Blind World (The Onyx Fox Saga Book 1) Page 4

  Bang! “Sold to Mrs. Stein for five thousand dollars!”

  Startled, Frank ripped his gaze away and stared at his wife, who was waving their paddle high in air as if she had gone mad. He yanked the number away and set it under his chair, his mind trailing to the ridiculous amount of money they had wasted.

  Once every item had been sold, the party commenced and the merriment continued. Halfway through, what Frank initially feared had come true: Henry appeared to have lost all control of his legs and leaned heavily on his friend’s shoulder while he continued to drink and laugh with his guests. When it was time for everyone to leave, Frank stood at the door with Henry, holding him up. It looked to be a tedious task to make sure everyone received a goodbye, but Henry seemed to adore the attention.

  When the last guest was out, Frank hooked one of Henry’s arms over his shoulders and began to drag his comrade toward the stairs.

  The old family butler, Mr. Poole, walked up next to them, his hands extended. “Do you need help, Mr. Stein?”

  Frank took in the old man and smiled at the thought. “No, I’ve got it.”

  “He’s got it, M’ster Poole,” Henry agreed, tittering.

  The old man shook his head at the drunk and stepped back, letting them continue on their way up.

  Henry began to mutter a song under his breath as they ventured forth, stopping every once in a while to chuckle dizzily. He hung off of Frank’s side, like he might as well have been a corpse. Henry seemed to think that each step was a different reason to laugh and he nearly fell out of Frank’s arm as tears flew from his eyes.

  “…Rrr my pal—know that?” he asked, his words slurred together.

  Once they got to the bedroom door, Frank opened it and muttered, “Uh-huh.”

  “Nnn…love ya’, man,” Henry grumbled as he was pulled into his room.

  Frank threw him on the bed and pulled off his shoes. “You have a good time?” he poked.

  But Henry only giggled and rolled over on his side.

  Seeing that the bathroom light was on, Frank walked over to take care of it. “Glad you took your medicine?”

  Henry rolled onto his stomach. “Oh, yeah,” he mumbled into the pillow.

  “What did I tell you?” Frank teased. Then he reached out for the light switch—but something caught his eye and he stopped. Letting his hand fall away, he stepped up to the sink and set his hands on the smooth, dark quartz countertop.

  The whole thing was shiny-clean like usual, except for the bowl. It was covered in a thick white film of some sort. Laying sideways on the drain was an orange cylindrical container, covered in a long sticker, the film caked on that, too.

  Frank hesitated as he picked up the bottle, fearing the worst. He tried to read the label, but the thick layer seemed to cover it. Taking his thumb, he gently rubbed off the white powder until he was able to make out one word:

  Lithium.

  Canto II

  Frank pulled out the lab key his boss had given him and jammed it into the hole until it stopped. As he turned it, he checked his watch; five minutes early—which was five minutes late in his eyes. He figured the eighteen-year-old girl would either be late or exactly on time, but never early; he had learned that from his own college experience. But still, he would have preferred to have been there earlier, to get things ready.

  When he got inside, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it on the rolling chair and then tossed his car keys on the desk. After that, he walked around to the drawers and started rummaging through them, trying to look for the receptionist’s tour script. She always kept one on hand whenever schools or visitors came.

  He found nothing. But the receptionist had never been an organized woman in the first place.

  Looking around the room for something, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and harrumphed. He didn’t want to be there anyway; Dante was the one who had insisted. Frank wasn’t too fond of the idea of having to be alone with the selfish girl. No, he would probably wind up finally giving her a piece of his mind, further straining his relationship with Dante. By the way she acts, she has to know anyway, he thought. She was a loudmouth, though, and would probably give her own two-cents right back. Either that or she would do that weird Christian thing and give no backlashing response, blessing him instead. He scoffed in disgust. Why couldn’t Dante tell she was playing him like a fiddle? His little brother must have been drowning in her bluish-green eyes.

  Frank shook it off as he remembered: he had lots of notes in his office, though none were decipherable to a college kid with no interest in science. Why, he could run to it really quick and be back in enough time to meet up with the girl. Hopefully, she would be a bit late.

