Yesterday's Gone (Season 5): Episodes 25-30 (31 page)

Y
ou will still be you, but not.

That doesn’t make sense. Will my parents and sister still be themselves? Or will they see themselves as The Darkness?

Evolution will leave us no need for names. We think as one. I know this is difficult to understand, but once you’ve evolved, all will make sense and nothing will seem scary. This is a learning experience for our species as well as yours. I see nothing in our collective memories to suggest that we’ve ever evolved a species in quite this way.

So, this might not work? This could end just as badly as it did on the other world? Everything could be gone?

We will not allow that to happen again. We
will
make this work. The Darkness on the other world was misguided, seeking only to destroy and consume the land. But that can’t work without exhausting both humans and our own species. We must find a more sustainable way. And together, Luca, we will.

Art entered through the front door, carrying four grocery bags, two per hand. 

“Wanna give me a hand?”

“OK,” Luca said, glad to be pulled from the depressing conversation in his head and happy for distraction.

After Luca helped him unpack the groceries Art asked if he’d like to help him make chicken fried rice.

Luca helped Art with lunch, wondering what kinds of conversations the old man was having with The Darkness in
his
head. How comfortable was he with this whole notion of evolving humanity? Before now, Luca hadn’t dared ask. He didn’t feel safe, especially with Rose always around. The Darkness controlled her, but Luca couldn’t help feeling that her Darkness was a different strain. It didn’t feel the same as the alien that coursed through his blood. In fact, Luca wondered if his own Darkness was all that dark. It wasn’t forcing him to do evil things, and seemed to have regard for his feelings. It felt more like a neutral presence than something out to demolish humanity.

Luca wondered if perhaps that was his way of rationalizing the things that were happening inside him. 

Of course nobody wants to be the bad guy. But maybe bad guys don’t see themselves as all that bad. 

Don’t think so much about it, Luca,
The Darkness answered in his head. 

Where’s Rose?

The Darkness answered.
She is in her room, reaching out to others.

So, she’s busy. Too busy to monitor our conversations?

Why?

Luca didn’t need to answer The Darkness. It was a step ahead of his thoughts, warning him away from the conversation. But Luca didn’t listen.

He looked up at Art and asked, “How do you feel about our mission?”

Art was slicing chicken breasts on the wooden cutting board. He looked up, “What do you mean?”

“You know we’re trying to evolve the species. And Rose came to you because of some book you wrote about Genghis Khan, because you said the man was actually good for humanity overall, right?”

“Yes.”

“So, how do you feel about that? How do you feel with this alien in your head? Does it talk to you?”

“Yes, it does. It was odd at first to feel my innermost thoughts exposed, but I quickly grew used to it. You learn not to care when someone is so accepting of your every flaw. You get over your ego.”

Luca didn’t want to get into a debate on self versus collective, though he was curious if Art shared his concerns about surrendering his identity to the alien.

Art continued. “But then I started seeing my situation — our situation — as an opportunity. I have this thing inside my head that knows so much more than I ever could. What a blessing it is to converse with an alien species! And while its own memory as a species is spotty, it has the collective memory of all that it has absorbed or infected on both worlds. I’ve been tapping into the minds of scholars and psychopaths alike, mining a true understanding of our peoples’ full breadth of differences and similarities.”

“And?” Luca pressed, “How do you feel about our mission?”

“I think that mankind will destroy itself if we
don’t
intervene. We have a moral obligation to evolve our species. Now I have a question for you, young man.”

“Yes?” 

“What do you know about that man upstairs?”

“Boricio?”

“Yes.” Art’s face wrinkled in a grimace.

“I’ve seen some of what others remember of him. And I have some of my own memories of another version of him. He was my brother on the other world. We were both adopted by the same man, Will Bishop.”

“Yes,” Art said. “I’ve seen the memories, too.”

“OK, so what is it you’re really asking me, Mr. Morgan?”

“I like you, kid,” Art chuckled. “You don’t beat around the bush.”

Luca smiled.

