The Diamond City (Book Three: The Diamond City Trilogy)

By Patti Larsen

Fresco is finally free of the blue joy forever. Even better, his brother Daniel is alive and clean, the leader of a group fighting the corporation for years. But Fresco faces worse than his own self-doubt and hatred at his weakness. A new strain of Wasteland has hit the streets, one that turns his kind into savage killers. Their only recourse is to invade the project and end it once and for all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patti Larsen
• Release date: Apr 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781927464038

Patti Larsen

About me, huh? Well, my official bio reads like this: Patti Larsen is a multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in her head. But that sounds so freaking formal, doesn’t it? I’m a storyteller who hears character's demands so loudly I have to write them down. I love the idea of sports even though sports hate me. I’ve dabbled in everything from improv theater to film making and writing TV shows, singing in an all girl band to running my own hair salon.But always, always, writing books calls me home.I’ve had my sights set on world literary domination for a while now. Which means getting my books out there, to you, my darling readers. It’s the coolest thing ever, this job of mine, being able to tell stories I love, only to see them all shiny and happy in your hands... thank you for reading.As for the rest of it, I’m short (permanent), slightly round (changeable) and blonde (for ever and ever). I love to talk one on one about the deepest topics and can’t seem to stop seeing the big picture. I happily live on Prince Edward Island, Canada, home to Anne of Green Gables and the most beautiful red beaches in the world, with my pug overlord and overlady, six lazy cats and Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn.

Book preview

Part V: The Blue Joy

Chapter One

It took some time before Fresco was able to stand. Even longer for him to force one foot in front of the other. It wasn’t just his physical exhaustion or the weight of what he had done driving him to his knees with every step.

His body finally wore itself out.

It didn’t matter so much, though. Daniel was there, his dark hero, one arm around him, keeping him upright. Fresco turned to look at his brother, still amazed Daniel was alive. He watched him die, beaten to death at the orders of Strom, the leader of the Garbagemen. And yet, here he was, the brother he remembered, though deep scars now twisted his cheeks and his once chocolate eyes burned with blue fire.

Wasteland blue. The glowing color of the blue joy. The drug which made them what they were. But, for Fresco, no longer. For him, everything had changed.

He paused at the edge of the deep shadow marking the entry to the street, not wanting to leave the protection of the alley just yet. Or the darkness. Daniel waited with him, as patient as always, the protective big brother who made sure Fresco was always safe. Until the night Daniel left, the night his psychic abilities manifested, the night the Garbagemen took him away, and his parents lied and lied and told Fresco Daniel chose the drug over his love for his brother.

Ray and Fran Conte weren’t even his real parents. He was a construct, born of complex DNA splicing and a lust for power, the progeny of two gifted scientists, one insane and the other ineffectual. Created, not born.

And he wasn’t the only one.

No, Daniel’s mind touched his and Fresco suffered a flash of memory. Not alone. You’ve never been, Fres.

He knew his brother’s mind so well, the mind leading him to safety, who taunted the monster he became under the treatment of his biological father. But Daniel’s familiar mind was melded with another version of itself. A twisted and tainted version, the mind of the addicted Daniel, the Wasted Daniel, who betrayed Fresco and his friends, who brought the Garbagemen with him and destroyed the first peace Fresco found in his new life of addiction and pain.

He shuddered from the memory of Last Stand, of his protector, Garris, now betrayer as well. Of the kids who died in the fire set by the Garbagemen.

It was me, Daniel’s mind held no apology, only quiet depth and stillness. And yet, it wasn’t. You need to understand that, Fres. So you can forgive me. And yourself.

Forgive Daniel! Fresco had already, forgave him the moment he thought him dead, wished it was his own crumpled body wrapped in filthy plastic being shoved into the back of a dark blue van by the men and women in the diamond embroidered coveralls.

He reached out with his gift and touched his brother. So strange to feel him, to remember him this way, clean and wide open. The mind which encouraged him without Fresco knowing who he was. The touch of his brother saved him, in the end.

Fresco wished he could be grateful.

I get it, Daniel’s mind slid over his like a hug. I’ve been there. And you’re about to meet more of us, Fres, who have too. But it’s up to you whether you’re willing to do anything about it.

What can I do? It all seemed so helpless. He just wasn’t strong enough.

You have no idea, Daniel whispered.

Fresco looked up and met those glowing eyes. Daniel’s brimmed with moisture. He didn’t bother to wipe it away.

I’ll fail you, Fresco said.

You can’t, Daniel said. Never.

They stood there in the lip of the night while Fresco tried to decide if he was too broken to try.

His heavy gut answered him and in that moment Fresco was glad he waited. There was something important he had to do if he were to return to the light. He bent in half, one hand pressed to the filthy brick building beside him, the other gripped tightly in Daniel’s, and threw up.

The drug emerged from him as shining and welcoming as it went down. His attempt to OD and end it all failed.

Failure, whispered his mind in a voice from his past, a hateful voice chasing him forever.

