The Eyes Have No Soul

by Matthew W. Harrill

  Clare caught Hollie wincing at one particularly garish neon pink sign bearing a picture of an aging man with a brown toupee. The receptionist explained, “Imagine the ego if we were a national network. Here we are: studio two; the grisly lair of Dwight Perlman. Whatever you want to do, you do it in there.”

  Above the door, a red light glowed with the words 'on air'. Through the window, the inspiration for the neon sign sat atop the man's head.

  Hollie unlocked the door with her pass and ushered them in. She remained outside.

  The studio was a simple set up, the smart, functional nature of the cameras and desk before a light-blue background at odds with the garish hallways beyond. Clare was relieved for a moment until a balding man with shirt-sleeves rolled up to the elbows crossed the studio to hiss at her.

  “What the hell are you doing in here? We're live. Nobody comes in. That's the rule.” He waved his clipboard as if to emphasise the point.

  Clare flashed her badge. “We need a little air time. It's an emergency.”

  “That's totally out of the question.”

  Terrick loomed behind Clare. “Listen pal, we ain't askin'.”

  “I don't care who you are or where you're from, there's protocol to be followed and you don't…” His words were drowned out as the music announcing the resumption of the live broadcast began to play. The desk lit up to reveal in all his self-important pomp, Dwight Perlman.

  “Welcome back to Worcester tonight… Hey!” Perlman protested as Clare shoved him, chair and all, from in front of the camera. Brown wig tilted to one side, the middle-aged man attempted to retaliate, moving his ferret-like frame back into the picture.

  “Wait there,” Clare ordered.

  “Somebody get security!” Perlman's voice grew high in tone with desperation. He was no bigger than her.

  “That won't be necessary,” Tina Svinsky interjected, flashing her badge as she entered the room with three uniformed officers hulking behind her. “I'm Worcester P.D. We need a broadcast to go out, so stay on her.”

  Where had Tina come from? She had all but disappeared in recent days. Clare decided to worry about her friend's recent whereabouts later; it was all she could do to stand up. She swept her hair back over her ear, and said, “My name is Clare Rosser. I am an analyst for the Worcester Police Department. If you have been following the national news recently, you will have seen that this great city of ours has been subject to many strange incidents. I am here to tell you that they are not isolated. Please listen carefully. If you or any of your family, especially children, have any of the following symptoms please report to Union Station where there is ample parking. You will be bussed to the new wing at Saint Vincent's where there is sufficient capacity for all.”

  “If you or your family have suffered excessive thirst, combined with hunger and or fatigue, or recent and extreme weight loss and have cracked dry lips, please come in. If your child's breath gives off a fruity aroma, bring them in.”

  Tina leaned in from behind the camera, handing Clare a scrap of paper marked 'read this'.

  “All medical bills will be paid for in the event of the symptoms being proven diagnostic of type 1 diabetes…” Clare looked up at Tina in disbelief. This would get the crowds flooding in. She looked back to the camera. “Union Station to be driven in by bus to St Vincent's. If you go straight to the hospital you will not be admitted. Thank you for your time.”

  “That went well,” Tina observed, watching the glaring face of the usurped Perlman as he huffed at the intrusion. “Will it do any good?”

  “It's our only hope,” Clare replied.

  “Your new friends called me about an hour ago with instructions. They asked if I would follow your lead. Seems they consider you very valuable, Clare. They told me about your condition. I'm so sorry, sweetie.”

  “You've already helped here, Tina. What else have you planned?”

  “I've a few friends in the precinct, those not exactly enamoured with what's going on in Worcester. Some of my boys were on the lookout for your car. When they saw you headed this way they radioed in.”

  “Then that was them by the interstate?”

  Tina indicated two of the officers behind her. “These two stepped in for you.”

  Both nodded in her direction.

  “You have my thanks,” Clare said with genuine appreciation. “What about the car behind us?”

  “They never made it.”

  Clare found the answer satisfying. “Here's what we learned in a nutshell. This is organized. The last death, there was a lookout. Each time there are six killings. I'm being framed by Harley and there have been only five deaths. We nearly had the creature earlier, right near my house. It's out there; caught mid-feed it will be desperate to hunt again. If it sees that broadcast, it knows where to come for a feast and we have a chance to trap it and end this.”

