Prometheus III

So...it's been a while. Sorry. It was a hard write. In the first chapter, he told George to meet him Manhattan in the morning so they can introduce themselves to a new recruit. Picking up from there..

August 19, 2020

The first tears of thousands accumulated in his eyes, making the medical report futile to read. Slashing away the app and tearing off his glasses, Prometheus buried his face in his hands.

“What’s wrong, Pro?” Natassa asked, bewildered. “Pro? Pro!”

Darkness engulfed Prometheus. He squished his eyes with his palms, fingers contracting like a vise. The snow-white page with the neutral autopsy diagram of a woman imprinted on his mind. Tighter and tighter he closed his eyes, but the twenty-two pink blotches on her abdomen and face, marking her injuries, only grew brighter.

Natassa wrapped an arm around him.

“They killed her,” he whispered, wetting her shoulder.

“Who?” she breathed. He could hear it. She knew the answer before it came.

“Josefina. They killed Josefina.”

Natassa’s breasts shuttered. “Those animals…”

“I took every precaution…to protect her in prison,” he cried, struggling to contain the aperture from which his heart wanted to wail. “I should’ve…. I should’ve--”

“You should’ve done nothing differently!” his sister hissed through tight-locked teeth. She glanced over her shoulder, observed the breakfasters, ensuring she and Prometheus remained unnoticed in their corner booth. “We both know this is retaliation for what we did to Hector Leng last night. You did everything you could to protect Josefina. The Maryland Six are one short this morning, and before long there will be five more rotting in the ground. We made the world better last night, even if for a moment.” Her chartreuse eyes, green with flakes of yellow like his own, were sparkling and bright with tears of anger. Natassa had adopted Josefina like the sister she was supposed to be. He knew she wanted to cry with him. “You need to keep yourself together,” Natassa commanded. “She’ll be here soon, and she can’t find you weak like this. Her mother is dead. You have to be there for her. This is your duty now, as a father. Do you understand? Pro, tell me you understand!”

“Yes.” Natassa held his hand, tender and full of sorrow for his loss. Fatherhood, foreign as it was, made him burrow the cupidinous molten rage he felt deep into his heart to fuel his crusade in the years to come. All his fulminating sorrow retreated and clarity consumed him. He was himself once more, cloaked in a masterful façade of his own tailoring, woven from the pelt of fear and hatred, from light and love. Not even Josefina’s death could sway him from the promise he made her. I will be a father. “I understand.”

Natassa brushed the tears off his cheeks and returned to her laptop, though not easily, he could tell.

“Sir, are you alright?”

Prometheus looked up from the booth. Teddy, the owner of Freeman’s Bagels and Delights, held two steaming mugs. His smartglasses identified Teddy the moment he had walked into the café thirty minutes prior. Raised in Harlem, reformed in an upstate correctional facility, and robbed of opportunity as he had robbed a grocery store of its earnings, poor Teddy had no hope left in his eyes. The smartglasses failed to mention that. Web articles glamorized his restored humanity, shortly after his incarceration decades ago, parading him as a success story. He had aspired to divert the paths of inner-city youths from trailing his own. Teddy realized too late that he was no more than a fleeting piece of propaganda for a cutthroat society, a brief electoral splotch on a newspaper blown from the road to the dumpster to the landfill. Even before his thuggish ways, he was a neutered man, and Prometheus knew it by only the look of him.

A square-faced man, deeply grey and balding, with tiny ears and an overwhelming nose, Teddy looked as submissive as the life he led. Yellowed teeth, leathery skin, wrinkled clothes, and a spine curved by the weight of poverty, and yet he had his coveted morals, in spite of all the happiness they failed to bring. Teddy would sooner gouge his eyes like Oedipus Rex, appalled to see himself succumb to the odious whispers of the heart. In the greater competition for survival, eternally overarching civilization, he accepted his role as a sacrificial pion on the board. Such an acceptance left Teddy working a ninety-six hour workweek to keep costs low for a business he despised. Teddy might have come to accept the soul-crushing mediocrity and pointlessness of his life, but Prometheus could not. Josefina could not--would not, he remembered dreadfully--have accepted it. Billions more lived worse lives. It fell on Prometheus alone to accomplish what men like Teddy could not.

“You’ve caught me on a bad day,” Prometheus answered. He wiped the corners of his eyes. I’ve caught you on a worse day, and you don’t even know it. Such is the life of a hen raised for the meat.

“It’s a terrible day for us all,” Teddy said, placing the cups on the table. Tattoos littered both his arms. From birth, Teddy was a victim of the genetic lottery, and the faint, aged artwork along his arms only made his skin appear darker than it was. Teddy put on a consoling smile over his meek appearance. “The whole world’s on fire today,” Teddy said regretfully. “All those Wall Street boys are pulling their hair out from the roots faster than any of us can pull our money out of the banks.”

“Then I’m afraid I’ll be bald by lunch.” It was a good enough excuse to be crying today, Prometheus thought.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Count yourself lucky it was only money and not your family. Can’t have it as bad as those people,” Teddy said, pointing a thick thumb at the television above. “The hell they must be going through today. Poor folks. Three cities! Can you believe it? Three cities in less than twenty-four hours. Damn terrorists always get us when things are looking bright. We were nearly out of this stinking recession, again. I was thinking I might make a slim profit, pay back some of those loans even. Now they’ve gone and took us right back to the pit of hell.” He sighed and shook his head apologetically. “That was rude of me. These terrorist b******s work me up; I feel like a conservative whenever I talk about them. Anyways, losing money is a different kind of suffering I know all too well. You got my sympathies. What’s your name, sir?”

“Prometheus. Prometheus Han.” He extended a hand to shake.

Teddy’s breath stalled. Prometheus could see the thoughts behind his black, wavering eyes. Did he accept the patronage of the richest man he might ever meet, or did he refuse service to a man who stood for all that he detested? “I’m Teddy Freeman, and this is my shop.” With a half-smile and a brisk shake, he added, “Enjoy your tea.” He turned his back, hastening the distance between them.