  He turned and marched up to the lab doors. As he swung them open, his hand froze on the light switch.

  The light was already on.

  Odd. That had never happened. Someone could have left it on, but that was highly unlikely. As his eyes scanned over the room, he could sense that something was off, though all was completely silent. All except a low humming noise. Taking a heedful step forward, he listened closer until he found the sound flowing from the fridge in the back. A strange feeling grew inside of him and he walked over to the fridge, which held Henry’s precious chemical. When he opened it, a whole rack of test tubes was gone.

  Surprised but not willing to make too much noise, he deftly closed the door and turned to the lab. There, on the table in the corner, he found the test tubes sitting next to a box with three large holes and a few beakers. Reaching the table, a piece of paper caught his eye, wrinkled with fold creases. He slid it out from under the box and read it.

  It was Henry’s formula.

  “Thank God it’s only you, Frankie.”

  Gasping, Frank whirled around to the intruder.

  Henry stood there, cautious and staring. “Now I don’t have to do anything drastic.” He forced a casual chuckle.

  Frank normally would have been relieved to see it was just his friend staying late and working hard on a project, but this was different. Henry was particularly excited and ready to break the rules for the advancement of his chemical. “What are you doing here, Henry?” Frank asked, remembering to be calm.

  “I could ask you the same question,” he challenged.

  “I got permission.” Frank wanted to hurl the words at him but doing so was unwise. He couldn’t afford that with Henry. After so many snaps in college, he knew he had to play the calm role. “How about you?”

  Henry laughed at the thought. “Why would I ever be granted permission?”

  Frank clenched his jaw, wary of his movements; one slip-up and Henry could go berserk. He began shuffling sideways as subtly as he could, away from the table. “I thought the copy of the formula was tucked away in the files. How’d you get it?” he asked.

  “I broke into Stevenson’s office,” Henry replied matter-of-factly. “Right before the party.”

  Frank recalled that night—that hyper look Henry had while he stood at the back of the auction. Frank set a calm hand out in the air. “Henry,” he breathed, “you know this’ll get you fired.” Reasoning with Henry was a long-shot, but worth it; sometimes it worked and sometimes you got yelled at.

  “Quite the contrary, actually,” Henry laughed, stepping up to his work station. Opening a drawer, he continued, “It will get me promoted and out of here. I’ll be up the social ladder in no time.” When he came back up, he held a syringe. He looked at Frank, his eyes flickering with something dark. “I can take you with me, if you’d like.”

  Frank no longer strove to be collective but let his true concern and worry for his friend be evident on his face, never breaking eye contact. “Henry, I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’ve got a feeling it’s not good.” He sniffed, trying to fight through the tremor in his voice. “Please, man, let’s… Let’s get you home, huh? Get you some medicine and then we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  At the word “medicine,” Henry’s blank face was gone
in an instant. Fury rising to his features, he took a quick step in Frank’s direction.

  Frank flinched and held up his hands. “Whoa, hey!” he laughed, hiding his nervousness. “Calm down!” Stupid! he thought to himself. How could you say that? You know better!

  Henry’s feet froze, but his glare continued on. “You want to know what I’m doing?” he demanded. “I’ll show you!” He slung off his lab coat and grabbed a test tube grip. Then he brushed past Frank and over to the oven. He flung it open and took out a glowing blue tube that almost bubbled over.

  “Hey!” Frank gasped. “Careful, Henry!”

  “Shut up!” he snapped, kicking the door closed. “You’re just like them, aren’t you?”

  Frank stepped to the other side of the table with the supplies and strange box. The table made a good physical barrier. “Henry, please—”

  “I said shut up!” he hissed through his teeth, giving Frank a wild, crazed look. It was clear that he had a hard time trying not to shake the tube, but he seemed to manage, even in his state, and set it back in the rack. Henry took a deep breath and mumbled, “Now I have to do this fast.” He opened the box and pulled out a halfway full syringe of red liquid. “Do you know what this is?”

  Frank sighed, fed up. “Something that some no-good sap gave you, I’m sure,” he grumbled.

