The Whizz-Kid

Disclaimer: Some bad words here and there.

AN: Guys, I'm SO sorry for not having post last week like I'd told I would; a mean –really mean- virus of flue got in the way and kept me in bed. Anyway, I read your reviews and I'm still ecstatic about them. Thank you for all the encouragements you're sending my way! Merry Christmas, Hannukah, Kwanzaa or whatever you're into! Love you! ^^

Chapter 9: Don't Oi-ya About It

(Or, schoolboys toying with shovels in a wasteland)

Boise, Idaho, USA

1503 hours, June 05, 2014.

All of a sudden, his hazy mind cleared up and the consequences of his deeds came crashing down on him. Zane stood there, frozen, arm still outstretched; like a deer, watching its impending doom rush down a darkened highway at seventy-five miles per hour.

"O my god," said Brin, her craving of Zane the least of her concern at the instant; the events having the effect of a cold shower on her. She advanced in the room and kneeled down beside Anton. "Is he…" her voice trailed off as she checked for a non-existent pulse. "O my god," she repeated, in shock. Her eyes lifted up to stare at Zane's blank look.

Shit.

All he could hear was his own pounding heart and hard breathing. Zane looked as Brin felt for a pulse and saw her lips moving but he did not hear the words she pronounced. "Jesus," he spoke as he started pacing in the room like a caged animal. What had he done?

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He saw Brin running to the door and slamming it shut; it didn't close completely as Zane had kicked it open when he had made his big entrance minutes ago. She then ran to the beat-up television, turned the thing on and tuned up the volume. Then, she turned back toward him, looking calm; it was the world in reverse, she usually was the emotional and he the composed one of the two. "Calm down, Zane. Zani!" she shouted lowly, trying to get his attention.

He was too concentrated with cursing and analyzing the situation to pay attention to her; his thoughts were running a mile a second, his brain was on overdrive. "Shit! Fuck!" He swore under his breath, all the while his grey eyes scanning the odd angle of Anton's neck.

"Zane!" Brin stopped his pacing by grabbing his forearms. That was a bad idea as he remembered how hot her body was; she was burning up. His gaze felt upon her lips; they were swelled and ruby red because of their kisses. And then, with a simple heated touch from her, the body on the floor became the least of his worry, his distress evaporating straight away.

His eyes caught Brin's and he saw her pupils flaring up under his penetrating gaze. He roamed his hands over her arms and he felt goosebumps awaken on her skin. His head bent again on its own volition and his lips found hers to battle in a new passionate duel. They stumbled in the room; moving as if they were performing a frantic and erratic dancing choreography. They moved blindly, two bodies seeming as only one. Brin attacked his neck; his jacket got discarded somewhere in the room as well as one of Brin's high heels shoes.

His lower back hit the dresser; he grunted. His elbow hit an ashtray; it went falling downward. His foot hit Anton lifeless body; and the fog of passion disappeared. He suddenly remembered the corpse on the floor and the upcoming problems that needed to be taken care of.

Zane pushed Brin away from him and she staggered ungracefully on the bed, breathing hard. He turned his back to her, clasping his hands in two tight fists. "Leave," his desire-filled voice roared. "Go away, now," he added, desperately trying not to look her way. He inhaled deeply and he immediately regretted doing so as his nostrils were invaded by her sweet aroma. He decided to stop breathing for the time being.

Zane heard a soft whimper and the springs of the mattress protesting as she stood up from the position. She roamed around the room, taking up pieces of clothe from the floor; she was covering herself with Anton's discarded jacket. At that moment, his anger built up anew; he couldn't stand the smelt of him on her. For Christ sake, he had just murdered the guy. Couldn't he give him some slack already? He soon shook the violent feeling away.

Zane tightened his jaw, standing his ground, unmoving. Brin finally left the room. He waited until he was sure she was far away; he waited five minutes. Then, he waited another two, just to be sure. Slowly snapping out of his torpor, he turned and left the room like he had the devil himself on his heels. Outside, he bent over his knees, winded and craving some much-needed air. He rose back to a standing position; his shoulders rigid, his eyes shut, his fists tighten and white, his chest panting, his heart pumping a mile a minute, his giddy mind one of a mad man. He paced around, stopped; letting his crazy stare dart inside the motel room to the body on the floor.

