The Eyes Have No Soul

by Matthew W. Harrill

  Clare nodded that she understood and the hand released her mouth. She massaged her jaw, remaining otherwise stationary. Two more shots rang out followed by the crash of heavy bodies into the foliage, then a minute later another shot. Two more followed. All the while Clare remained motionless, trying with increasing desperation not to pee herself.

  Terrick appeared at the edge of the glade.

  “Thank God,” Clare called out, taking a step forward.

  Two things happened. Her unseen saviour grabbed her by the shoulder, dragging her back, and someone she had never seen before stepped into the glade behind Terrick, a gun pointed at the sheriff's back. Well-muscled, he wore combat fatigues in shades of greens, browns and black. While Terrick's face was calm, composed, his captor looked anything but relaxed. Eyes surrounded by more camouflage paint darted around the glade and sweat dripped from his forehead. Spasmodic movement made it very clear he was trying to remain an elusive target, but from what?

  “Call off your hound,” the gunman ordered, looking past Clare. “If I hear even a rustle in the leaves this one…”

  A single shot rang out from directly above them. The gunman's head rocked back, ruptured by a bullet before he had a chance to finish his sentence. He dropped to the ground, bereft of life, the word 'dies' still partially formed on his lips. Clare tried as best she could to not look at the gore sprayed beyond him, brains, blood and skull.

  Terrick dived forward, out of the aim of the gunman's dying reflexes. When it became apparent that no further violence would be done upon him, he climbed back to his feet, dusting his clothes down.

  Clare turned to the woman behind her. Masked in a balaclava, she had piercing blue eyes, intelligent and knowing, that seemed to read every thought in Clare's head.

  “Come with me,” the masked figure instructed.

  Only once Terrick passed her did Clare begin to follow.

  The track, while not steep, was still arduous for Clare. Several times she had to stop to catch her breath for fear of collapsing. In time they crested the hill, to find a shallow valley beyond in which several buildings had been built around a series of fields. The forest provided a protective ring around the outer edges of the commune.

  Their mysterious guide stopped to allow Clare to breathe in the majesty of the scene and then said, “Call your friend. Tell her you are okay.”

  “What?” Clare realized that she still held the burner in her hand and nodded, letting the speed dial complete this time.

  “Clare?” Tina's voice was concerned. “What is it? What's wrong?”

  “Tina, I'm okay. I have leads on the case, major leads. Believe me when I say this is a game changer.”

  There was a pause. “Whose making you call me?” Tina's voice was suspicious.

  “Nobody's making me call you. I just needed…”

  The masked woman took the phone from Clare's hand, putting it on speaker. “Detective, you have one chance to capture this creature.”

  “Clare? What creature?”

  “Tina,” Clare pleaded, “you're gonna have to take a lot on faith here. Believe me, this is all a hell of a lot more twisted than any of us ever guessed a week ago.”

  “Detective, carry on about your business. There's far more at stake here than just one person's history and well-being.”

  “Who is this? What are you doing with Clare? What creature are you talking about?”

  “What I am doing with Clare is much the same as what I'm doing to Clare. She's very sick, detective. I'm saving her life. Who I am is not important. That we have your friend and will ensure her safe delivery to you is. You have a decision to make in the next day, that being to take a stand against the unholy creature that walks the streets of your city and to put an end to it.”

  “There's nothing worse here than corruption.”

  “Exactly; but ask yourself this: what is really behind the corruption? Gather anybody you trust, detective. Time is against you now. You'll be contacted tomorrow. Be ready.”

  “Wa…”

  The phone was switched off. Their masked host dropped the phone onto the rocky path beneath their feet and smashed it with her heel.

  “Well that's great,” Terrick said. “How're we supposed to call anybody now?”

  “We have all your information. We shall provide you with a new phone, one that's actually untraceable. Your detective friend has some tricks, but she doesn't have our resource.”