He was no longer an addict. No longer controlled by the blue joy or the song of the Diamond City, the mythical and haunting home of his dreams calling to him, to all the Wasted kids. In his attempt to do his master’s bidding, made into a monster empty of empathy or guilt, Fresco burned away the last of his need and guaranteed he would never be controlled that way again.

He would have preferred death.

Daniel steadied him as he straightened, the last of the drug just clinging to his lips. Fresco blotted it free with the sleeve of his sweater. They both looked down at the shining blue puddle. Daniel swayed, if only a little. But Fresco’s disgust drove him to decide.

I’m ready, he said.

Daniel smiled at his brother and led Fresco back into the world.

The streetlights didn’t last long, their path down the sidewalk quickly taking them into another alley. Illumination disappeared as the brothers reentered the darkness. Fresco welcomed it. The black was more his home than anywhere he knew these days.

He closed his eyes, letting Daniel support him down a set of stairs. Fresco stumbled once, feeling an ancient pain in one of his knees. His mind flashed to a desperate dive from a maple tree outside what had been his bedroom window on a quiet suburban street. Back when his life was a lie of chocolate chip cookies and football games.

It all came crashing down on him again.

He gasped through fresh tears, his sobs shaking him, Daniel. His brother’s hands were as strong as he remembered and he let Daniel hold him up, there in the darkened hallway, the stink of mold and age heavy in his nostrils, the weight of his pain taking his strength. He forgot Daniel, forgot his freedom. None of it mattered anymore. Fighting back had no meaning. He killed people he cared about along with total strangers. He betrayed his own soul and would never, could never, forgive himself for it.

Most of all, he missed Parker, as odd as it was considering his circumstances. She saved him once, back when he was a junkie dying under an old bridge. She rescued not just his body but everything making him what he was. She kept him from falling into the pit, from self-destructing. And it was because of her he fought so hard to be free.

And now when she needed him most, he could do nothing for her. Was unable to help her when he was taken. Parker with her lovely mocha skin and yellow eyes that saw into his very soul now a Garbageman, those perfect eyes now Wasteland blue. Parker whom he loved, partner now to Strom, the very enemy Fresco despised. Parker who would die inside if she were aware of what she had become.

He would not think about her, or Apple, or Medley... his heart wrenched for the woman who tried her best to help, the sweet and sour old chemist he killed with his power when he was only a machine for the Master.

The woman who was his mother.

That's it, Justin's voice cackled in his mind, keep going. Just a little more and maybe we can take a ride on the crazy train. Keep it up, loser. I can see the bend just up ahead. Can't you?

Fresco didn't try to fight back. Justin was right. Better to embrace insanity, to forget on purpose, than to live one more minute with the guilt in his heart. But as much as he wished it were true, the desired snap out of reality eluded him. His tears ran out even as Fresco understood he would carry his deeds with him for the rest of his life.

***

Chapter Two

He came back to himself, back to Daniel, the acceptance of what he’d done almost a relief.

Daniel didn’t judge. There are people I want you to meet. His hand gripped Fresco’s shoulder. Plans we have to make.

He found himself shaking his head even as his heart hardened.

I can’t, Fresco said. I'm done, Daniel. No more fighting. Whatever plans you have, they're yours. I'm out.

His brother didn't contradict him.

You're a filthy, disgusting mess, Daniel said cheerfully. And you stink.

Fresco shrugged, feeling a grin tug at his lips, but resisted it. I've smelled worse.

So have I, Daniel said. Doesn't mean it's right. Daniel suddenly gripped him in a hug and Fresco’s arms tightened around his brother in answer. Time you joined the real world again.

Fresco wasn't so sure, but knew better. Daniel always got what he wanted in the end.

Daniel turned and led Fresco further down the hall. Now that he was aware again, Fresco found himself looking around.

Abandoned YMCA, Daniel said. One of the kids is a whiz with mechanics and got the hot water turned back on. He shoved open a creaking door, chips of paint falling to the dirty tile. Inside was an old locker room, predominantly green. Daniel rifled through a dented locker while Fresco shivered in the dim fluorescence of the flickering bulbs. He resisted the urge to hug himself as Daniel started tossing items at him.

These will probably be too big, but hopefully we'll fatten you up some. He set a folded pile of clothes on the damaged bench and turned to Fresco who clutched a threadbare towel and a bar of soap to his chest. I'm not leaving you alone, Daniel said, voice soft and insistent. Not yet. Get to it, baby bro.

Fresco didn't bother trying to convince Daniel he wasn't about to try to kill himself again. He must have known. Still, while he stripped the filthy clothing from himself and carried the bar of soap into the shower, he understood his brother's reluctance and, for the first time since Daniel brought him back, was glad for the company.

Daniel stretched out on the counter under the bank of mirrors and whistled an off-tune ditty to himself while Fresco played with the faucet. He flinched from the cold water and despaired at having to endure another in what seemed like an endless life of cold showers stolen when and where his addicted body was able. The rush of hot following it, paired with the memory of Daniel’s words about his mechanic, cheered him far more than anything else about his life at that moment and he took his time absorbing the heat before getting down to the business of making himself clean again.