With a shaking hand, he finally grabbed the doorknob and closed the door; attiring attention to the fact that a teenager was lying lifeless on the rug was the opposite of what he needed.

Then, running out of the motel parking lot, he headed straight for the phone booth at the other side of the street. He punched in a number he had made sure of memorizing and waited until it was transferred to a voicemail service.

"Zack's mailbox. Speak if you have an emergency."

"Zack, I hope you're still in town. I'm at the motel at the angle of…." His eyes roamed wildly over the street corner, searching the street sign, all the while trying to remember where he was. "… Parkcenter Boulevard and Mallard Drive. I—Screwed up. I killed a guy. And Brin she was-freaking crazy. Come here. Fast." Then after giving it some thoughts, he added frantically: "Please."

Zane hanged up, gulped loudly and wiped his mouth with his hand. He went to the sidewalk and sat down; using every ounce of willpower he had from standing up and going after his sister.

Somewhere in his hazy mind, Zane knew that he was in a state of shock. Maybe it was due to the fact that he had just killed a man, or that he almost had crazy monkey sex with his sister, or maybe it was that, for the first time in years, he had felt the beast in him; the one yearning for blood and violence. The one thing he feared more than anything; more than Manticore.

He saw his hands starting to shake. Was it a seizure? It didn't felt like one; he hadn't had any in years. He breathed deeply; he needed to calm down, he needed to get a grip. His throat felt like sandpaper; each gasp was getting harder to get in.

"Calm down, damn it!" he shouted at himself as he sat still on the sidewalk, soaked to the bones.

Sometime during the whole commotion, it had started to rain. He was grateful of it; the scent of Brin on him was rapidly fading away. He was even grateful for his clinging clothes and hair; he wanted to be clean of all the evidences of his slaughter. He shivered slightly from the cold.

/

A car passed by and sent splashing water his way. His head shot up, astonished as the dirty water hit him. He stood up and was even more surprise when a hand gripped his shoulder. He bolted around, ready to strike.

It was Zack.

"Zack!" He grabbed his brother's arm and tugged on it. Strangely, it was him that was put to Zack's side and not the other way around.

"What happened?" Zack asked, putting both hands on his arms to steady him. He was wearing a hood-jacket that was protecting him from the rain and the wind. That reminded Zane of his inadequate apparel; he was still dressed in a tee and sports shorts. A pair of drenched tennis shoes completed the outfit; he could feel his wet socks through the material. He didn't put any more thoughts about it as he focused on Zack's question.

"Something was off with Brin," he began. "She came here with Anton, a guy from school, her boyfriend. And I knew something was wrong so I came here too and he was all over her and I," he gulped, searching Zack's gaze, fixing him back, "just couldn't control myself."

"What happened?" Zack repeated, pressing the topic.

"I pushed him away and I was all over her; I wanted to jump every one of her bones. I never wanted to do that with her before. It was like I couldn't control my body. We were kissing, groping and then Anton grabbed me and I completely blacked out. I was blood thirsty, crazy, even. And then I realized that he was lying at my feet, very much dead. I killed him."

Zane searched Zack's face for any sign of disappointment; there was none. "Where's Brin?" he asked, instead.

Zane glanced around as if he was looking for her but shrugged. "I told her to leave. I don't know where she went."

"It's ok. She can take care of herself. Having one of us around her would cause more problems, for now."

"What? Why?" Zane exclaimed.

"The thing that was off about Brin," Zack asked Zane, the youngest nodded, acknowledging that he was listening, "is called heat."

"Heat," Zane repeated the word. The more he let it rolled on his tongue, the more he let it ran in his mind, the more he felt out of the loop.

"Yes, heat. It's a biological estrous cycle. Basically, it's a period of increased sexual drive in which the female is more fer-"

"I fucking know what heat means." he said, agitated. "What I don't get is why I reacted that way to Brin's… heat."

"She dropped an amount of pheromones and that triggered a natural behavioral response from anyone male."

Zane sat down to digest all the words, and came to the sudden realization that Brin may be alone with some stranger. "Fuck," he shot back up, "I told her to leave. How stupid can I be?"

"Sit down."