Neutrality from a neutered man. A destitute man’s moral conflict would leave a vainglorious glow on Prometheus’s face for hours, but instead he sat desiccated. Blowing steam from his green tea was all he could muster.

Outside the diner window, Harlem was awakening. The sun was bursting its viscera across the sky, almost mourning. The night’s moon was exiting the neighborhood, like the woman outside, clutching her red heels in her hands. She meandered amongst uncollected bags of fresh summer garbage overflowing on the curb. Prometheus wondered how many local trash collectors might still have their jobs by evening. This is what I wanted, he reminded himself, snuffing the pangs of guilt welling inside him. This is what Josefina wanted. This is what is supposed to happen today. Only fires on the savannah can bring the rain.

Prometheus’s hands shuddered as he sipped on the tea. He pushed back more tears and swallowed the hot water. Natassa peered at him from the corner of her eyes. When he was sullen, she never left his side. Perhaps Natassa, the baby of the family, had acquired her protective nature from their two elder sisters, or perhaps it was their own shared comradery. Like soldiers from a war they only understood, a deeper connectivity formed from the secrets and murders shared between them. Natassa was simple and beautiful of face, neither too round nor too sharp. A gentler Roman’s nose than his own still gave her the look of a hardened woman. A brown, silky curtain of hair, partly braided, ended above the smartglasses attached to earmuff-sized headphones dangling around her neck. She leaned forward, reading something on her screen, though he half-suspected her on the verge of tears, still. He observed the mole on the back of her neck.

With a start, he remembered the lumpy mole next to Josefina’s left areola. The mole had been no blotch of imperfection, but a point of dimension that warranted tender studying. Prometheus’s finger burned, as he traced small circles on the outside of the mug.

Running through memories he so desperately wanted to live a thousand times over, Prometheus put on his smartglasses and tapped the face of the muted T.V. from afar. Sound sparked in his ears. He listened to the world cry, so he might not have to once more.

“People are standing together in the streets of London in sheer defiance,” an American news reporter said. “The last attack, which occurred only two hours ago, has already brought out tens of thousands of English citizens to mourn the loss of the royal family. Early this morning, Her Majesty and the Prince were on route to a secure location after intelligence reports indicated a possible attack in the U.K. was imminent. As the royal family evacuated, an RPG warhead struck their vehicle on Victoria Street. As if the appearance of an RPG on the streets of London was not distressing enough in a time of crisis, we must all also confront the grim fact that a chemical weapon has appeared in the hands of a terrorist.

“English authorities have confirmed the presence of depleted uranium imbedded in the warhead used to kill the Queen, the Prince, and several of their security personnel. While the explosion was contained to a few square meters, a quarantine zone will render the vicinity between Westminster Abbey and Westminster Cathedral uninhabitable for the foreseeable future. It remains unclear precisely how radioactive the no-go zone has become.

“Although the terrorist remains unidentified, local police have confirmed that he fired a single warhead from a forty-second floor hotel suite, an impossible shot given the height, angle, and trajectory from the point of impact. Online skeptics are already comparing the event to the mysterious circumstances surrounding the assassination of John F. Kennedy. However, unlike the infamous Lee Harvey Oswald, this terrorist immediately committed suicide, falling to the English streets below. It has yet to be determined if he, and this awful event, was in any way affiliated to either of the two terrorist groups that attacked Shanghai and Riyadh earlier.”

George suddenly slipped into the booth with them. Prometheus muted the television and examined his smartwatch. Not a second would have passed had he instructed Gabrielle to meet him here. He had debated charging Gabrielle with protecting and training the new recruit, but that would mean finding a new Chief Financial Officer for his company. She was too good in her day job to spare for another role. George, however, acted as Prometheus’s own personal security for the sake of appearances; the Brit seemed the obvious choice to train and protect the new recruit, but the nuances of children was hardly his specialty.

“I’ve been here for the past hour securing the perimeter,” George said tonelessly.

“And?” Prometheus inquired. Natassa peered at him again, a cautionary reminder to exude confidence. Did George notice his voice was thin with grief, too?

“I identified at least a half dozen military drones popping between the clouds,” said George, brushing his moustache with his fingers, signaling nothing on his face. “Crisscrossing chutes of exhaust indicate that there’s a squadron of intercepting jets up there. On the street level, despite all the traffic that’s congesting the streets, police are making themselves known. Every cop in the city is on the beat today. FBI are outside most major banks and government buildings in unmarked vehicles. I’ve never seen traffic this bad in the city, but it isn’t going to get in their way. They’re ready for what’s about to happen.”

“They would think that,” Natassa muttered, without looking up. There was a meticulous certainty in each strike on her keyboard that Prometheus recognized. But the razor twist of her lips into a sharp grin made it clear for George that the day was theirs already. He needed to mirror his sister’s confidence.

With catlike eyes of jade and equally deliberate blinks, George evaluated Natassa. They had met only twice over the past year when Prometheus traveled abroad to visit Natassa, but neither was ever aware of the other’s involvement in his inner circle until last night. “Nice shirt,” George said, nodding at the black graphic t-shirt of Mozart moshing in a pit, the cover art of some Japanese death metal band. “It’s very you.”

Natassa paused and scanned one of the variations of George’s usual Hawaiian button up shirts that looked as though it might tear if he flexed. Prometheus released the start of a giggle, but a flash of the autopsy diagram and its pink dots made his laughter wither.

Instead, he adjusted the Eldridge-knotted tie around his collar, tightening its grip on his neck. The sun beat hard upon the city already, and his suit was less than practical for a stroll. But he made no plans for a normal saunter around the city. Every step I have taken, every step I will take will be for you, Josefina, he swore. Stitched with white gold and custom cut from rare fabrics of qiviuk, pashmina, and vicuna, his dark cobalt Italian suit warded away undesired attention. No one, law enforcement especially, would think to waste his time if they caught him where he didn’t belong. Any bold-faced lie was believable with a suit…and a name like his.

