[REND] 7.4 Inhuman Besties

“Are you seriously asking me to wound you?” I asked Deen. I knew I wasn’t normal, but I was now beginning to wonder if my supposed best friend was less normal than me. “No way I’m gonna do that.”

“Please, Erind,” Deen said. “I can’t do it myself.” Her hand trembled. “It was already so difficult pricking myself with a needle to test. I think… I think I’m healing faster. But I’m not sure. I need like an actual cut to be certain.”

“Uh, no one’s forcing you to do it.” Was this episode one of Living with the Leskas?

“I have to know if this is working,” she replied, touching her chest where her Core should be. “I’m hoping it won’t, but if it does, I… I have to know how to prepare myself. I can’t sleep. This is all I can think of.”

An opportunity for some counter-bother? Deen had imposed her touchy-feeliness on me with impunity. I could bully her a bit sometimes to carry out Rule #4. Nothing blatant that would violate Rule #2.

“As a certified overthinker myself,” I lied to connect more with my bestie, “I super understand. Best solution is to get it over with. Maybe you can close your eyes while you do it.”

“I’m telling you that I can’t,” she hissed at me, starting to get annoyed. “Cut me, please.”

“Even with context, that shouldn’t be something you should say to anyone.” I stood up, went around the table, and headed to the kitchen. “Let’s choose a knife so you can do it. You won’t stop overthinking this until it's done.”

“N-no, you do it to me,” Deen said, her voice a pitch higher.

We argued back and forth while I picked up knives. Their kitchen was fully stacked like an armory. They probably didn’t cook much here because everything was pristine. I waved a fancy cleaver at Deen, making her turn pale. Deen whined that it shouldn’t be a kitchen knife. Something less scary, like a box cutter. We eventually found one inside a cupboard.

“There you go,” I said, handing the cutter handle-first to Deen.

She shook her head so hard her face was a blur. “It should be you. How many times do I have to tell—?”

“Okay, okay, okay. Calm down.” I fervently nodded. “I’ll do it.”

We were back at the table. Deen, sitting opposite me, presented her left arm, palm facing up. “The hand has lots of nerves, pain receptors we should avoid,” she said. “Cut my arm. Around here.” She pointed at a spot four inches below her wrist. “A small cut, please.”

“You researched this, huh?” I pushed the cutter’s slider up to raise the blade. I did it slowly for dramatic effect, feeling like a samurai unsheathing his sword.

Deen held her breath, eyes transfixed on the blade. Not speaking, she wiggled her arm to tell me to hurry up.

I placed the blade’s edge against her skin and pulled it down. It didn’t cut. “Um… I’m not…”

“Press harder,” Deen mumbled while clenching her teeth. “And do it quicker.”

I did as she said, but held back big time, leaving a red line on her skin this time. No wound. If I were serious, I could wound her with my finger. But I wanted to drag this out and emotionally torture her a bit. “It’s like your skin is leather—I don’t mean that in a bad way. I’m saying that the Core is working.”

“Yo-you think so?”

“Uh, maybe. We’ll have to see how fast you heal. I’m going to cut you for real, okay?”

Deen pressed her lips together until they paled, nodding once.

I pressed the blade harder on her skin. Then I pulled and pushed the cutter across her arm, as if I were sawing it. That should trigger her squeamishness more.

“Don’t do it like that!” Deen exclaimed. To her credit, she didn’t pull away.

“Here goes,” I said, adding strength with the slice. I felt a slight snap as her skin broke under the blade. I pulled the cutter across the shallow wound, making it deeper, and ending playtime on a high note. More specifically, Deen yelping like a choked goose.

“Oh, my god!” Deen yanked her arm away. “That hurt!”

“Duh. Wounds are supposed to hurt. Don’t go blaming me now because you’re the one who asked for it. Let’s see if it’ll heal.”

Deen returned her left arm to the table and wiped away the oozing blood. For a moment, the cut was revealed, the frayed flesh displaying its pinkness. It then bled again. “Ohmygod, ohmygod, it’s not working!” She looked left and right. “We need a band-aid. No, that won’t do. Maybe we have bandages or—”

I stopped Deen from removing her arm again. “Wait! Look, look!”