Zane complied immediately. Afterwards, he would laugh about the face Zack shot him when he listened to him that blindly. After all, he was a typical teenager that questioned every order; their previous brief encounter had proven that fact. He could see how that could surprise his big brother. But now was not the time for laughing.

"Do you need tryptophan?" Zack asked after a short, uncomfortable silence.

Zane glanced up at him, a puzzled expression showing on his face: "What?"

"Tryptophan; it helps with the seizures. Remind me to give you some after all this," he nodded his chin in the direction of the motel.

"I don't have seizures," said Zane, frowning at the idea.

"You're shaking," stated his brother.

Zane examined his hands for a second; they were trembling, but not from seizures. Was he having hypothermia? He was freezing to the bones and he could feel his teeth starting to shatter against his cold lips. Or was it that he was in shock? He somehow convinced himself that hypothermia was better than having seizures. Even being in a serious state of shock was better than having seizures. "I don't have seizures," he repeated with conviction.

Zack sat next to him, apparently judging if it was better to let his little brother go home or to keep him in sight while taking care of the matter at hand. He made his decision: "I have to take care of the body," he commented, "I want you to go home, take a shower and put dry clothes on."

Zane's eyes shot out and went to the motel room's closed door. "No, I want to help you."

"You're sure about that?" Zack asked, perplexed. His lil' bro seemed to be in a second state of mind, maybe it would be better for him to sleep the stress away, but somehow Zack seemed to know that Zane wouldn't succeed at closing an eye until Brin's return.

"It's my mess," Zane said, standing up again. He started walking across the street; Zack next to him. "Is it better to make him disappear or to fake a suicide?"

Zack seemed to ponder his words. "Disappearance. He's a teenager; there are a lot of runaways these days."

They stopped walking, standing in front of the door. Inside the room, they could hear the television set on a music channel blasting some heavy metal song. Zane turned to Zack: "There's a wasteland one block away," he said.

"I'll take care of the body. Go find a shovel and dig a pit," ordered Zack.

/

Zane found out that shoveling in the middle of a wasteland under heavy pouring rain had its advantages; mud was much easier to manipulate than dry earth ever was. Sure, it had its drawbacks too; he was covered with dirt from head to toes and he was going to have a hard time hiding his footsteps. However, he put that problem to the back of his mind as it was better to see the good points in the bad situation he was in.

Sometime during his search of a shovel, he took the time to calm down and go at the train station to gather dry clothes from his and Brin's hidden stash. Now more than ever, he was happy with Brin's brains and her thinking ahead of time. Years ago, she had packed and put in storage several survival kits across town in case they had to leave in a hurry. Each hiding place concealed two bags. In one bag you could find a first aid kit, scissors, matches, various accessories such as sunglasses, caps and other useful cover-up articles like dye and finally two loaded 9mm. The second bag was holding four sets of clothes that had been meticulously chosen for both their ordinariness and their convenience regarding different types of weather conditions.

Zane had grabbed both bags. He had gone to the train station with the hope of finding Brin safe and sound waiting for him, but lady luck seemed to have forgotten about him recently. In the pit of his stomach, it had relieved him a little that she hadn't been there; it wasn't quite the time to jump all of her bones. They had a dead body on the fire and a cover story to make up. Fortunately for him, doing handiwork was giving him the ability to clear his thoughts and imagining some plausible tale regarding Anton's run off.

Deep down, Zane knew that the cover story he was trying to build up wasn't that much necessary; his sixth sense was telling him that Zack wouldn't bother to create anything to mask up the mess they were in. Zack was going to delocalize them; half the school had seen Brin leaving with Anton and staying under the radar with Anton's distressed parents and a police search party breathing down their necks would be too much of a risk. Yes, Zack was going to move them; Brin's and his life depended on it.

He wondered where Zack would establish them. Had they a choice in the matter? He hoped so; he really wanted to live near the ocean.

As Zane finished with digging the soon-to-be grave, he planted the shovel in the ground. He brushed a backhand over his forehead and got it covered with a mix of mud and sweat in the process. He exhaled and a cloud of fog escaped his lungs and mouth. He raised his gaze to the sky; the night was about to fall any minute; Zack would need his help to move what was left of Anton Fisher.

To be continued