Sitting up stiffly, George began, “About Operation Silent Summer--”

“You still have no part to play,” Natassa reminded him.

“Nor does our new recruit,” Prometheus added.

“Her especially,” Natassa said.

“So this is a meet-and-greet then?” George guessed.

“Of a sort,” Prometheus replied. “You’re here to gauge her skills, the kind of attention and nurturing she will need to be amongst our ranks. She’s come from a great distance, by foot.”

“How far?” George inquired.

“All the way from North Carolina,” Prometheus said.

“A runaway.” George stroked his moustache. His gaze darkened. “How old is she?”

Prometheus hesitated before he murmured, “Young.”

If George had chosen to ask the words on the precipice of his lips, his voice might have sounded indignant. Prometheus studied his restraint. The veteran had killed children as easily as he had killed anything else that walked upright. The mandate of natural selection ensured children and soldiers were all that remained in any warzone, the Middle East most of all.

Prometheus was first to yield when a breeze drifted between their locked stares. Glancing eagerly to the entrance, he swallowing what felt like a rock.

His heart clenched as though touched by the sudden leap of fire.

Disbelief, and every emotion to follow thereafter, pierced surgically. She stood tall as any girl her age, a great deal bigger than the puffy mass of flesh and diapers that he remembered. An oversized army jacket hung to her knees and entombed her bony frame, like the onesies she used to wear. She looked weak and hungry, though her fawn, angular face was clean of any filth. Split into two long pigtails with yellow butterfly clips, her brown hair was unwashed and disastrously frizzled. On her shoulder was a heavy pink knapsack that tilted her body. Her entire life must have been in that bag, he realized.

The thrumming of his heart resumed. A dizzying excitement overtook all his expression. “There, Mr. Brigham,” he whispered, elation raising his tone. “That’s how old she is.”

“She can’t even be ten,” George gawked, his scalp tightening.

“Younger,” Natassa assured, peeking a glance from behind her computer. “She’s more beautiful than I remember.”

“What’s her name?” George said, a silent effort of will burying frigid rage.

“Daisy. Daisy Santa Maria,” Prometheus breathed, almost calling to the little girl. And as if hearing her own name, she looked his way. Precisely upon him. Their eyes locked like binary stars, sinking into one another through a magical, invisible force. Her shimmering amber-gold eyes, almost like sunlight, made him tremble. A wail rang between his ears. Her first cry, he realized. Or is that her mother’s last cry?

He drew away his gaze and never hated the sight of tea so much in his life.

“Why has she come here?” George asked. His voice was impassive, but his rabic gaze locked on Prometheus like a prowling animal behind a cage.

“She’s on a mission…” Natassa answered absently, investigating something on her computer.

Prometheus wanted to see Daisy more, but he answered George, instead. “Her parents are in prison. Were…. Her mother passed away this morning. Only her father remains.” Prometheus held back the gnashing tears behind his eyes. “Her father ran an unsuccessful law firm in a strip mall. Two years ago, unbeknownst to him, he assisted suspected terrorists on the watch-list. According to the ruling in Holder V. Humanitarian Law Project, materially assisting terrorists is a punishable offense.”

“Material? As in money?” George presumed. “Or was he arming these terrorists?”

“Neither. He gave legal counsel to suspected terrorists, which is a punishable offense under American law.” Prometheus tried not to watch Daisy. There will be more than enough time, later, he told himself. He was reminded of how much time he thought he would have with Josefina. He added hoarsely, “A trail of email exchanges between Dr. Santa Maria and her husband, concerning the terrorists, implicated her, as well. She was a roboticist. Her contribution to the world is immeasurable and now, unknowable, because she was defamed as a terrorist-sympathizer and murdered by the very system she sought to rectify. She had a mind like no other.” A heart like no other, he wanted to add. “To assist her husband’s legal career, she created an algorithm that could supply counsel for a myriad of legal woes. It was a pet project for her, but you can imagine how an automated approach to the law and the very social order of society might disrupt the dynamics of global power.” Prometheus glanced at Daisy’s back, as she swiveled in a tall, red stool, awaiting service. “The response to Dr. Santa Maria’s work has left numerous casualties, the most severe of all sits only a few feet away.”

George’s equanimous face absorbed the facts, but his eyes wavered uncertainly. Prometheus stared at his tea, but listened for Daisy’s gentle voice eagerly.

“What can I do for ya, sweetheart?” Teddy announced, inspecting Daisy and her suspicious arrival.

“I’d like some blueberry pancakes and whisky, please,” Daisy said, pointing at the menu with small, gritty fingers poking out of her jungle-camouflage coat.

“Whisky, huh?” Teddy gave an amused chortle. “I don’t see no whisky up there. How about some orange juice, instead?”

Daisy contemplated the offer. “You got apple?”

“Matter of fact, I do little lady. Just got a fresh shipment yesterday. I’ll grab some for you.” Teddy turned to walk away, but stopped half way, rubbing his chin. “Where are your parents?” he added, looking around. “I don’t see them nowhere.”

“I came alone. Sometimes Daddy doesn’t wake up in the morning even if I shake him real good.”

“Where you coming from?”

“I can’t tell a stranger where I live. I got money if you think I don’t.” She jingled the sound of change from her deep pockets.

“I’m just worried you might be lost or hurt.”

“No sir, just hungry is all!” She tapped her stomach and looked at the server with doe-eyes.

“What’s with the backpack?” Teddy asked. “School is out, you know.”

“It’s not a backpack! It’s a purse. A lady always has to have her purse with her. Don’t you know that?”

Teddy laughed gaily and said, “I tell you what. You keep your money this time, and I’ll get you some pancakes and apple juice. On the house! What do the kids call you?”

Daisy hastily answered, “Ana Raquel Flores.”

“You wait right there, Miss Flores. I’ll get you those cakes in a jiffy.” Teddy turned and strolled through the door into the kitchen.

