Jude.
Jude.
Yes.
Jude IV:
Are you waiting for me? Jude. Jude? I’m here. You can stop looking.
Jude V:
Something isn’t right. Five is just down there, circling her. Not talking. And as for her, she doesn’t even seem to see him. There should be stolen glances by now, at least. The Fours were already naked, sliding along each other and into the waves. Probably an anomaly, but still-
Five growls, low in his belly. He doesn’t want talk, but he wants her to notice him. He moves nearer, growls again, louder, higher up, lets it move into his throat, warm his chest, explode out through his mouth and nose and eyes. He can feel the sound still buzzing in his ears, after he stops. She notices him now.
He leaves the tea and goes down to the basement to check the levels. Did he measure wrong? His eyes are tired. He needs new glasses. His chest knocks twice, hard.
“Hello?” she says, “Are you okay?” She almost trips. Her legs are shaking, straining, and it excites him. Five grunts low, warm, cold.
She backs away a little, but there is only the sea behind her.
He notes her unfocused eyes, her glassy gaze. Maybe it would be better to wait, give her more time.
He taps the glass. It’s too dark down here today. Maybe a storm moving in. Six is still growing like he should be. Maybe a little slower. He’s not sure. The calendar doesn’t look right. Did he forget to rip a page off yesterday? What about the day before? He tears two, just in case, then a third. Throws the whole thing into the trash. Can it really be September already?
Five can’t wait.
“What did you say?” she asks. She looks frightened, but that isn’t right, but it’s all he has, so he grunts at her again, a whisper, a roar, the only word he can think.
Run.
Six is fine. His vitals are within the normal range. Time to check on Five.
She runs, but she’s slow, so he gives her a head start. When she rounds the bend and he can almost no longer see her he gives chase, and catches her, easily.
She’s so soft.
He finds her on the beach, but not the usual beach. She’s mangled beyond repair, blood washing out with the waves. Five stands nearby, mewling, his mouth and hands red, his belly distended. He falls to his knees in the sand, even knowing he will have trouble getting back up.
He does not usually allow himself to interact with them after they are released, but Five has already seen him. He touches what is left of her skin, and he shudders. He is not allowed to touch her. She is not for him, not this one, but look what has happened.
Five comes closer, but he creeps, he hunches, he doesn’t walk like a man. There is something wrong with this one. He will have to check Six’s levels again tonight.
He strokes Isla’s hair. It is just as he remembered, and he’s lost.
Five touches him gently, smears his shirt sleeve with her blood. He takes his hand. She always dies too early, but not like this, never like this.
Five brings his fingers to his lips and for a moment he is afraid that he will be next, but then he understands; that this was not an act of hate, but an act of hunger; of desire to consume what is most loved, and for a moment he is jealous that he never thought of this before it was too late, because now she is a part of Five forever.
He strokes Five’s jaw with his thumb. Has it always been this pronounced? There is stubble growing gently there, gravel beneath his skin. He embraces him, briefly, and Five clings for a moment like a child, even helps him stand.
He thinks that maybe he should let this one go. It was so fast this time. But it would be too cruel to let him live without her.
He takes out the gun and notices his hand tremble, even though he cannot feel it.
Five will not know guns, but surely he can sense what is about to happen. But he does not look away, and soon his blood runs out with hers.
He buries them with the others. It takes him all night. When he is done, all he wants to do is fall into bed, but first he must shower, burn the clothes too stained with blood and earth to recompense.
Dawn breaks again, and the leaves are falling now. He greets them with a glass of bourbon, gold to match their gold. His muscles ache. He cleans his glasses, all alone again.
It’s early, but he will release the girl. He can feel his internal clock fill to bursting, and he needs to see her one last time.
She is so small. Smaller than even the last one. He will give her extra time before he lets out Six. She watches him warily, but warms at the sight of food, the smell of tea. Lemongrass mingles with the salt air. She breathes in deep, wrinkles her nose. He has a lump in his throat no amount of swallowing can dislodge.
He leaves her to her explorations. Brews himself a cup. Drags his weary body to the verandah again, but he cannot see her. Perhaps she is still sitting there, watching the water like him. The thought makes him smile, gives him enough energy to drag himself upwards once more, then down to the basement to check Six.
Six looks normal. Six looks like Five, and Four, and all the rest. Like a mirror. He makes a few adjustments, sets the timer to remind himself a few days hence.
His chest knocks again, and he feels himself slipping, and then Six is above him, eyes closed, limbs floating. Floating. There is a roar of unbearable pain, but it only makes him laugh.
At last, he thinks, then grimaces, aches, stretches and unfolds and collapses in on himself.
Isla, I’m coming.
Jude VI:
A noise. Loud and muffled. He shakes his head, feels something dislodge. The noise is louder. Piercing. Shrilling. He cannot breathe.