  “This is the blood of a Hercules Beetle!” he explained, growing more and more wild and excited. Everything he said almost sounded like laughter. “This small insect is able to lift up to eight-hundred-and-fifty-times its own weight.” As he spoke, he hovered over the bubbling chemical with the blood and pressed down with a slow, steady grip. A head of blood beaded at the end of the tip until it dropped into the blue liquid. Several other drops followed it. “The chemical itself will boost my intelligence while the blood of the beetle mixed with it will give me inhuman strength!” he snarled happily.

  Frank couldn’t believe what he was hearing; this manic stage was getting out of hand. Was he really going to do what he thought he was going to do?

  Henry moved his focus from his baffled friend and proceeded to unwrap the sterile bag of the empty syringe, pull off the cup, and set the needle inside the tube.

  “Henry!” Frank snapped. “What are you doing?!”

  “Something the others were too afraid to do!” he yelled madly, a smile on his face. Pulling up on the plunger, he watched wide-eyed as the blue glow filled the syringe. “The imbeciles shut the thing down—won’t even experiment on animals!”

  “Because of your outburst!” Frank snarled.

  “They’re worried of what real power can do!” Henry shot back. “They won’t risk experimenting on a human? Fine! I will!”

  Frank started toward him. “Henry, that can kill you!” he snarled. “What do you not understand about that? It’s radioactive!”

  “I understand more about it than you do! I invented it!” Henry shouted. The greed in his voice reminded Frank of an egocentric child. Henry held up his arm and started toward the crook of his elbow with the warm needle.

  “Henry!” Frank shouted, running up to his friend. Pinning Henry up against the counter, Frank grabbed the wrist with the syringe and held it over their heads. As the two tangled themselves in a violent struggle, the rack of tubes tumbled to the ground and crashed to bits, the white floors coated in a horrid blue.

  Furious, Henry used his free hand to shove Frank’s face away.

  Frank stumbled back and caught himself before he fell to the slippery floor.

  Acting fast, Henry jammed the syringe into his skin and watched as the glowing blue chemical disappeared into his arm. As his veins lit up, so did the smile on his face. “It’s working!” he gulped.

  Frank turned and stared, horror-struck, at his friend. “H-Henry?” he breathed, weak. He watched the glow flow up Henry’s arm and taint every vein in his skin. But the most sickening part was the gleam of excitement in Henry’s eyes as the toxin seeped through his body.

  —

  Dante parked in front of the small, ominous-looking building on the waterfront. But Suzette stayed seated, refusing to leave. Usually, she wasn’t a shy person—quite the opposite, actually—but this was Franklin Stein, the man who smiled to her face then ridiculed her behind her back. She prayed this exchange would be short and sweet so she wouldn’t have to endure his dislike of her for too long. No matter who they’d been around or what they’d been doing, Suzette always felt the disdain emanating off of Frank, even through his perfectly kind smile. She had always forced a smile back; not because she disliked him, but because the strain he’d left her with had been so unbearable. It wasn’t anything he’d done, either; he was always so wonderfully nice, had even asked her about her day sometimes. But there had always lurked an underlying sense of loathing in his happy, chipper words.

  “What’s the hold up?” Dante asked.

  Her eyes stayed glued to the building, arms folded across her chest. “I don’t want to do this.”

  “But you have to get this paper done, don’t you?”

  “That’s not the issue.”

  Dante sighed and she felt his hand fall on her knee. “Frank is perfectly fine doing this for you,” he insisted.

  She rolled her eyes until they landed heavily on him. “You know he’s not.” She hated talking about the issue, usually pushed it deep down and played nice.

  Dante’s face strained. “Frank loves you, Suz.”

  Liar. She stared out her window again, lips pressed together. He always acted like his brother was just fine, like she was the one who was absurd. Dante knew that there was no hiding it, but he insisted on it anyway.

  “Suz, why does it matter? You’re not dating him; you’re dating me.”

  She remained quiet, sizzling.