“Smart little bugger,” George grumbled, almost charmed. “She doesn’t hesitate to give her name. Unfortunately, that name is still going to raise some alarms. She’s using a relative’s name by the sound of it. The waiter’s already in the back calling the police. They’ll investigate the name and link it to a missing person’s report, assuming her foster parents reported her missing.”

Seconds passed and George’s assumption rang true. A phone vibrated next to Prometheus’s leg. Natassa raised her smartglasses and headphones, and answered the incoming call. “911, state your emergency, please.” Natassa nodded, rolling her eyes as she listened to Teddy. “What’s your name, sir?” she said, sounding as scripted as a seasoned operator. “Mr. Freeman, you’re the owner of this establishment.... Thank you for informing us, sir. We’ll send an officer over as soon as possible. There may be a delay due to the volume of traffic today.” Unclasping her glasses, Natassa nodded to Prometheus and proceeded with her work.

Fast clicking heels marched into the diner, passing Daisy at the counter. Her flowing golden weave was plush and voluminous, all the way to her shoulders. A necklace with hundreds of black and white pearls expanded between the woman’s collar and the cleavage of her business suit. Two black individual pearls rested on each ear. In her metallic colored heels, each with a bow, she was taller than Natassa, and by the appearance of her swift strides, nearly as driven.

Teddy emerged from the kitchen, stopping clumsily with a glass of apple juice in his hands. The woman crossed her arms and said curtly, “Why do you still have a landline?”

Teddy blinked. “Good morning to you, too, Melissa.”

“Uncle Teddy,” Melissa snapped. “I know you were born early last century, but you need a cellphone. I called at least a dozen times this morning. I was worried you got robbed, again. And the police can’t do anything today with all this traffic and terrorism going on.”

Teddy snorted. “Girl, you got some nerve insulting me like that first thing in the morning. I’m old, but I still know how to box a man in the face.” He kissed her with a smirk, before he served the juice to Daisy. Teddy asked his niece, “You want some coffee and eggs while I’m in the back?”

“No, I can’t,” she sighed. “My boss loses his stick up his a*s whenever someone’s late and makes them fish it out for him.”

Teddy shook his head. “I love you girl, but that filthy mouth’s not going to woo no man who is husband material, nor my customers,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Daisy, who watched curiously. “I wish you’d drop by for dinner one of these nights,” he continued. “A nice man at your side perhaps? Your auntie would cook you two such a right sweet meal.”

“If I do come over with a man--not that I’m saying anything--I’ll call first,” she teased.

“Oh, really,” Teddy nodded with a giant smile. “I’ll put a cellphone on my to-do list then. Now go on, get out of here before you’re late.” Teddy spun around, disappearing into the kitchen and shouting, “Oy woman! Pancakes! The customers are starving.”

Melissa, laughing to herself, walked out of the diner, not noticing Daisy’s trailing eyes. The door was not half-closed when Daisy hopped off her stool and followed the woman outside. Prometheus pulled out a fifty, carrying nothing less, and slapped it on the table.

George and Natassa followed him outside. He felt dizzy like in a dream, joy and heartsick all at once, with no chance to breath. Daisy was up the street, slithering behind Melissa, glissading with serpentine hunger. Abruptly, the little girl yelled and charged at the adult. Her daring machination, displayed for all the commuters trapped in their vehicles, intrigued only Prometheus. He knew she had planned for weeks where and how to abduct Melissa, but seeing her execute her fantasy made him marvel how similar they were. We’re fated for each other, Daisy, he said to himself, as more tears pricked his eyes. I will raise her in the world you always intended, Josefina.

Leading a nonplussed Melissa by the arm, Daisy led her back down the street in a state of emergency. Despite her diminutive size, Daisy dragged Melissa like a predator retreating into the bush of the jungle with prey between her teeth. The fangs had snapped, the bite had gripped, but the blood had yet to draw. The meat yet to be digested. She pulled Melissa into an alley.

Prometheus followed closer, glimpsing around the corner. Melissa was limp at Daisy’s feet. He smothered a gasp, looking away.

What? Natassa mouthed.

Pride brightening his expression, he asked his sister, “Did the surveillance team on Daisy ever mention anything about her acquiring an electroshock weapon?”

Natassa thrust him aside. “Well that explains what the wheelbarrow was for. You want to see?” she asked George.

George approached the corner, paused, and watched in his owlish way. The smell of metropolitan fumes in a stretch of summer heatwaves throbbed from the alley, but the Brit maintained a keen eye. At length, he stepped in the alley, and Prometheus followed. Was it the stench of the alley or the sudden loss of Daisy from his sight that made him want to run to the next corner? George slowed him with a potent grip on his shoulder.

At the next corner, Daisy hobbled along another fuliginous back street. She balanced a tarp-covered load in a wheelbarrow, stopping every few paces to stretch her thin arms. When she returned to the streets, Daisy released the wheelbarrow once more. She looked up and down the street, as her mother had once taught her, Prometheus thought. Or had she noticed the road was barren, unlike all the others? She resumed her trek, crossing the street to the threshold of a cannibalized building, restricted by a chain-link fence. From the curb, Daisy opened the gate and heaved her wheelbarrow into the site. The fence jittered as it snapped shut.

“Clever, little girl,” George murmured to himself, as they entered their parked car outside the construction yard. “Even before our interference with the markets yesterday, the Harlem Beautification Project has been a disaster. It’s been one labor strike after another. She’s got the whole yard to herself. She must have staked out this place some weeks in advance. Probably slept the nights in those alleys we just came from. You both knew this is where she would take that woman.” George flipped his eyes to the rear-view mirror and said to Natassa, “You caused one of the worst city-wide traffic jams ever just to clear the road for her.”

“Just?” Natassa bit her lip and submerged herself into her laptop.

“A drone, if you would, George,” Prometheus ordered. A restless concern pinched his heart. Soon, Daisy. We’ll find those who murdered your mother.