Art said, “I’m wondering why Rose chose to give the vials to
him
? He is a horrible, wretched example of humanity. A true monster.”

“Some would say the same thing about Genghis Khan, right?”

“Yes, but Genghis Khan had a vision, and improved the lives of others.”

“Those he didn’t kill?” Luca countered, dipping into The Darkness’s collective memories concerning the military leader. 

“History has many examples of people who through fate or choice have been on the wrong side of war. But make no mistake, Khan wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer killing victims at random. He was leading people against barbarians who would’ve been stuck in the Dark Ages forever had he not come along. The world needed him to advance humanity. Just as the world needs us now.”

“OK, and you think Boricio isn’t worthy?”

“No, I do not. He is a fine killing machine, I’ll give you that. His unflinching ability to do what must be done is a rare trait that will serve us well against our enemies. But I believe that Rose should infect and control him so we can do what must be done. She shouldn’t give him a vial.”

“What’s the harm in giving him a vial?” 

“As I understand it, The Darkness responds to those it comes into contact with. We shape it and whether it’s used as a tool for creation or destruction. You and I are good people, Luca. Not perfect, of course, but more good than bad. We see humanity as something worth saving, and that turns The Darkness into something more like Light.”

“But we’re not Light,” Luca said. “The Light doesn’t want to evolve humanity, does it? Rose said it wants to destroy us, that it wants to erase itself from this world so there isn’t a threat.”

“No, we’re not The Light. But we can be something in between. We are the greater good that must inflict itself upon the world in order to save humans from themselves. Introducing a man like Boricio is a sure recipe for disaster. That monster is chaos. Unleashing a more powerful version of him is tantamount to handing a child a nuclear missile with a big red launch button that says PRESS ME. Don’t you agree?”

“I dunno,” Luca shrugged. “I haven’t even talked to him yet. I know he’s helped a lot of people, and that the other Luca fixed the thing inside him that made him so bad.”

“Can you ever really fix evil, Luca?” Art slid the chicken into the wok with the already cooked rice and started slicing onions. 

“I dunno.” Luca watched Art add eggs, spices, and soy sauce into the wok, wondering why the alien inside him was silent.

Why are you so quiet? What do
you
think about Boricio? Should we give him a vial?

I think there is an equal case for either side.

Some help you are. I thought you could give some mathematical answer or something about the odds of this blowing up in our face.

I could, but Boricio is too wild a variable.

Luca went to check on the rice. Before he reached it, a scream erupted upstairs — Boricio.

“Hey!” Boricio shouted. “Hello?!”

Art yanked the wok from the fire and bounded up the stairs far faster than a man his age, should be able to move, even with decades removed. Luca followed.

Art opened the door to reveal Boricio in bed, sheets pulled up to his waist, flesh on his chest purple and rotten with stitches where Rose had sewn the wounds along his chest and face. He was paralyzed from the neck down, his face warped with frustration.

* * * *

CHAPTER 6 — BORICIO WOLFE

The door burst open, and an old man entered, looking down at Boricio. Behind him, Boricio was surprised to see Luca in the doorway, looking afraid to come in.

“Luca?” Boricio asked, confused, wondering why he was back to being young. “Where are Rose and the girls? They OK? How’d you get here?”

The old man wrinkled his nose at Boricio. “I’ll be right back,” he said with no emotion, then pushed Luca out the door.

“Oh, come the fuck on!” Boricio shouted, coughing bloody phlegm. 

He was pissed that he couldn’t remember dick about shit, and hoped that everyone was OK. They must have been ambushed by one of them crazy alien fuckers. That’s the only thing that made sense. Someone got the drop on old Boricio, and shot him from behind.

Then why the hell ain’t I in a hospital? 

Boricio looked around the room. As best he could see with his limited motion, he was in someone’s house.

Maybe this is Luca’s place? Maybe that old man is his grandpa?

But why not bring me to a hospital? And how the hell did Luca find me? I ain’t seen him since we got back.

A horrifying thought slithered into Boricio’s mind: Perhaps he’d already been to a hospital. Maybe he’d been in a coma and resigned to hospice care at home. What if the old man was some sort of nurse or doctor?

