James Howard

The next morning, Layna awoke to the sound of footsteps on the floor above her basement studio apartment. Inhaling deeply, she recognized the distinct scent of Luisa moving quickly through the store.
 
Glancing over at the clock, Layna cussed herself for sleeping late. It was 8:42AM on Saturday, June 21st — exactly two years since the blackouts. She remembered those days vividly:

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Like dominoes falling across the city, the lights went out and pandemonium crushed the surrounding area as darkness fell. Robberies and muggings became constant after sundown; the summer heat an oppressor during the day.
 
Even in the most interior room of their Manhattan apartment, Layna could still smell so many collective emotions — inevitably triggering the ‘change’ as her father called it. For ten days, Layna changed between human forms almost constantly — huddled in the corner of her bedroom, shifting into the form of people most frightened by the chaos of the blackouts; shifting forms until she would pass out from exhaustion.
 
Meanwhile, the energy-intensive equipment sustaining James Howard’s constant antibiotic infusions operated on backup battery power, licensed only for five days. And as the days without electricity stretched on, it became clear that he would not survive the blackout.
 
“The infection has overtaken too much of my nervous system. I will not survive much longer,” he explained through labored breathing, “I cannot risk you bringing me to the hospital. You’d be tempted to change into everyone there, I think.”
 
Slow, labored breathing.
 
“And I cannot risk leaving you alone.”
 
Leaning heavily on a makeshift laboratory table he’d setup in the family living room, James documented the specific chemical composition of the part steroid-part formalin liquid solution that would preserve his glands — the pituitary glands, to be specific — for at least five years after his death, inside a large glass jar.
 
“It is important…”, he paused while coughing with increasing severity, “…to remove my head before the infection spreads into my throat.” He paused again as grief and pain coalesced in his chest.
 
His daughter’s stare was unflinching as she reverted into true form — a ‘hideous’ grey-skinned, pointy-earned, sharp-toothed creature with piercing blue eyes and visible red vein lines.
 
Her father was unmoved and unafraid. “Layna, you’ll have to sever my head before the infection spreads into my pituitary...”
 
James and Layna Howard looked at each other for several moments without speaking.
 
Then James spoke again, slowly and broken by fits of coughing, “In a few hours…it will be light outside…Take the form of Mrs. Littleton from next door…and drive me to the Pharmacy.”
 
With detours and protests seemingly at every corner, the route went through Chinatown and then across the Manhattan bridge via single-lane traffic into Brooklyn.
 
It took ninety-two minutes to cross the bridge.
 
Even in Brooklyn, the signs of chaos were everywhere. Just south of Mrytle Ave, the IERA had overtaken Fort Greene Park with military vehicles and city-block generators…a rare sight.
 
At a checkpoint, military police working alongside the IERA requested their identification and the purpose for their travel.
 
Layna responded in a sweet and gentle voice, “I’m so sorry, sir, but with the power outages, I’ve misplaced my registration. You can check my DNA, though, right?”
 
The military police officer confirmed it was possible, although not typical. But Layna persisted.
 
“My name is Lenore Littleton and this is my neighbor, James Howard. He has a Pharmacy on Myrtle Avenue, just across the way,” she motioned down the street. “We are going there to check his store and make sure everything is alright. He’s too old to do it by himself,” she smiled.
 
The military police officer looked at James and checked his registration. “You OK, sir?”
 
James, looking quite pale, waved and coughed, “I’m alright. Just want to check my store and get back home.”
 
Layna spoke again more urgently, “Sweetie, if you can check my DNA, then we’ll move through quickly while there is still daylight.”
 
The military police officer’s attention returned to Layna and he held out a device connected to his belt with a small finger-sized receptacle. Layna placed her index finger in the device. After a few seconds and the quiet hum of the device whirring into action, her identity was confirmed, Lenore Littleton, 220 East 72nd Street, seventy-six years old, female, single, born in Rochester, NY. Resident of Manhattan since 2029.
 
“OK. You’re clear.” he said. “Take care of your business but don’t stay past 4PM.“
 
“Thank you…I hope you get the bastards who caused this.” Layna quipped, in the same voice, but a bit out of character.
 
The military officer turned his head sharply, but then spoke with gruff encouragement, “We will. Believe me, we will.”
 
Layna and James made their way through the checkpoint and slowly down Myrtle Avenue, turning left onto Carlton Ave and left again into the alleyway behind the supermarket, continuing past it and finally parking behind her father’s pharmacy.
 
She helped him walk down the stairs and through the back entrance that led down a narrow hallway. Several turns later they opened a locked door and then stepped inside the small basement room under the pharmacy, one light hanging from the ceiling — still powered by a backup generator licensed by the city because of the pharmacy.
 
“Run upstairs and get these supplies and…several trash bags.”, James spoke quietly.
 
Layna did as instructed and then followed her father’s written instructions from earlier, creating the clear preservative liquid in one of five empty glass jars. Then she placed trash bags on the floor of the entire small room.
 
“You have to do it now.” James spoke urgently with the early signs of hoarseness in his voice.
 
Layna returned to her true form as her hands formed into razor sharp edges…
 
“Find your mother in the Hollow,” he spoke.
 
And then Layna severed her father’s head from his body, her ‘hands’ moving outward in an “X” formation, like scissors. He collapsed with a thud, blood splattering onto the trash bags that lined the floor.
 
Layna picked up his head and placed it in the jar, sealing the lid and carrying it over to the empty shelf. His eyes were open inside the jar as the preservative fluids began their chemical reactions, suspending James’ organic material indefinitely.
 
“I love you, father,” she spoke with calm sincerity.
 
Then she inhaled and exhaled through her nose and took on the form of…James Howard.