George opened the glovebox and removed a thin plastic case. With his glasses over his eyes and a phone in his hands, George activated the drone, resting inside like a metamorphosed larva. Booting up, the drone tumbled and its membrane shell seared. Hatching from its shelter, a fly emerged, the cocoon fully utilized as wings. It buzzed, almost organically, swishing in the air next to Prometheus’s ear and executed a series of aerodynamic diagnostics with unlimited degrees of freedom. Without warning, the insect-drone zipped through the crack in the window and sped away.

Prometheus synchronized his glass’s visual display with George. As the pilot he had once been, George flew the drone over the chain fence, soaring higher into the air, generating a disturbing feeling of flying sickness in Prometheus’s gut. From above, they could see Daisy riding the construction elevator up along the levels of the abandoned building. Together, they traveled to the top level, half-dissected with crisscrossing scaffolding and snaking electrical wires. The wind uplifted a thin layer of dust from the floors and smacked trivial, but comet-sized particles on to the lens, forcing Prometheus to toss his head.

With resilience in each of Daisy’s little steps, she lugged the wheelbarrow before a concrete enclosure. The brick walls were broken and chipped with such severity it could have passed for a cave had it not been for the blue tarp across the rectangular entrance. It may have been a closet at one time or a supply room, Prometheus guessed.

“What’s she gone and made?” George asked aloud. Prometheus echoed his concern silently.

Daisy tipped the wheelbarrow in front of the room, dumping Melissa’s inert body. The woman twitched and grumbled, but painfully she kept on sleeping. Prometheus sat in his car seat, captivated by the vacant room in front of him.

As Daisy dragged Melissa into the room, George followed and parked the drone on the inside wall. Cramped and littered with sawdust, the room glowed orange from the power of a single, temporary lighting fixture hanging from the ceiling. Daisy mined amongst an assortment of supplies she had gathered in the corner of the room, extracting a bundle of zip-ties.

As evidenced by the ease with which she bound Melissa’s feet together, then her hands, and then her hands to exposed plumbing, the girl was practiced. Prometheus heard George release an impressed grunt from afar. She continued further with textile scissors from her arsenal, stripping away Melissa’s clothing. Two long strokes shredded Melissa’s suit and nylon. She snapped the mismatched brassier and panties, and tore away the necklace and earrings. She ripped away a golden crucifix, planting it amongst granules of wood. Lastly, to expose her utterly, Daisy snipped away the lengths of flowing locks, cutting it jagged as though Melissa were a crayon rendition.

Prometheus gasped, as Daisy stepped back and sat in a corner of the room, an eerie reminder of the Bartholomews’ garage.

Minutes crawled forward, an unseen sun rising hotter on Prometheus’s dislocated body. The hum of Natassa’s computer rustled behind Prometheus, seemingly kicking the tan dust from the floor at Daisy’s feet. Daisy watched patiently from her green shell, but made no hint of reversing what she had started. Prometheus knew the girl was seeking information, the truth of her mother’s imprisonment, but he had never predicted such expertise. Yet, what could he have expected from a child presented with the vast unknowable and unthinkable depths of humanity’s black soul? In her eyes, Prometheus identified the same simultaneous feeling of fright, disgust, and dread that shocked him years ago as a young man in the sandy deserts.

When the first stirs of consciousness came, Melissa’s mouth twinged and groaned. Daisy unzipped her coat, letting it fall to her feet beneath a polka dot dress, the lower half stained yellow.

Unsympathetic silence flooded Melissa.

She scrambled to protect her unexpected nudity as best she could. The dread of the tight, dark room boiled the air even around Prometheus. A spurt of frenzied panting charged into an absurd scream, jerking Prometheus back. High and shrill, all her energy bursting from her lungs, pushing against the oppressive terror descending upon her. Through the high-definition display, Prometheus could see individual goosebumps popping all across her skin. With the second scream, she called for the help of her Lord and savior.

No Lord answered her beckoning cry. He only listened from afar.

A torrent of tears surged over large dimples like sandy valleys flooded in a flash storm. Upon the third scream, Melissa’s entire body squeezed to free herself. The futility of her attempt drained her lungs and she wheezed as if asphyxiating.

Absolutely unhuman and indifferent, Daisy stood reposed.

Melissa cried to Daisy. “Please help me! Help me! Help! Help me, please!” Daisy came forward and knelt before Melissa, staring curiously as though she were a fascination beneath a microscope. “Find something to cut me out, please! Oh, God! You have to help me.”

The insect-drone crawled along the wall, deeper into the shadows. It adjusted its view of Daisy, who studied Melissa. Her gaze, utterly detached to Melissa’s hopes, desires, and struggles, induced juicy fear into the blood of her dinner. “Do you know why I am alive?” Daisy asked Melissa.

“God! Oh, God!” Melissa panted. “Please, let me go! This isn’t right! Save me! Please!” Melissa’s mouth tightened, unsuccessfully squishing down into a rough whine. “I remember… I remember you Daisy. You have to help me. My God! This isn’t right!”

“You remember me?” Daisy remarked, surprised and insulted. “How nice of you. Do you remember my mother’s name, too?”

Thick mucus slithered from Melissa’s nose and down her quivering lips. “Please! Please you don’t have to do this.” Daisy blinked, dissatisfied. “The police they’ll come! They’ll come, and you’ll get in trouble, if you don’t let me go. If you help me, I won’t tell them anything. I swear.” Her eyes darted where her limbs could not. Her only escape was before her, an inert blue vail with no one on the other side. No one but Prometheus. “Help! Somebody help me! Someone herrrrlp!”

Her last word shuddered into a thousand broken pieces. She leaned her head against the wall and dripped spit and tears, moistening the sawdust. When the flood passed and only her shaking breath remained, Daisy snapped her small fingers in front of Melissa. “What’s my mommy’s name?”

Like burst plumbing erupting from multiple outlets at once, Melissa wept in each orifice. “Jose--fina. Ro--berto.”