“Luca!” Boricio shouted, hard enough to invite more coughing and blood.

The bedroom door opened to Rose.

“Oh, Morning Rose!” Boricio said, tears wetting his eyes, grateful to see her OK. “I thought something happened to you.”

Rose came to his side, looking down at Boricio with a tentative smile. “Everything’s fine,” she said, running a hand through his hair.

Boricio flinched at her touch, his head pounding hard enough that her brush felt like a wallop.

“I’m sorry,” Rose said. “How are you feeling?”

“How’s it look like I’m feelin’?” he said, harsher than he meant. “I’m sorry. I’m just … so confused. What happened? Where the hell are we?”

“You were attacked by some police,” she said.

“Cuntstables did this shit to me? What the hell?
Why
?”

Boricio wondered if his past had been pursuing long enough to finally catch him. Had some cop linked him to any number of old murders, maybe an innocent from the old days, or more recently, from a fucker who was begging karma to claim him? He hoped not. The last thing he wanted was for Rose to know who the real Boricio was. She was an angel. The sweetest woman he’d ever known. There was no way someone so pure could stay with a monster like him.

“I don’t know,” she said. 

“How did I wind up here? And … where the fuck am I?”

“One of the officers saved you, brought you to us at the hotel, but then left before we could ask any questions. You were in a coma, but we got you help. You’re recovering. As for where we are, we’re home, at a friend of mine’s. A writer named Arthur Morgan. He lives in the area and said we could stay here until you’re better. I’m afraid to fly you in this condition, not until we have another doctor check on you.”

“Why the hell am I in some dude’s house instead of a hospital?” Nothing made sense, and everything felt like a nail in his head. 

Boricio cringed.

Rose went to the dresser and returned with a hypodermic. 

“Here, this’ll make you better.”

“Whoa, whoa, what’s in there? And when did you become Florence Fucking Nightingale?”

Rose laughed. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of you, sweetie.”

She slid the needle into Boricio’s arm, though he couldn’t feel a thing, and pressed the plunger until whatever medicine Rose was administering entered his bloodstream.  

“I’m so confused,” Boricio said. “Why are … ”

Words escaped him as a pleasant warmth spread through his head. Pain ebbed, replaced by a surging tide of emotions — joy, love, and happiness that his Rose was here taking care of him.

Sadness came next, and Boricio felt horrible for being a vegetable while she was forced to take care of him.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” he said, staring into her deep-green eyes.

“Don’t be silly. It wasn’t your fault. I don’t know why it happened.”

“Am I paralyzed?” 

“Yes, but the doctor said it’s only temporary.”

“Really?” A wave of relief soothed his sorrow. Boricio broke into tears, thanking her more, feeling drunk like a fool but not giving a fuck. 

Boricio felt like he was forgetting something, but his emotions were jumbled like shit in a hoarder’s closet, and he was so happy to be with Rose everything else seemed too small to matter.

Boricio remembered what he’d been wondering before Rose came into the room. “Where are Mary and Paola? Are they OK?”

“Yes,” she said. “They had to go home, but they send their love.”

“How long have I been … like this?”

“You really should get some sleep.” She leaned forward and kissed him.

Though Rose wasn’t wearing her usual perfume, she had a scent all her own. Boricio deeply inhaled as her hair fell across her cheek.

“Thank you, so much, sweetie,” he said. “I … ”

**

Boricio woke to darkness, with no memory of falling asleep.

He vaguely remembered Rose giving him some medicine and some jumbled words after that. But the world was still so confusing. Best he could tell, someone attacked him, and for some reason Rose was keeping him out of the hospital.

Boricio wondered if it had been an alien. He remembered some infected fuckers at the one hotel. Maybe some aliens infected the police. Why they wanted him, he had no idea. He tried to remember if he’d told Rose about the aliens, but couldn’t recall.

Maybe Mary had spilled the pintos, and that’s why they were living a fugitive’s life in some stranger’s house.