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He eyes the tiny table. “First, inject yourself with the sedative, or I’ll blow up Paris.”
I scoff. “Like I care. French food is the worst. So much…” I can’t think of a French dish off the top of my head, so I say, “Bread.” And make a sour face. Silly, because who doesn’t love bread?
“You say that now, but wait until you see the countless faces of the dead on the news.”
I don’t react. “Why are you even here, Morris? You could’ve picked a city way closer to home.” Also, he could’ve kidnapped someone I care about, like Kyle, to blackmail me. Why go through all these theatrics?
He stares for a long moment with his twitchy brown eyes. “Keni wanted to live here. It was her dying wish.”
My heart drops. I used to have a crush on his sister, Keni. Red hair. Big green eyes. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen besides River. Keni turned out to be a psycho bitch because she took Morris’s street-drug concoction. Still, she was hot, and what red-blooded guy doesn’t mourn the loss of a beautiful woman? Even the crazy ones.
“She’s really dead?” I ask.
Morris nods solemnly. “Just last week. I can’t bring myself to leave the city. She loved it so much. It’s why we came here to live after everything happened.”
So there’s no way he’d burn it down. “Then I guess you should stay here. Cherishing her memory and all.”
“I would, but I made a promise. On her deathbed, she asked me to find a cure.”
“Cure?” I ask.
“For you.”
“Me?”
“Despite what you thought of Keni, she really liked you. She never forgave herself for how she treated you or that my drug ruined so many lives.”
Keni played the part of drug dealer, so I could see why.
He goes on, “Everyone who survived is successfully off the drug, but you. You’re forever changed. She asked me to give you your life back.”
Give me back my weak, wimpy body? Or take away my powers? I’m not sure which he’s referring to, but I’ve never once discussed, pondered, or hoped I’d ever go back to my old self. The truth is, I’m not sure I’d want to. It’s a question for another day. In the meantime, something about this situation smells rotten.
“What about you, Morris? Why do you look like that?”
He glances at his chest. “Oh, well, I was trying to crack the code—you know, be strong like you, but that was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before Keni got sick.”
“And how exactly did she get sick?” I ask.
Morris stares, and I can tell his mind is churning.
“This is all a bunch of bullshit, isn’t it?” I say. “You’re just trying to get me to feel sorry for you so I’ll give you my blood. Keni’s probably somewhere safe and sound right now, drinking a latte and eating a Croissan’wich or le Big Mac.”
“Fine.” He throws his hands in the air. “You caught me. Keni always said I couldn’t lie my way through a bobsled.”
Huh?
He continues, “But think of it, Huff. If I could crack the code and become like you, you and I could change the world.”
“You mean changeyourworld by selling the formula to the highest bidder.” Morris was always after money. So why else would he want the Huff recipe?
“If I can stabilize the formula and prevent the whole heart-exploding stuff, then yeah. What’s wrong with benefitting from our discovery?”
Our?“As far as I’m concerned, I’m just a happy accident. Unless you ask my parents.” I pause. “That came out wrong. They definitely wanted me. I was just born really small and wasn’t expected to survive.”
