Elementals

1

Taylor

"You are not a God."

His tone is infuriating. "I never claimed to be one," I snap. "But I thought that—"

"You were special?"

Dr. Jansen has inquisitive gray eyes. They study me, full of pity and some sickening fascination, and I'm disgusted. I want to press my thumbs into those eyes and burn them right out of his skull, but I can't. Not yet. I need his answers.

"You went to church with your family as you grew up," he says. "You were leaving a service when you got into the accident. It took your father's life, and your mother's, and your brother's, and it almost took yours."

"I was never devout," I say quietly, "but I believed in something."

"Yes, you did. And that made it so easy for you to understand. You thought you were gifted a chance. That someone out there, whether it be God or nature or anything else, looked out for you and made you into this."

My hands are heating up. I don't have to look at them to know—I feel the sting on my skin, I can sense the heat in the air. Is it anger? Desperation? I don't know but Dr. Jansen does, and that terrifies me.

"What did you do to me?" I whisper.

"I ripped apart your DNA and rebuilt you," he says. There's no guilt. "Mad science, people would say, if they ever knew. Acid and bone saws and gas chambers, tests upon tests upon tests. You screamed. They all did. You flatlined seven times. But when you woke up that last time, you were complete."

The last time I was complete was before the accident, back when everything was normal. I'm something else entirely now, but complete is not it. "You said that I was naturally given this power to do some good in the world," I say. "But you did this to me, without asking, and then you lied."

"What difference does the journey make, if the destination is the same?"

I fall silent. His lab is as cold and monochrome as ever. The reason he's being honest with me now is because I stumbled upon his base, I looked through his work and discovered that I'm no divine gift. I can't make fire with my hands so that I can save people. I can do it because he got bored of rats and decided to play with humans instead, and what better way to prove your genius than by turning four kids into superhumans against their will?

I haven't met the others. I know who they are, thanks to what I've uncovered here. A small part of me is horrified to admit that I'm his favorite. That's why he kept in touch, and that's why I'm the one standing here while they're elsewhere in the states, waiting for his signal, for the 'opportune' moment to reveal themselves as heroes to the public.

That's why I'm the one who's going to burn everything to the ground.

Including us.

Dr. Jansen's eyes spark with something resembling fear when I stand. I'm only eighteen. I've got nothing on his fifty-plus years of experience, nothing on the degrees he has and the research he's done and the connections he's made. I've got nothing but rage.

But that, I think, will be enough.

"Don't," he says softly. "Don't ruin what I've built."

"I am not a God," I say. "But neither are you."

Fire drips from my fingertips like liquid. It catches on the floor and spreads, creeping up his tables and lighting up all his fancy work. Acids in flasks begin to bubble. Laminated reports release a plastic smell as they melt, and the blackboards warp.

I save one folder containing four files, tucking it into my jacket so my hands are free to stay aflame. Dr. Jansen backs away as I approach, reaching out for his head like I'm a child reaching for a doll.  Before he screams, I dig my thumbs into his eyes, blood running down my hands. Flesh sizzles and smoke curls from his head.

When I let go, his corpse falls to the floor. I spare it no glance as I step over it and leave his lab, and then his house. All of it will suffer. If I find out later from the news that something is left unscarred, a shed or a car or a corner, I will come back and burn that, too.

I settle into the car I stole a few cities back and read the contents of the files as I'm driving away on a desolate road. The scene in my rear-view mirror is nothing but bright yellow and red, but I watch for only a second before turning my attention to the other three, their faces staring back at me from their files.

Rani Sharma, from Missouri.

Jude Sagong, from New York.

Lana Wilson, from Colorado.

Car accident. Car accident. Car accident. After those tragedies, he did to them what he did to me. We were meant to be heroes, each of us 'gifted' with the power of an 'element.' I believed, I truly did. And maybe Dr. Jansen was right, the journey didn't matter. If I hadn't stumbled upon the truth, wouldn't I still believe? Wouldn't I still want to be what he said I could be, what he said I was meant to be?

I would.

And that's the bitch of it.

Now that I know, I can't not know. I'm ruined.

And I will ruin them, too.