  “You make this sound like some sort of set-up,” Clare accused. “Like this was all intended to happen.”

  “Moves, and counter-moves.” The gentle descent into the valley did nothing to put Clare at ease. “You were meant to be hunted in this forest. Did you not hear the words of the guy that almost had you? 'You look about ready for the creature. Nice and scrawny. That's how he likes 'em.' This is a hunt. You're the prize. Now we have time to turn the hunt on the hunter and prepare a trap.”

  It all clicked into place. She knew what she had to do. “You're right,” Clare agreed. “Except last time your hunt failed, didn't it. Last time you didn't know about those who follow where this… thing dares to tread.”

  “We don't know it all,” the woman admitted. “I have a feeling your plan is different to Logan's.”

  “Let's get inside and I'll talk you through it. But I'm not going another step until you tell me who you work for.” Clare planted her feet and folded her arms.

  The masked woman tipped her head to one side as if listening to something, and then nodded. “Very well; the organization I represent is called ARC.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It dented her pride to admit, but Clare needed help to make it into the mansion at the centre of the complex. At first just Terrick helped her. When she became too much of a burden for the sheriff, their guide stepped in. Nobody in the fields seemingly paid any attention to this strange trio moving through their midst. Maybe they were used to it.

  Clare didn't remember much more than impressions once they entered the mansion. The place was big and airy, in complete contrast to the cosy feeling of Logan's private sanctum. The flight from Ashby had taken so much out of her she was focusing purely on her own pain. It meant she was still alive.

  “Lie her down there,” the woman said.

  Clare felt a firm surface beneath and smelled wool. She was on a bed.

  “What's that?” she heard Terrick ask.

  “Same thing we gave Logan. It'll allow her body to function the way it should for a while longer.”

  “Insulin?”

  “Of a sort. An initial jolt of fast-acting insulin to get her body back on track with a greater dose of slow acting insulin to abate some of the symptoms.”

  Clare felt a sharp prick in her shoulder. She didn't have the energy to jump or cry out, but managed to turn her head toward the woman. She had removed her balaclava, and had a pretty face with small lips pursed in concentration, framed with well-styled white hair.

  Their guide had noticed the movement. “You will have answers later, Clare Rosser. You've had one hell of a day. This next shot will help you sleep.”

  Clare felt another prick in her arm and her sight blurred. She heard A discussion but what was said was lost as she lapsed out of consciousness.

  Where am I?

  Clare blinked awake. By the light streaming in through the window it appeared to be morning, the sun barely above the trees. Without moving, she assessed her surroundings. She was in a converted attic, vertical beams of polished wood supporting the roof. The window was to her right, bordered by bookshelves built into the eaves.

  She stretched, expecting to groan in pain but finding instead that while she ached, it really wasn't all that bad. Wiggling her fingers for a moment, Clare sat up, almost bumping her head on the ceiling. Confused, she looked herself over. Still dressed, well that's something. Her hands were skeletal, veins pushing the skin up. A needle connected to a drip had been inserted into the back of her hand. She sighed. Somebody else had finally taken
the step she refused to.

  “Why do you feel so much better?” The familiar voice of the white-haired woman asked from the other side of the room. “Insulin is carrying glucose around your bloodstream once again. You're worse than I think anybody told you, almost as bad as Logan was. Would you like some water?” The woman offered Clare a glass.

  Grateful, Clare took the drink, taking only a couple of small sips. She studied the liquid; she was no longer thirsty, a feeling she had never expected to feel again. “They… the guys at his house said I had maybe a week.”

  The woman sat down on the bed beside her. She was older, yet still radiated a luminous beauty from skin that appeared younger, smooth with barely a wrinkle. The eyes spoke volumes though. Wisdom, intelligence, and a certain amount of pain had been experienced during her lifetime.

