Holidays are Hell

Joseph hesitated. "All your emotions, your empathy and compassion, your capacity to love, would be… suppressed. If there is a place in the human brain where those things live, it gets shut off. All that remains is something hollow."

"But you can stop it?" She hated the sound of her voice, the thread of fear that crept into it, but Joseph did not seem to mind, nor did he look at her with pity. All he did was squeeze her shoulder and drag her close to press his lips upon her forehead. She let him. Other men had kissed her, but it felt different with Joseph. More alive.

They left the Audi and walked to the cab drivers. The men did not want to break up their game, but Six offered a one-hundred-dollar note, apart from the fare, to the first person up and ready.

Joseph gave directions, and after a while their cab left the freeway for the industrial zone, a modern area of wide tree-lined roads, modern sculptures, and vast corporate headquarters—some of which seemed to have been designed in some architect's odd dream. Closer to the city core, the scenery changed; water became the influence, canals and bridges splitting roads. The buildings, too, retained a classic charm. Unlike Shanghai, the Suzhou city planners had attempted to maintain the feel of old China in its appearance.

The New Year's celebration was in full swing here, as well. Even in the wee hours of morning, men were still setting off fireworks—albeit half-heartedly. Red lanterns swung gently over the roads, and all the shop doors were plastered with red banners covered in wishes for good luck in the coming year.

Joseph had the cab driver drop them off in the middle of a tiny shopping district. No one else was out. Except for the occasional pop and bang, the air was quiet. Joseph led Six down a side street. They had to cross a bridge over one of the canals—water lapping gently against the stones—and then he guided them left into a well-worn neighborhood where the walls felt high and the streets narrow, and the air grew more still and hushed the deeper they traveled. A good place for a trap, Six thought, but she could do nothing but keep her senses open, ready, alert. It was second nature, but she paid special attention, not wanting to take anything for granted. It was odd, though; the more she concentrated, the more that came into focus. Where there had been silence, now there was noise—so much noise—building into a crescendo of men talking, pans banging, children crying, farts and coughs and pissing in a can. She heard sex. She heard heartbeats. She heard Joseph breathe.

"Something's wrong," she murmured, and her voice sounded like a roar inside her ears. She stopped walking, and held her head. Joseph moved close. He covered her hands with his, and the warm pressure of his fingers moving across her skin, threading into her hair, felt good enough to ease the discomfort bearing down on her eardrums. When he pulled her against him, she did not resist. She pressed her forehead against his chest and closed her eyes. His heartbeat was a roar of thunder.

"It is starting," she whispered. "Whatever it is, I can feel it."

"Your cheek has healed," Joseph said.

Her hand flew up, fingers running over skin. The scratch was gone. No pain, no flush.

"I am afraid," she said, and it was like hearing herself speak another language. She had never said those words, not out loud, but the crush of her fear was so full and thick, she had to express it. She had to tell someone or scream.

I'm here, Joseph told her, speaking into her mind. Six, I'm here. You're not alone.

I am always alone, she told him, unable to stop the words that sprang so easily into her mind. I have always been alone.

"Not anymore," he promised, tugging up her chin. He kissed her, gently, lips brushing against her mouth with such sweetness, she held on to the feeling with all her strength, fighting for it, suddenly terrified it might be the last time she ever felt that way about another human being. She remembered Chenglei, those other creatures she had faced on the street. Hollow and shriveled, brittle with their hunger for another person's life. Not the men and women they had been born to be.

"Do not let me forget how to feel," she said to Joseph, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "I have never asked for anything from anyone, but please, make me feel."

A tremor ran through his body. "Six—"

"Promise me."