  “Frankie just doesn’t think like you and me,” Dante tried. “He doesn’t get that it’s the biblical choice—the one we made together.”

  “No, instead he just blames it on me,” she grumbled. “Instead, he thinks I’m some prude who’s dangling you on a string by holding out on you. And you let him believe it.”

  The car rocked as Dante fidgeted in his seat. “Suzette, he’s never going to understand that we’re waiting until we’re married to be intimate. You just have to accept that he’s confused about it and move on.”

  She turned and scolded him with her eyes, though she kept her voice leveled. “My issue is not that he doesn’t understand—lots of people don’t understand it. My issue is that, around him, you act like it’s not something we chose together. I might have to call this guy my brother-in-law one day and he thinks I’m a spoiled brat who has to get my way.” She shook her head and felt her heart drop. “I might have to put up with his attitude for the rest of my life, Dante, so call me less than thrilled.”

  Dante looked down and picked at the stitching of the steering wheel, avoiding a response.

  Typical—always quiet. Too quiet. She lowered her voice to a whisper, afraid his lack of communication would make her snap. “Listen, you know that if I go in there, I’ll be nice. You can’t say the same about him. At least come inside and play peacekeeper.”

  Suzette waited for him to move, but he was still unresponsive. She turned her gaze to the research lab, knowing her glare was causing pressure. He could never handle the heat of any human-caused stress. Extinguishing a burning building? Sure, no problem! Faced with human difficulties? He would crack if Suzette didn’t hold him steady.

  “Tell you what,” he finally said. “You go in, get your paper done, stick it to him if you have to, and leave. I’ll be five minutes up the road. Call me when you’re done. I’ll buy you some ice cream or something and we can talk more about it then.”

  She sunk into her seat, eyes trailing to the floorboard, disappointed with the answer. Talking about it later meant talking about it never. The gift of food always had a good chance of coaxing Suzette out of a funk, but not this time.

  Sighing, he got out of the car, walked over to her side,
and opened her door. Setting a hand on her knee, he chuckled. “I promise, alright?”

  Knowing it was useless, she mumbled, “Okay.” After a long pause, her weak fingers clicked open her seat belt and let it slide across her chest until it was back in place.

  Dante held out his hand.

  Showing that she knew his game, Suzette lazily took his hand and let him help her out, avoiding eye contact. As she flung her purse over her shoulder, she mumbled, “Bye.”

  “Bye, babe.” He leaned out into her peripheral.

  Without a smile or an acknowledgment, she met his puckered lips with hers briefly and drew away.

  He sighed.

  Suzette trudged her way up to the research building, marching as if she were walking toward her doom. As she opened the door, she looked back at Dante, who waved from the driver’s seat and drove away.

  Accepting defeat, she turned to the door and walked in.

  As she took in the reception room, her attention was drawn away from Dante to the empty room. Frank was nowhere in sight. Confused, she checked the clock. Was she early? No, it was the right time. She approached the desk.

  Draped sloppily over the chair was a nice suede jacket, some car keys set atop the desk.

  “Mr. Stein?” she called gently, glancing down the long hall.

  Silence.

  She cleared her throat and tried again, louder. “Mr. Stein?”

  The only sound came from the ticking hand on the clock.

  She made her way down the hall, peeking through the small windows in hopes of seeing Frank. The sound of her steps sent a soft echo into her ears, but there was still no sign of life.

  Just then, a small murmur filled her ears.

  Curious, she slowed her feet, peering down the hall toward a large pair of double doors. “Mr. Stein?” she attempted again.

  The sound continued with no discernible pattern. It must have been people talking.

  More than one person? The thought made her nervous. She turned and made her way down the hall, each cautious footstep lagging behind the other. Every step allowed the murmur to grow louder and louder until Suzette could definitely make out two voices speaking harshly toward each other. Her stomach dropped and she reached into her purse, her hand clutching onto her mace. The closer she got, she realized it was more than just a few harsh words; there was a yelling match going on inside. Like clockwork, self-defense procedures her father taught her ran through her head. Best not to get involved. Just walk away, she thought to herself. It was what her father would say. She whirled around and started away.