  “A week till you drop dead, certainly. But not a week before you're incapacitated beyond the ability to function. You were pretty close to reaching that point yesterday. What were you thinking? Exhausted, depleting your energy reserves; barely slept in days I'll bet. Your lack of thirst shows you aren't beyond redemption but only an idiot refuses to listen to their body.”

  “It's not like I had a choice,” Clare said, hurt by the accusation that after what everybody had said, still a stranger was taking her to task.

  “You have spirit, I'll give you that,” the woman conceded. “And a will of surprising strength; I have no doubt that comes from the day you found your parents dead, if not earlier.”

  Clare decided she had had enough of these cryptic observations. “Who are you, and why are you here?”

  The woman smiled. “Direct, too. That's admirable. My name is Ellen Covlioni. You've made it this far, you deserve to know that much.”

  “Ellen. What is ARC?”

  “That's one question too far,” said a second voice from the doorway. A man stood there, lean and scraggly with a small but unkempt beard, glasses and an oversized set of retro eighties-style headphones around his neck. He stepped into the room. He wore a red t-shirt with a picture of Devils Tower, the mountain used in Close Encounters as a place to meet the extra-terrestrials. Clare certainly felt in an alien situation now.

  “Clare, this is Scope.”

  “What, did your parents hate you at birth?”

  Scope chuckled, more of an amused exhalation of air than any actual laugh. “I'm a sniper among other things. The nickname suits me.”

  “So that was you up on the ridge? I thought it was Terrick.” Then the realization hit her. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

  “He's fine,” Ellen assured her. “He went to go pick up your vehicle earlier this morning, once he saw you were safe and recovering. He will be along soon but he doesn't need to hear this conversation.”

  “Why, am I in trouble?”

  Ellen smiled. “Not from us. However, it's safe to say there are those out there baying for your blood.”

  “Harley,” Clare spat.

  “Indeed. What do you know of the man?”

  Clare reached into her bag, producing the transfer letter. “That he's connected to all of this somehow. He had the same thing done to Logan. Look what happened there. I never knew we would end up in Ashby looking for answers, yet we were expected it seems. Those guys hunting us said I was food for the creature and by that I presume we're talking about Viruñas. That ties Harley into the creature somehow. For a long time I was convinced I knew who the creature was. There's a janitor who works in the precinct who seems to have an unnatural interest in my life. I found a bunch of Pop's things at Alden Labs, where he used to work. Samples I took from the scene showed a liquid that had many of the properties of blood, but nothing that makes blood useful, like all the goodness had been stripped out.”

  Scope nodded in thought and looked to Ellen. “She's got most of it worked out.”

  “That's not too far from the truth,” Scope agreed. “The problem you have with a creature that hides its identity for a decade at a time is that your opportunities to tag it are limited.” Scope pulled a chair across the room, the feet scraping along the wooden floor causing Clare to wince. He placed it opposite her, sitting down. “I think we've reached the point that you know this thing isn't entirely normal, yes?”

  “Not entirely normal? It isn't natural.”

  “Actually it couldn't be any more natural if it tried. Viruñas is a primal force, a very ancient creature. It could be that Viruñas the man isn't even aware of his, shall we put it, other side. It may be that in order to suppress that side of him, he has to sate the appetite.”

  “Like some sort of vampire?”

  “In a sense it is, yes. Viruñas draws the fluid out of its victims, taking what it needs and expelling the excess liquid. Always six kills, always once every decade. You've seen the evidence.”

  Clare thought for a moment. “The Grail Website is your doing?”

  “Indeed. It's a location for urban legends with a basis in fact.”

  “What are you saying? That it's immortal?”

  Scope lowered his voice. “There's a reason urban legends exist. What if demons were real? Heaven, Hell, the whole shebang? What if those who were destined to take a trip South never really left, bereft of morals, lacking anything but the primal urges: Hunt. Feed. Maybe even reproduce.”

  There it was. “You don't think this is the first Viruñas, do you? You're not just hunting one.”