Anger flashed hot and bright as a mushroom cloud in front of Prometheus’s eyes. Tiny, pebble teeth barred and ten claws pounced on Melissa’s hair. The sound of a skull thudding into concrete was unique, a tough sound, but squishy, too. Red liquid oozed from an unseen puncture.

“That’s walling!” Daisy screamed. “That’s what they did to my mother because you made her a terrorist!” Melissa’s head bobbed, too dizzy to cry, too shocked to listen. Daisy released a long breath. She adjusted herself. “I’m sorry Melissa. I’m really sorry. It’s just this is all so new to me. You need to follow my instructions more carefully. I didn’t ask you for his name.”

Quiet settled between the walls. Wary and fearful eyes glanced up at Daisy. Shielding herself into a ball, Melissa demanded from her confines, “How did…how did you know…where to find me?”

From her coat, Daisy removed a piece of folded paper. Prometheus’s glasses made it easy to recognize a map printout. “I nearly forgot! Happy belated-birthday Melissa!” she blurted, pleasure dawning on her little face. “My friend told me about your LifeLink profile, but I can’t go there. I went to Bobby’s, instead. Yup! I know all about Bobby. My friend told me all about him. Do you recognize this address, Melissa?” The sobbing woman was too scared to move away from the wall to read the paper herself. “I know your uncle and aunt live above their restaurant. They have two grown sons, Bobby and Sunny. Bobby attended your thirty-fifth, mid-mid-life crisis birthday bash. After the party, I followed you back to your new condo on East 88^th Street. That’s how I knew how to find you.

“I know you worked for the Office of Legal Counsel when you put my mommy in prison. I know you’re making lots of money because you put my mommy in prison. That was a good thing for your job and your boss, Mr. Presley Yoon, the Deputy Assistant for the Attorney General. When you put my mommy in prison, you made him look really, really good. He was the one who created the legal argument to take my mommy away. I know Presley--”

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! St--”

A crackle as sudden and harsh as a whip echoed in the cell. Melissa’s cheek instantly burned red. The imprint of a petite hand immediately swelled. Prometheus was not nearly as stunned by the force of her hit as Melissa, but he was equally breathless. He leaned closer in the car, enthralled.

“They slapped my mommy just like that because you turned her into a terrorist!” Daisy said, rubbing away the sting in her own hand. “That’s an insult slap. The next time you insult me, I’ll do what it takes. Now answer me. Why am I alive?”

Shaking uncontrollably, Melissa moaned and shouted weakly. Daisy let her cry; she let the helplessness burrow deeper into the naked woman. After more failed calls for help, Melissa cowered in her corner and asked, “How do you know all this?”

“My best friend in the whole world taught me,” Daisy replied innocently. “She’s so smart. She’s the smartest person I know. She’s the only person that talks to me. My friend answers all my questions. All of them, except one. Do you know which one?”

Who is this friend? Prometheus wondered. Is someone else also protecting Daisy from afar?

“You’re a little girl! How do you know how to torture? This is sick. It’s cruel!”

Daisy giggled. “My friend showed me all the reports online. All the reports about how our government treats terrorists are there for anyone to read. The news says Presley Yoon created the argument the lawyers used in court to argue that my mommy was helping terrorists. But she didn’t do any of that. You know that, don’t you? You and Presley terrorized me! Why can’t you and Presley go to prison? You helped him! You lied--"

“We didn’t lie abo--”

Daisy clamped her fingers around Melissa’s cheeks and pinched them together. Her cheeks had become wet and ashy black, like a freshly charred field after heavy rains. Daisy gripped Melissa’s face from below her jaw, preventing a sudden bite. Prometheus’s mouth expanded in awe. “Our lovely government calls this a facial hold. It’s just for terrorists like you!” Melissa resisted and darted her eyes away from Daisy’s menacing golden stare. For a full minute, Daisy slapped Melissa’s temple whenever her eyes tried to look away. With each strike, she repeated, “Why am I alive?”

Because I am alive, Daisy, Prometheus wanted to say to her.

Releasing Melissa’s face with a thrust, Daisy continued, unable to keep the sharpness out of her voice. “You will beg me, Melissa. Beg me for your life.”

Horror expanded across Melissa’s face. She bolted up as far as Daisy allowed and screamed, “I’m a federal servant! Do you know what will happen when they find you?" Another insult slap struck, followed by an even harder one. The combination drew blood from the inside of Melissa’s mouth. She spat on Daisy, and bloody saliva dripped from the center of the polka dot dress.

Daisy licked her lips. A kick snapped at the woman’s bare gut. It was weak without the room for a complete charge, but the result fell Melissa further into the wall still.

Rumbling and squirming in pain, Melissa hugged her stomach and cried bleakly, “Please, I’m a lawyer. You have to let me go. I have rights. I’m a human being. I’m a human being.”

“So what?”

Every sound Melissa could make ended. The look with which she stared at Daisy was the same if a viper had roused her from sleep, coiling in her bedsheets. The loss of volume from her voice as she spoke made clear the new danger she felt. “I’ll tell you anything.”

“I want to know two things,” Daisy said gently. “Why did you do this to my mommy?”

“I was just doing my job,” Melissa answered, exasperated. “I’m still a good person. You have to believe me. I am. I am. I was just upholding the law. Your mother isn’t a terrorist. You’re right.” Melissa wept with unmitigated vigor.

“Melissa.” Daisy snapped her fingers, regaining her attention. “Answer my other question.” The woman, naked, wet with blood and tears, shook with absolute fear. “Why do I exist?” Daisy asked again.

Her lips twitched. Gross fear made Melissa answer, “Be... because…cause….” Melissa looked out from the crevice between her arms that shielded her face. A breath of realization escaped her and she screamed, “Because you’re the devil! You’re the beast! You don’t deserve to exist!”

Daisy’s lip curled. She replied softly, “When I was with my foster parents and they didn’t give me a lunch for school, I could barely concentrate. Maybe you just need something to eat.” From her utility corner, she extracted a soda cup. “All I have is this fruit smoothie I stole last night.” She took a sip through the red straw and said, “It’s still sweet. It’ll be just what you need.”

