37. Karma #2
Micha holds Arlo as his little brother sobs. Soren watches silently from beside my racking body, face reflecting the pain that tears me apart.
“Come back,” I gasp. “Spiral. Please. Come back to me.”
The vision of his lifeless eyes will haunt me.
I swipe away his black and white fringe and rub at his smudged black makeup with my thumb.
There was a time when I couldn’t stand to see that black and white get-up, when I knew it meant I was about to be subjected to his wrath. Now I would do anything to go back in time to experience it again.
This isn’t fair. I can’t die. I can’t leave this life and follow him into death. I have to live with the ache that I once had him, that he was taken away from me, that I never cured his pain a final time.
My hands tremble, and I watch the stitching in my wrists pull as they shift.
Stitching. Electricity. Life.
What if…
I stand abruptly, knocking his head from my lap to the floor, and grab his wrist.
“Karma, what are you doing?” Soren asks, voice rough.
I ignore him and his tear-stained cheeks, dragging Spiral’s limp body towards the disconnected section of the tent that belongs to Kreo.
“We can bring him back to life.”
“What are you talking about?” Micha stares at Spiral like he’s either about to cry or kill someone. But there is no one else to kill.
The fire has stopped.
Everyone is dead.
“Kreo did it to me. I can do it to Spiral.”
“Fuck, this is insane.” Soren leans down to grab Spiral and throw him over his shoulder. “But it’s worth a shot.”
Micha and Arlo don’t look convinced but follow after as I run.
We can’t wait any longer.
“The table,” Soren demands as we enter the last part of the tent that survived.
The brothers work together to flip it back to standing. Soren lays Spiral down, and Micha wraps his arms around Arlo as they watch from the side.
“Please work,” one of them whispers; I’m not sure who.
I’ve seen Kreo bring little animals to life, but never a human. I was his last.
I work quickly to secure all the leather bands to Spiral’s body. I put the metal cap on his head and pull the strap beneath his chin.
“Will it hurt?” Arlo asks.
“I have no idea,” I admit, flipping on all the switches quickly. “I don’t feel pain, but Spiral might.”
The machine whirrs to life loudly. The animals in the surrounding cages make all sorts of noises, and the bulb in the lamp on Kreo’s desk shatters suddenly from the overwhelming energy.
I sense it latch onto the voltage inside of me, and for a moment, I feel powerful, like I can do anything on earth.
Is this how Kreo feels when he does these experiments?
The sight of Spiral’s dead face takes away that feeling immediately.
“I can’t watch,” Arlo whines, shoving his head into Micha’s chest.
“I know, Pipsqueak.”
“What’s next, Karma?” Soren asks.
I know what to do.
My fingers wrap around the large pull lever near the top of the machine. The metal pole makes my body tingle, conducting through me, and I fight the urge to pull away.
I tug the lever down.
The machine shakes, sparks of electricity protruding from every switch, bulb, and button. Soren shields his eyes from the onslaught of white light, and Micha turns Arlo’s body away, nestling into his neck to protect himself.
Voltage is thrown into Spiral’s convulsing body. His carcass shakes violently, pulling the leather straps.
Flashes of light fill the room.
Animals fall silent.
Rumbles and whirs and claps of metal reverberate around us.
The room comes to life. It’s so loud, so bright, almost unbearably so. I refrain from covering my eyes and ears. I push through, set on staring at my dead clown’s body.
It doesn’t last long before the machine overrides, and the back of it explodes.
Soren slams into me, and Micha slams into Arlo, throwing us aside.
I land on the floor beside a gasping Arlo and a panting Micha.
The four of us stare at the table as the room stills.
The machine ceases all power. Darkness ascends.
Everything is frozen. Dead silence is overpowering.
Slowly, I stand. Micha helps Arlo up, and Soren takes a step forward with me.
Spiral is stationary. His chest is motionless, his eyes are still shut, and I can’t hear his heart beating.
A sob breaks out of me.
It failed.
I’ve failed.
He’s dead.
“Oh no,” Soren whispers, dragging me to his chest and wrapping his arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Karma.” But he’s not just sorry for me; he’s sorry for Spiral. The proof leaks down his face in the form of more tears.
I cry into his chest, and for the first time in my life, real liquid leaks from my eyes. Micha and Arlo wrap around me too. Arlo sobs loudly; Micha cries quietly.
Their hearts beat back into my ears, pounding thunderously, but it misses a vital step in its tune. I’m used to hearing them all together.
I never told them that their hearts sync up. That all five would beat in time when they surround me. But now they’re out of coordination, sporadic and wrong.
I can hear Arlo’s, Micha’s, and the two belonging to Soren. That’s four in total.
It should be five.
I need my five.
I can’t live without my five.
“It hurts,” I whine, clawing against a chest. The pain I’ve only ever experienced from Spiral’s drugs and the realisation that Kreo never cared for me, that I was never supposed to exist, returns tenfold. It’s true pain. Unbearable pain.
My knees buckle, but their arms hold me up.
I listen to their unsteady hearts, counting them to drown out the hurt.
One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four—
Five?
I snap my head up, counting again.
Four pound rapidly.
Arlo’s one.
Micha’s one.
Soren’s two.
And a fifth.
It’s slow, unsteady, distant.
But it’s there.
“Spiral?”
“He’s gone, Karma,” Soren whispers, but I shake my head, pushing them away.
“I’m sorry, Stitches,” Micha adds, and I can hear the pain in his voice. It mixes with that distant, unsteady pounding.
“Spiral?” I repeat, approaching the metal table as the group stares at me. My glowing eyes are fixed on Spiral’s body. The green light drifts from his feet, up to his legs and torso, to his neck, and finally, over his face.
The unsteady rhythm is closest now that I’m beside him.
“Spiral?” I ask a third time.
Dark eyes snap open, and if I had a working heart, it would drop to the floor.