmed when he pulled out a badge with the Intel insignia on it intertwined snakes, their mouths swallowing each other. And right underneath, the name Marcus.

The sparks that I always kept contained burst out, turning into flames that engulfed the establishment. I threw Daphne behind me as Marcus started firing at me and honestly anyone that moved, including Originals. Daphne screamed as Marcus rushed towards me, and panicking I threw a ball of fire at him without thinking. He shrieked, patting his arms and legs, trying to put the fire out, but that only made it worse. The smell of charred flesh filled the bar, and I wrinkled my nose and tried not to gag. Daphne looked in horror as Marcus fell to the ground, convulsing. I grabbed her wrist and we ran out the bar to the basement of the training grounds where we stored our equipment for Sprite neutralization — the one place Marcus wouldn’t come looking. At least that’s what I thought.

After a couple days of hiding and no sign of Intel coming for our heads, I thought it was safe to venture out. Marcus was most likely dead. Daphne would go back home and pretend she never left, while I would try to feign my innocence and say a fire erupted from dumb coincidence. Maybe an Original accidentally spilled alcohol, and someone dropped a match while lighting a cigar. Anything was possible.

Either way, the coast was supposed to be clear. It was supposed to be.

***

“Danny, you’re burning.”

I’m still clutching the glass container with Daphne’s head, but my hands are glowing and tendrils of yellow orange emanate from them.

“You’re burning.”

I jerk my head towards Tam and see a mixture of hurt and fear. My heart squeezes and my stomach drops.

“Wait, I-I can explain.”

Tam takes a step back. “You’re one of them,” she can’t hide the tremble in her voice.

“Y-you’re a Sprite.”

“No, I—”

Tam turns and dashes out the door, and I follow her at her heels. This can’t be how it ends, how we end. As I turn the corner, I run right into a solid surface.

“Didn’t think you’d come back here, but Daphne was right.”

Solid surfaces don’t speak. I look up and recognize the man I never wished to see again.

Marcus.