Lost in a bemoaning cry, Melissa muttered to herself. “Why me? Oh God, what did I do? How could this happen me? Someone help me! Please help me!”

Daisy put the smoothie down and removed a flimsy black plastic hose from her corner. “If you won’t eat willingly, I suppose I have no other option. This pipe will hydrate you, all the same.”

An abrupt chime dinged repeatedly and brought Prometheus out of the chamber with Daisy and Melissa. Removing his glasses, he swiped his smartwatch, ending the alarm. His brow was moist. The sun was blinding. He turned to face his sister, who raised her eyes. “Are you going up now?” she asked. Prometheus nodded. “I want you to give her this,” Natassa said, handing him a shopping bag. The bag had a weight to it and a metallic clang when it jostled. “Show her how to use them like how you showed me.”

Prometheus exited the car and capered towards Daisy. From end to end, the street had become jammed with cars in his absence. The operators grumbled as much as their engines. Striding into the construction site, he called the building elevator. Creaking cables lowered the box through the shaft. Climbing upwards to the highest floor, the first faint sounds of something peculiar, something strangely guttural, perked his attention. By the top floor, Melissa’s screams could not be misheard.

The mangled cries became more distinct, more desperate as he approached Daisy’s inquisitorial chamber. He stopped near the threshold, staring at the veiled entrance like an angler atop ocean currents, pondering the lives of the fish below. Was Daisy ready to be presented before the unimaginable cosmic horror outside her ocean? Did she have the will to comprehend her own insignificance in the shadows of her enemies? Was she ready to grasp the frivolity of her actions inside not only her chamber, but also her entire existence?

She is my daughter now, Prometheus thought. He had risen from the crushing weight of insignificance. He would elevate her as no prophet or god had ever accomplished. She would surpass even himself. He would raise her to bend the very nature of existence to her will. Anything to end her heartache. Your mother wanted a better world for you, Daisy. I will help you realize her dream.

He waved aside the tarp and stepped into her chamber.

Their wild and furious thrashing halted in tangles. The black pipe disconnected from Melissa like a salamander’s tail from its body. A pause of silence turned the chamber frigid.

“You!” Daisy breathed.

“Help me! Help! Help! Help!” Melissa screamed from atop a tide of hope.

“You’re from the restaurant,” Daisy said over Melissa’s frantic shrieks.

“Help!”

Letting go of the tarp, darkness and shadow shrouded the chamber, again. Melissa’s screams ended as a grim gasp of air filled her lungs. Daisy stepped back, scrambling into a corner, defenseless.

She was confounded. Prometheus knelt down on a knee and said, “I loved you as much as your mother ever did, Daisy.”

“You know my mommy?” she asked, bewildered and petrified.

Now that he finally had the chance to tell her everything, he found the words suddenly lost to his tongue. What could he say to her that would not frighten her more? How would a father speak to a daughter? He replied simply, “I loved your mother, just like you did.”

A glimmer sparkled in the light, but even before it did shine and catch his eye, Prometheus knew it would appear. Scissors sliced forward in her tiny hand. In the span of a breath, Prometheus’s hand shot from his center. His open palm and stiff fingers brushed her forearm, gentle as a splash and as powerful as a crashing wave, before pushing inward and veering heavily to the side. The scissors clattered on the ground sooner than she was stunned.

He smiled wryly, excitement contained further beneath, and fear beneath even that. “I’m here to help you.” He opened the shopping bag and unsheathed twin knives.

Daisy stared at their pinprick tips, wonder and panic swirling together. Both blades intimated the little girl, not by their own thickness, which even Prometheus’s toned arms could not match, but by the fine hairsbreadth that could cut between flesh and bone. From the bottom of the pommels, slim metal curved over the fingers, wrapping across the hilt and curving again into a basin to lock an incoming blade. “These are butterfly knives,” Prometheus said, spinning the blades around for her to take by the hilt. “They’re for you.”

“Why would you--”

“Just as your mother would, I will do anything for you, Daisy.”

Her gaze softened, deliberating his intent. He wanted to embrace her; he wanted to let her know that there was someone left in the world who still cared about her. Someone apart from her friend. Her pigtails hung long past her shoulders, desperate for a cut. Her lips were cracked and knees scraped. He could give her everything she would ever need. Almost everything…

“Daisy…” he began, unsure how to explain it.

She touched the knives. “I need her alive,” Daisy commanded. “Presley Yoon won’t free my mommy without her.”

Prometheus could feel his eyes become glassy. A ringing whined in his ears. “She’s dead, Daisy.”

“Who?” she breathed. “Who’s dead?” Her eyes filled with tears even before he replied. Daisy recoiled into her neck, her brow furrowed, and her eyes glistened. The knives were in her hands.

A cackle of ludicrous laughter exploded in the chamber. Daisy screamed and plunged the knives at the source of her rage. The sound of laughter paused, but the blades remained dry and unstained. Their tips touched Melissa’s neck. Invisible fumes puffed from Daisy’s nose, volcanic anger boiled deep in her bouncing stomach.

The laughter began again.

Prometheus waited for the first and final thrust to quiet the chamber. The laughter echoed and seemed to come as a gang of many. It compounded together, louder and harder. Daisy’s hands waivered, the knives slipped from her fingers.

Daisy tumbled from the chamber, tears and wild moans ringing as she escaped into the building beyond.

The tarp blocked his eyes from following Daisy, but he could hear her crying not far away. Prometheus looked down on Melissa, who stretched her legs towards the knives. He pulled back what was left of her hair, uncovering her neck. He cocked his fingers in the air above, tight and sharper than the knives below. He said to her, “Your omission to rectify our environment is an anathema. Your confinement to the continuity of this environment is your single and most abhorrent crime. You will be exterminated, and I will burn everything you have sought to protect.”