The blood was drying into scabs much quicker than one would expect. Deen ran her finger over the line of dried blood. As she did, the scabs peeled off, revealing traces of the cut as flesh sewed itself back. It was as good as new after several seconds. Well, it was actually new. The scar left behind was lighter than the rest of Deen’s skin. A few seconds more, and even the scar was gone. It looked like she hadn’t been wounded at all.

“It worked!” Deen cheered, almost jumping out of her seat. “It really—wait. I shouldn’t be celebrating…” She slowly sat back down, staring at a spot of red on the table. It was a droplet of her blood. “I-I’m no longer human.”

Is my Core working too? Could be. But I wouldn’t know until my special abilities manifested because I already had a superhuman body. No choice but to wait. In the meantime, what should I do with Deen? My best friend wasn’t crying. She wasn’t doing anything other than blankly looking at the table. Seconds of silence continued to roll.

Was this what they called ‘shock’? I had seen this behavior in movies but not in real life, so I didn’t have experience dealing with it. Should I say something? I think my face should be comforting her.

“Deen?”

“Can we try if your Core also works?” she asked in a flat tone.

“Ma-maybe next time,” I stammered. “I’m really scared of getting cut.” The cutter’s blade might snap when trying to slice my skin. I could probably explain it away, like I had incredible compatibility. But the problem would come once Dario heard about it. He’d know something wasn’t right. I’d have to wait until Deen’s physical changes progressed to ‘reveal’ my own.

“Don’t you want to know if the Core is working like mine?”

“No-not now,” I said, wondering what Deen’s deal was. Could she be afraid that the Core wouldn’t stick with me and she’d be left as the inhuman bestie? As much as I’d love to tease her about this, I didn’t want her to keep wanting to cut me. “My Core’s continuing to root—I can feel it. If I wait a couple more days, it’d be stronger. A cut wouldn’t hurt as much.”

Deen nodded. “Maybe our superstrength would also start to show by then.”

“Definitely. I can just punch stuff to check. Just wait for a few days. Let’s continue our dinner. I’m liking that General Tso’s Chicken. Satisfies my sweet tooth even if it’s not a dessert.”

--------

The next day, Deen was driving to Eloyce University, and I rode shotgun. Since last night’s dinner, she has no longer brought up artificial Cores or anything related to what had happened to us. Probably was just her coping mechanism because there was something off about her, as if she was forcing herself to be cheerful.

But her moratorium on matters that stressed her ended.

“Myra messaged me that we’d have a team meeting in the afternoon,” Deen said as we passed through University Avenue. Dozens of students walked along the sidewalk, hiding under the shade of tall palm trees as they entered the campus as large as a town.  

“Team meeting, huh?” I left unsaid that we were now considered part of the hero wannabe group. Part of me was pissed off that Myra contacted only Deen. My sidekick ranking was solidifying.

“At their, um, our base at New Hope. She said they’ll check our condition, and Dario will tell us about the next mission.”

“Are we going to be part of that?”

“She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask,” Deen said. “They might be more persuasive if our powers progress along. But don’t worry. I’m not going to cave in this time. I’ll make sure we’re safe.”

“I trust you,” I said, piling weight on Deen’s shoulders since she wanted to be the main character.

“Did you bring my old phone?” Deen had given me a phone she was no longer using since I had lost mine.

She also lost hers. Fortunately, we both had esims so we it was easy to retrieve our contacts. Deen had several phones that weren’t so-old models gathering dust in her cabinet—just metaphorically; there was no actual dust there. And it was a walk-in cabinet bigger than my bedroom back at my condo.

“Sure did.” I waved the phone with a flowery pink casing. I’d never buy something like this even if a gun were pointed at me. And guns couldn’t threaten me much these days. I wondered if I’d ever become completely bullet proof?

“I’ll call you later to eat lunch together,” she said. Thank the Mother Core we had separate classes today—a momentary respite from Deen’s presence. She continued, “Remember, just act like you always do. Nothing happened to us after the memorial service.”

“Yes, Mom,” I said.

“I’m being serious here, Erind.” She reached over my side and pinched my leg. I remembered to react to the supposed pain. “One more thing—don’t get injured.”

-----

“Mens rea, meaning ‘guilty mind’, is the element of a crime involving the mental state of the individual.” Professor Bansa’s droning voice lulled the class to sleep.

