Feed by Nicole Grotepas

contrast between their eyes was as apparent as the distinction between summer and winter. Ramone’s blue eyes maintained their brilliance, even through the painful sequences inflicted on him by Elliot. Elliot’s face, well, it was easy to see a Gorgon-like beast there, even if he was plainly human. Though they were pale green, a black vacancy seemed to swirl around the Enforcer’s eyes. Ghosteye saw it. And he wanted his audience to see it.
    The pit of his stomach sank, deepening into a hollow emptiness he’d only ever felt one other time in his life: when Beth left. This was his fault. Ramone’s suffering. Ghosteye had thrown him to the wolves, betrayed him. Something had to come of it. Creation sometimes required a brilliant destruction before it could begin.
    “He needs us, Needles. He needs me,” Ghosteye finally whispered, steeling himself against the image of Elliot’s unfeeling expression as he administered more painful apparatuses to Ramone. His silence had only been a few minutes. Two at the most. He hoped it wasn’t too late, hoped Needles hadn’t reported the infraction already.
    “The old man?” Needles asked after a pause where he breathed obnoxiously in Ghosteye’s ear.
    “He’s not an old man. Look at him. Can’t you see it?”
    “See what? All I can see is you getting the shit beat out of you by that Enforcer in the near future. You’ve really screwed up, man.”
    “Look at their eyes, Needles. Look at the difference. Can’t you tell there’s something different about Ramone?”
    “You sound like you’ve been smoking crack. Are you on something?”
    “Don’t you think it’s weird that this guy hasn’t even done anything yet, but he’s been watched by top level agents for years and now he’s being questioned like this?”
    “Because of you,” Needles pointed out helpfully.
    Ghosteye cringed, his stomach plummeting, before saying, “He created the cameras. Did you know that?”
    “No, but I don’t really care. What’s that got to do with me?”
    “Why would they be afraid of him?”
    “How are they afraid of him?”
    “They’ve got an Enforcer at his house, torturing him. That spells it out pretty clearly.”
    “Well, probably because if he’s such a genius to make the machines in the first place, he can undo what he’s done,” Needles said, finally sounding like he wasn’t a complete idiot.
    “And that would scare them . . . Because?”
    “Shit, man, stop patronizing me, what the hell are you getting at?”
    “Never mind.” Ghosteye was trying to make someone see what he saw. The way Beth had attempted to lead him toward the understanding that his work wasn’t art. It was vile and corrupt. There was no way to open someone’s eyes and make them recognize what was placed before them, as plain as possible, even with Ramone strapped to his desk, splayed out like he was about to be drawn and quartered, and an apparently soulless creature exercising its antisocial tendencies on him.
    “This is a disaster,” Needles fretted. “Someone’s going to find out. We can fix it, we can fix it. Put the cover feed up now, maybe they’ll never know.”
    “I’m not putting it up,” Ghosteye answered, firmly. Swallowing hard, he forced the bile down as Elliot spread a mixture of vinegar and citric acid over the welts on Ramone’s cheeks. The questioning went on, with Ramone refusing to submit. How long could he last? How long would the Enforcer continue?
    “You’re going to implicate me, Ghosteye. Don’t you get it? They’ll think I was involved.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “That’s it? You’re ‘sorry’?”
    “It’s for the best, Needles. Sorry you had to be along for this.”
    “‘For the best’? You’re throwing away your career, my career, for this? It’s crazy. What’s the point? They’ll kill him. And then what? Nothing. Nothing will come of this, except that we’ll be left to rot in a prison cell somewhere and your precious new hero will be fish