had any trouble breathing. What if Bettina didn’t die when she opened the airlock? What if Ceran only thought she was dead and then he kills himself and then Bettina has to kill herself because he’s dead and she’s lost her will to live, like Romeo and Juliet in space—and thus stupidly unoriginal.
What if she tries to die but can’t? Because she’s no longer human. Neither is Ceran. They’ve been experimented on for so many years, before and during their time in space, they’ve evolved into something else.
Roy winced. Even within the context of the total shit he’d written thus far this was lunacy. What were they then, mutants? What did that even mean? He supposed since he was the writer he could make it mean whatever he wanted. He was in charge of the situation. He just had to take charge.
Roy stopped walking, pressed his palms against the pier railing, and looked down into the dark water.
Maybe Bettina opens the airlock, expecting to die and possibly kill Ceran, and nothing happens. Nothing. They can both breathe and walk around and do everything as normal. They’ve been there so long their still-growing bodies have adapted and adjusted. Their keepers on Mars know this, know Ceran and Bettina don’t have to stay inside. They’ve been lying to them, keeping them trapped in the Mars space station to serve a purpose instead of letting them live their lives and roam free. Teenagers hated to be lied to. Roy and Wendy had told Shy they had to move to New York for Wendy’s big new job, which wasn’t really true. They’d decided to move and then she’d found the job. He still felt guilty about it.
Roy backed into a nearby bench, opened his laptop, and began to type.
* * *
Head Found!
The severed head of a murdered Staten Island woman was found amongst discarded soccer balls, bobbing in the water between two Brooklyn Bridge Park piers, less than five nautical miles from where the woman’s torso was found weeks ago. The deceased woman has been identified as twenty-eight-year-old Lelani Dimakis of Tompkinsville. Dimakis held a part-time bartending job at Jimmie Steiny’s Pub near the Richmond County Courthouse. She lived with her parents and was unmarried. The deceased’s ex-boyfriend, Dante Belsito, has been arrested on charges of murder and is being held by Staten Island police without bail. Belsito has a history of substance abuse and was diagnosed with issues involving “anger control” by a middle school psychologist. A 20-inch Craftsman chain saw was found in Belsito’s garage. No traces of the victim’s DNA were found on the chain saw, although traces of the victim’s blood and hair were found in the drain of Belsito’s shower. Dimakis and Belsito had been engaged. Their relationship ended more than two years ago when Dimakis began a new relationship with a local attorney and frequent Jimmie Steiny’s Pub patron. The victim’s family has postponed a funeral until Dimakis’s remaining body parts are found. The investigation is ongoing.
The image of a severed head bobbing in the water amongst lost soccer balls was delightfully disgusting. Wendy wished there was a picture. It was day-old news now, but she could not stop reading about it. Manfred, her former assistant, had a theory that the more mundane your life was, the more you craved the macabre. They were probably right.
Of course, she and Manfred no longer worked together. Wendy had been moved to another magazine.
Yesterday, just two weeks after turning in her excruciatingly dull and mostly plagiarized piece on Grasse and the history of the perfume industry in France, Wendy had received an email from her boss, Lucy Fleur, inviting her to dial into a conference call. Manfred had been on the call.
“A pregnant editor is going on bed rest downstairs and I offered you, Wendy, to replace her,” Lucy Fleur announced, forgoing any sort of greeting or small talk. So Lucy Fleur did exist after all. Her accent—from her upbringing in Rome, St. Kitts, and Senegal—was musical, lovely. A voice that launched a thousand ships, or at least one glossy, $23 bimonthly magazine comprised almost entirely of handbag and jewelry ads.
“I see. Thank you,” Wendy said, even though this was very definitely a demotion. “Which magazine did you say?”
“Enjoy!,” said Lucy Fleur musically. “Manfred will show you.”
“No problem,” Manfred agreed.
“And Manfred, you will take Wendy’s place at Fleurt.”
There was an awkward pause. Wendy wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. She felt like an enormous failure. What would she tell Roy