The crashing force of his fingers plunged into her trachea. The anatomy of her neck caved. Without incision, he bent his fingers and pulled from the underside of her collarbone. Blood found no egress, nor did the air in her.

The collapse of her body was immediate, and her death would be slow and timely as the oxygen failed to circulate to her mind, but her existence vanquished even before she struck the floor. Prometheus stepped over her and exited Daisy’s chamber.

He followed her cries, soft and soulful in one breath, deafening and crushing in another. She laid on the ground, bundled and squirming with resistance. Prometheus could delay no longer. He fell to his knees and cried atop of her for the love they had both lost.

Author's Note

Thanks for reading! I know it's long, so just send me a message and I'll read some stuff for you too. Do you find Prometheus an intriguing character? Do you think he is a villain or something else? How does he compare to Xing and Keung? What do you think of George, Natassa, and Daisy as characters? Would you like to get to know them better? Why/why not? How are the info dumps? Too much, too little? What do you think Prometheus's intentions are? Good or bad or something else? What did you think of the voice in the chapter? How was the tension? Anything you thought particularly stood out? Good or bad?

Reviews

[Kaliope]

I've told you before that I consider you a very talented writer and I enjoyed your previous chapters - some immensely, some a tiny bit less. And I still stand by everything I said about Xing II - it's quite possibly the best piece I've read on WC.

However, I had a very hard time getting through this chapter. My mind kept drifting off, because up until George arrived, it felt like nothing of consequence happened. The scene felt purposeless and the protagonist seemed to lack any goal. If this was a paperback novel, you would have put the reader through approximately six pages of - basically - exposition and throughout them I couldn't tell why Prometheus was in the diner or why. All you gave me was a vague notion that he wants to be a good father, and I don't think that's tangible enough as goal for a scene and/or character. Just sayin'.

Also, you have a tendency to start off your chapters with indirect inner monologue, but consider using establishing shots (that's what they're called in movies, idk if there's another expression in writing) once in a while. It takes such a long time until the reader is told about the who, where and why and at least to me that's very distracting. I'm one of those people who need to have a picture of the scene in their mind. Not every detail, mind you, just the basic logistics. You see, if I don't really root for a character (yet), all the tears and all the inner turmoil won't elicit an emotional response and your effort's kind of wasted, 'cause I'd much rather learn where we are and what it's all about. But maybe that's just me, I'm a heartless person…hehe

I'd further advise you to tone done the descriptions a few notches. Individually, they're beautiful and rich, but they're much more effective if you use them sparingly, like spices. Highlight the important things, don't spend three full paragraphs on a side character who serves tea. I don't need Teddy's whole life story, honestly I don't care. Sum him up in one brilliant, poignant image - a look, a gesture, an unusual tattoo perhaps - you can do that, I know! The secret to keeping readers hooked, is to give them a little less than they want, not much, much more than they ever asked for, eh? ;-)

Okay, once George shows up it gets much, much better, but there are still a couple of things that puzzle me: Why mention Gabrielle? She has no part in this scene, she is just used to characterize George, which wasn't even necessary - you did that a few of chapters ago. Why describe everyone's clothes in such detail, how does that information progress the story? You know, you buried the vital details beneath so much superfluous stuff, that I had to read three times to catch the moment when Daisy entered the diner. She was way more important to the scene than Teddy's origins or Natassa's nose or George's attire and on the first two reads it felt like Daisy just materialized out of thin air. And where did that wheelbarrow come from? How could the little girl heave a grown woman into a wheelbarrow - seemingly without even breaking a sweat? Those are the things that - imho - needed more attention. Daisy was great though, deeply disturbing, but I absolutely loved her :-)

Let me close with a piece of advice someone clever gave me recently: try to focus on the protagonist's goal for the scene and avoid anything that doesn't contribute to the struggle towards reaching it. Your best chapters do that (for the most part)

Cheers,

Kali

[JMKane117]

Wow....How do I repay this favor. This is the critique I'm always looking for! Thanks for all your input Kali. This is why I like getting your input. I'll put it to good use. I know I got to learn how to sum things up. Sometimes I get so focused going from sentence to sentence, that cutting it down just hurts. But you're absolutely right. Thanks so much :D

[Kaliope]

I'm glad I could help and it's not all selflessness on my behalf, I assure you. I've learned a great deal from reviewing other people's work and still do.
And yes, cutting stuff out can be excruciating, but there's no way around it. Be merciless when editing, despite the pain, but keep the original version. It's fun to come back after a few months and compare it to the trimmed down version. When you see how much better the edited text is, you'll know that you were suffering for a good cause ;-)

[FaeryQueen]

Loved this!
Great work!!
Keep on writing!

[JMKane117]

Thanks for taking the time to read. Well appreciated!

[Bear]

I loaded it in my text to speech program and listened to it flow, your powers of description are more captivating than ever. Your characters are well developed and the relationship opens many possibilities for subplot lines that will allow you to take your story in more than one direction without losing the cohesive nature of the story line. Masterfully done, Standing Ovation! Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!

[JMKane117]

Wicked thanks Bear! Always good news to hear that technology thinks I did a good job too lol.

[wordman]

wow,this is great,it will be a very good book !

[JMKane117]

:D Always appreciated!

[ZJC]

Excellent writing. You're extremely descriptive when it comes to characters and the environment around them. I do find Prometheus a very intriguing character, and do not consider him a villain. Instead, he is in my view, doing what is necessary. Some might find that side of him evil, but I consider the environment they are living in to be the product of how they act/respond, etc. Daisy ended up being my favorite character, and hope she will continue making more of an appearance as you continue with the story. As mentioned before, Prometheus is doing what he considers to be necessary. I mean, a little girl is torturing someone, the tension doesn't get much better than that! Great story and look forward to reading more of it.

[JMKane117]

Thanks for the read! Daisy will certainly be back. If you know anyone who might like my work, please feel free to direct them this way. Message me if you ever need something read as well. Thanks again ZJC!