Blood Colony by Tananarive Due Page A

shelter for battered women. After I got there, your father broke his neck. I saw him do it.”
    Fana’s eyes swam, lost. “I don’t understand. Why would Dad do that?”
    Caitlin shrugged. “You tell me.”
    Fana looked away from her, as if she’d been slapped. Fana was a Daddy’s girl to the bone. Some subjects were best avoided between them—especially the bloody day in Florida when their families had met for the first time. That day, Gramps had died, and Fana’s aunt and uncle had nearly died, too. Dad said that Dawit Wolde was the most frightening man he had ever met.
    He killed her .
    Maritza’s face came to Caitlin’s mind suddenly; a perfect oval, like a doll. The thought of Maritza brought the memory of her hair’s smell; sweet milk and vanilla. Caitlin almost turned around to make sure Maritza wasn’t sitting behind them on the bed.
    Fana reached over to squeeze Caitlin’s hand, and Caitlin held on tight.
    Fana’s face had been the first to appear on her mobile video phone the night Maritza’s body had been found, not even ten minutes after Caitlin had gotten the news from the Miami Beach police. The memory of that night was still a cold blade in Caitlin’s stomach. It was the only memory worse than seeing Father Arturo killed.
    Caitlin wiped her eyes. “I think they killed Maritza, Fana. Your p-people.”
    “Why would they do that?”
    Caitlin bit back her anger at Fana’s naivete. “Because she was counseling AIDS patients, and…” Caitlin’s voice broke off. She could not talk to Fana here. She couldn’t tell Fana how Mari had cleaned out thirty men, women and children, setting them free of the system, unless Fana mined it from her head. “Maritza was a good person, Fana.”
    “I know she was.”
    Caitlin took a deep breath. “Your father—”
    Fana cut her off. “Dad didn’t kill Maritza. He wouldn’t do that.”
    For all of her amazing gifts, Fana lived in a dreamworld, Caitlin thought. Just like Mari, who’d been laughing on the phone instead of using the right codes. Mari had never learned how to hide, to the point where patients had knocked on their apartment door late into the night.
    “Do you really know he didn’t?” Caitlin said. “Or do you just hope not?”
    “Something like that would have…come through.” Fana lowered her eyes. She always looked embarrassed when she talked about the way she had access to people’s heads.
    Could Fana hear what she was thinking now? Your father is a fucking murderer. Wake the hell up, Fana, or he and those other freaks will kill my whole family.
    But Fana’s face didn’t change. Fana hadn’t heard, or she was ignoring her.
    “Are you sure you know your father?” Caitlin said.
    “I’m…pretty sure.”
    So much for all-knowing. Caitlin shook her head, almost chuckling. “Don’t be.”
    The weight across Fana’s eyebrows made her look like she wasn’t sure of her own name.
     
    Stealing . That word made Justin O’Neal clear his throat and pour another glass of water from the crystal decanter with an unsteady hand. No matter how much he drank, he couldn’t kill his thirst as he sat across the large oak table from his questioners. The large hall’s cedar scent was as sharp as incense, burning his throat.
    Yesterday, Justin had gone to his office at Clarion World Health overlooking the East River on Wall Street like it had been any other day. He’d been preparing for a lunch with the ambassador from Ghana when they’d come with the news about Caitlin. Just yesterday.
    Today, he and his daughter might be about to die. Caitlin had told him she’d seen Dawit kill a man yesterday. A priest! How did he know that Caitlin was still alive now; that they hadn’t killed Caitlin as soon as she was alone?
    “I took five milliliters,” Justin said, his voice shaky. “Half a vial.”
    “That was an intricate plan, Mr. O’Neal.” The man’s voice was almost congratulatory.
    Two weeks ago, Justin had been in Ghana to inspect