  “Told you she was smart,” Ellen said, approval warming her voice. “What we kept from public record were the exact dates of the past killings. They're always individual kills on six specific dates, every decade. Ten years back there was a double killing. This year…”

  “There was another double kill,” Clare finished. “Luke Morris and the other kid died close together. There's another Viruñas.”

  “Only a few times in history has it been recorded,” Scope provided. “Can you see what importance we attach to this?”

  “Destroy the creature and you destroy the legacy,” Clare answered. “Or at least this part of it. How do you know these are the only Viruñas?”

  “These deaths only occur every decade, and in a specific geographical pattern. If there were more, the pattern would be random. Do you see now how your willing participation is so important and at the same time so perilous?”

  “You're not hoping to use me as bait for just one,” Clare concluded. Suddenly she felt a lot less positive.

  “That is indeed true,” Ellen agreed. “These double kills may be a way of hiding numbers, or a method of weaning if we are correct about offspring.”

  “So were Viruñas to have a child, it might be a way of introducing it to its heritage.” Clare pondered this, stroking the back of the drip in her hand, feeling the needle in her vein as she disturbed it. How alien it was to have something reside within you that was not meant to be there. Is that how the creature felt? “Or there is something the child can't get through normal nourishment. Either way undiagnosed diabetics suffer.”

  Scope smiled. “There you have it. The crux of the matter is that diabetes is on the increase, especially in America. If we don't take this chance, we might lose the opportunity to end the creature and if possible, its line. Now what's your plan?”

  “Whoever planned this last time intended to isolate the creature, yes? You gave it the scent and intended to lead it into the middle of nowhere so you could be sure that nobody would get hurt. What you didn't expect was what happened, because someone was onto you. All your secrets and your mysterious organization, still you were beaten to the punch.”

  “That's harsh, but fair,” Scope admitted.

  “What's harsh is that Jarret Logan was sacrificed without need. I don't intend to be isolated in a forest when I lead this creature into a trap. I'm going to be surrounded by a buffet.”

  “Go on,” Ellen said, evidently hooked.

  “I want to put out an alert to the entire region, Worcester and surrounding, detailing the symptoms to look out for, gather everybody at a h
ospital and wait there to see what happens. If you are dead set on trapping this thing, you need bait on a scale that makes it impossible to resist. Drive this thing wild with longing until it just comes drooling in to feed. If it can track the scent of an undiagnosed diabetic like you seem to be implying, the scent of many will be irresistible.”

  “That's crazy,” Scope burst out. “The sheer numbers are insane. Plus you're gonna get every lunatic hypochondriac who thinks they can get attention walking in off the street.”

  “True, but someone will have to sort the wheat from the chaff and as they do so, we build up a ward of diabetics. The Viruñas isn't interested in anybody else. They don't have the right condition to nourish it. It will have to come for the honey pot. It won't be able to help itself.”

  “Have you thought of a hospital?”

  Clare nodded. “I have, but this is where it gets really crazy. I want misdirection. I'm gonna get on television, radio and wherever I can to tell everyone to go to a public place, free buses or something, that will take them to St Vincent's. There's a new wing scheduled to be opened. It's currently empty and should provide good hunting ground for the creature.”

  “How about using the Union Station bus depot?” Scope suggested. “It's got plenty of capacity for people to park up. It's in a public place and is within easy transport distance of St Vincent's.”

  “That it is,” nodded Clare. “However, you will transport everyone that comes looking to UMASS. I don't care what it takes just keep them away from the new wing at St Vincent's. That's where I'll be. I hope that the failure to find a smorgasbord of diabetics leaves it hungry with only one choice: To attack me.”

  “You want security?”

  “At UMASS, yes definitely. You're gonna have a lot of scared and confused people there. At St Vincent's, no more than we need to take in there. I want it to be able to track me without fear of capture. I'll take Terrick and Tina. They should be enough to watch my back. Plus, they're the only people I trust. No offense.”