You said we weren't the only ones who got free of Wasteland. Fresco called out to Daniel as his mind woke up with his body. Not that he was curious. He refused to be curious. He just wanted to hear the sound of his brother's voice.

Liar, Justin whispered.

He heard Daniel moving, glanced over his shoulder. His brother looked at himself in the mirror, his blue eyes glowing in the distance, reflected in the glass. Fresco found himself staring at Daniel's eyes, the exact color of Wasteland. Daniel must have known it because he flickered his gaze to his brother and back again.

They go back to normal the first time, he said. But after that, no matter what I try, they stay blue. He rubbed at them. Something to do with the drug infecting our cells, you know? Like a stain or something. It’s permanent. Kind of miss the old brown ones sometimes. Have to wear sunglasses when I go anywhere because they freak people out.

Worse were the scars, but they weren't so obvious in the dim light. Still, Fresco caught the odd twitch of Daniel's right cheek, the reflexive and mild cousin of the heart wrenching spasms which plagued Daniel when he was Wasted.

Fresco shuddered and looked away as Daniel went on talking. There's a handful of us, Fres. We get clean, like you did, really clean, no lull, no false positive to lure us back to the blue joy. His eyes locked on Fresco. You were doing it right, with those other kids. But not all of them make it, just so you know. His gaze went back to his scarred face. Trouble is, if we're not careful, the Garbagemen come for us. They know, somehow. His voice echoed through the loud patter of the water falling on Fresco's back. Used to wonder about that, how they knew.

Meritas. The sweet faced old man with the round glasses and the endearing smile who created them. The madman who was the mastermind behind the project that made the Wasted kids what they were. Fresco's father.

Yeah. Daniel sighed out the word so softly Fresco turned to look at him. Daniel was still studying his reflection, fingers running across the deep scars on his cheeks. Meritas. But we still don't know how, Fres, where his power comes from. He can't be everywhere at once. Daniel's scowl made his ruined face into a monstrous mask lit by two smoldering electric blue eyes. I think that's the key to all of it.

Fresco didn't know so he didn't say anything.

We’re pretty sure he wants to convert us and make us like his other pets. Even though we still don’t know why. So many damned questions. His face scrunched up, scars pulling against his anger. But what’s the point of all this? Why us? Where does this power come from and why does Wasteland kill most of the kids who take it? Daniel pounded one fist against the counter in clear frustration. We’re so in the dark, while Meritas pulls our strings. Remakes us into his little soldiers. Daniel spun around, meeting Fresco's eyes. Our only win so far is that he’s failing. Even when he manages to bring us over, we're nothing like them.

It was true. The Garbagemen were first generation, already gifted, born like normal kids to parents with psychic abilities. They came before the experiments.

They aren't as strong as we are. Their physiology is different. Like Wasteland works on them in ways that it can't or doesn't for us. I think it pisses Meritas off.

Fresco knew it did. He winced from the memory of being One, of watching two Garbagemen dissolve under the influence of the new treatment stealing Fresco's soul and will.

See, the thing is, no matter how hard they try, the diluted Wasteland they give their pets can't hold us for long. Maybe it's the influence of the street junk. Or maybe we can't be controlled, not completely.

Fresco found himself nodding, the hot water dripping from his furrowed brow in large, heavy drops to land on his toes. I think you're right.

So they hook us and throw us back, Daniel said. Like throwing us to the wolves for another round of addiction is going to change anything.

How many times did you get clean? It was important. Fresco needed to know.

Three, Daniel said after a long pause. This last time... it's the last time.

Fresco picked at some ground in dirt under his thumbnail. Once was enough, thanks.

Daniel's laugh was harsh. Then help me do something about it.

Fresco didn't answer, just let the water wash him clean. He wished he could open himself up and send the refreshing feeling through his heart.

There's a small core of us, Daniel went on, who have been through it. Six of us. You make seven. We've been inside the operation and have more reason than anyone to want this to end.

Parker, Fresco said. I need to get her out of there.

We will, Daniel said. If she doesn't work herself loose. Fresco looked up at Daniel's tone. His brother was frowning.

She's been with them a long time. Fresco felt panic weaken his knees.

Longer than any of us, Daniel said, like it hurt him to admit it.

What does that mean?

Daniel shrugged. We're not sure yet. Did they seem surprised? When you broke?

Fresco didn't want to think about it, but forced himself to remember the dark street, the boy on the gurney, waking up from his life as a Garbageman to flee into the night with the kid.

Yes, he said. They did.

Daniel sagged a little, leaning against the wall. That means they didn't expect you to, not the way they did with us. So their treatment changed.

He has the new one, Fresco said. Recalled with a shudder the demise of Mitch and Tonya to the infusion of enhanced drug. While One had no empathy or reaction, Fresco felt bile burn the back of his throat at the memory.

I know, Daniel said. The master treatment.

They weren’t strong enough. Fresco rubbed his arms and the gooseflesh there. "Their cells collapsed from the pressure of the power release. It happens to some of