The professor never surfaced from the laptop he was reading, oblivious that several students were nodding off, drifting between consciousness and sweet slumber. He even forgot to change his presentation to the next slide. Adding to the boring factor of the lecture was that we already knew all this stuff from CrimLaw class during our first semester. This was an elective subject focused on the Adumbrae aspect of criminal law; we didn’t need a freaking recap.

“It is based on the standard test for criminal culpability,” he continued. “Actus reus non facit reum nisi mens sit, or ‘the act is not culpable unless the mind is guilty’. There needs to be criminal intent for one to be criminally liable.”

I always chuckled when Latin maxims were mentioned. It sounded like we were casting magic spells. My momentary amusement faded, and it was back to Boring Land.

I keep picking at the pimple patch covering the crystalline growth on my palm. Comparing its appearance today with its picture that I took yesterday, the crystal had grown a teensy-weensy bit. I had also found a few more strands of white hair while in front of the mirror before leaving Deen’s house. I’d eventually need to dye my hair.

“Criminal intent is the general rule,” said Professor Bansa. “As the legal system evolved, exceptions were made. We have crimes involving negligence and reckless actions—think of vehicular accidents causing damage to lives and property. Unless the driver intentionally intended to ram a person, it is safe to assume most people do not intend to crash into a person or property. Another exception is strict liability crimes, where intent is immaterial as the law only looks at whether a prohibited act was committed.”

The professor paused. I thought he was going to ask a question. Instead, he coughed harshly on the microphone, with spit flying everywhere. Half the class jolted from their stupor.

Bored out of my mind, I looked around while wondering if there was another Adumbrae here? If Kelsey was one, it was reasonable to expect there were others. Adumbrae weren’t as rare as I thought they were. If I had to bet, I’d choose the children of really wealthy families.

Maybe Pollocks? His dad was the owner of an EV company. Stupidly wealthy. What about Adrian? They were a family of politicians. He might be trying to get close to Deen with the goal of garnering Leska support.

The professor sipped from a water bottle before continuing his lecture. “On the subject of crimes committed by Adumbrae, there are several interpretations on how to classify them. We can view them as acts with criminal intent—accepting an Adumbrae’s offer is criminal. On the flipside, other experts discount intent, given that people with collapsed Eloyce Fields have surrendered their ego…”

And the class went back to semi-hibernation.

Technically, I was a criminal.

The fact that I was an Adumbrae, or turning into one, was a crime in and of itself, even if I didn’t kill anybody. A crime punishable by death. The death penalty was not legal in all states, but execution of an Adumbrae was a separate case—they… we… weren’t considered humans.

“Professor, I have a question,” a girl a couple of rows below me said, raising her hand. The whole class once again stirred to life. “One of the cases on the syllabus, Robinson v. California—the Supreme Court held it unconstitutional to punish a drug addict, the status of being a drug addict, even if the person was taking illegal drugs. How do we reconcile this with the status of an Adumbrae?”

“Good question, Ms. Mendez,” Professor Bansa said. “Anyone care to try to answer it?”

Three raised hands. I added mine. Boredom was getting to me.

“Miss Hartwell, go ahead,” said the professor.

I stood up. “The state of getting seeded by an Adumbrae is quite different from that of a drug addict, as the status of being an Adumbrae itself is dangerous. I’d say it’s more akin to driving under the influence, which poses a danger to society. Getting drunk is a choice, even if crashing into a person or property isn’t. In the same vein, inviting an Adumbrae into the mind… is a choice.”

“Very good analogy, Miss Hartwell. Thank you for your answer. You may sit.”

I covered my mouth to hide a smirk. Isn’t it funny that an Adumbrae answered that question?

The entire class didn’t know that one of their classmates could kill all of them right here, right now. I could eat their brains and become stronger. The feeling of the overwhelming power that I had when transformed returned to me. I felt like nothing could stop me.

And those jaws. Those fangs. Awesome! I could crunch skulls—

Stop!

I dug my nails into my palm until I wounded myself. I bent down, pretending to rummage in my bag as I wiped my hands with tissue paper. My seatmate was already asleep.

What the hell was that? Spooky Erind getting to me?

Or was I just having fun as a monster?

Afternoon came, and I was waiting for Deen. I still didn’t have an answer to those questions.