  “Creature? What've they been telling you?”

  Clare shook her head, scarcely able to believe she was convinced of this, yet there it was; belief, firm and strong. “I'll tell you everything soon, I promise. You've known me for years. I'm asking you to trust me.”

  “What if we are too late?”

  Clare looked down at her hands, the flesh beneath the skin withered, eaten from within. “Then there will be at least one more death on our conscience.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  They exited the studio the same way they had come in. Two squad cars were parked next to Terrick's Chrysler. In the distance, the evening traffic was punctuated with sirens as emergency services dashed all over Worcester. It had only been a matter of minutes yet the sky had darkened considerably.

  “It's a lot to ask to expect people to go straight in to the terminal. We need to give them an hour. If Viruñas or whoever's in cahoots saw that broadcast, they'll need to get there too. They won't attempt the terminal. It's too busy. They might lay in wait at the hospital. We won't know until we get there.”

  The sirens sounded closer and Clare began to shiver despite the warm September air.

  “I think Harley and his goons got wind of your broadcast,” Terrick said.

  “They won't be able to stop a tide of humanity, not once they all start moving to Union Station. I'm hoping Andrew Harley underestimates the average Joe's desire for free medication.”

  “I'm hoping he's too distracted to notice all sorts,” Tina added, waving a piece of paper in Clare's direction.

  “What's that?”

  Tina grinned. “It's just his remote network login. He's not the only one with friends in low places. Let's get to a computer and find out what else he's been doing. The prison break's turned this city upside down. There are some mad, twisted people out there.”

  Clare frowned. “When did the world become so warped?”

  Tina shrugged. “Depends how you look at it. When was it ever not the way it is now?”

  Clare looked at the skyline, what passed for skyscrapers in the centre of Worcester piercing the gloom of the evening sky. It was still beautiful, always worth fighting for. “It'll be dark soon. It's harder for them to spot us in the darkness. Let's go hunting.”

  The closer they got, the more nervous Clare became. Every set of lights held a potential ambush. Every car that passed them could be agents under cover, looking for two women and a black man. Terrick's car had been marked when they were followed, so yet again they were forced to swap. With no other choice, Clare sat next to Tina in the back of one of the squad cars, trapped behind the reinforced grill that kept the criminals in and the drivers safe. Terrick sat alert in the front, looking every inch the seasoned officer. Safety in numbers was Tina's mantra. They were four. Harley's men were looking for two.

  They had gone a mile east and turned down Burncoat Street in the hope that any who discovered Terrick's car and the intended destination would simply not be looking for them there.

  “Tell me again why this plan's gonna work?” Tina asked. “There's no logic.”

  “Breadcrumbs,”
Clare replied. “The creature…”

  “Stop calling it that,” interrupted Tina. “It's just a man.”

  “It is not,” Clare countered. “If you'd seen what it did to Jarret Logan you'd know it's no man. You saw the photos. You saw the reports. What man sucks the life, the very soul out of another? This is gonna work because the police will have to follow the trail of people. We need to see everybody safe. I believe there's a connection here, a link between Harley and this thing. I'm going to make myself the only viable target, appearing exactly where I said I would be, it will have no choice to strike.”

  A siren began to wail as a car on the other side of the road shot off to the north. Clare's heart thumped with the unwelcome surge of adrenaline to an already-overtaxed body.

  “Hey, it's okay,” Tina said. “There's a heavy police presence tonight. Not all of them are hunting you, sweetie. Those escapees are all over the city.”

  With traffic at a standstill, Clare took the decision to park away from the hospital. Her broadcast had been taken to heart and people had begun to pour into the city center. Once they parked up, the walk to Saint Vincent's was no more than a mile. With every step Clare's sense of impending doom increased. Had Terrick not been by her side, she feared she would have stopped and turned away.

  The enormity of the nearby DCU exhibition centre slid slowly past as Clare kept watch for squad cars. It was a busy Saturday night; people swarmed outside the entrance to the convention hall, the name of what Clare presumed to be the latest boyband sensation glowing from an electronic billboard. She hoped the four of them would get ignored in the excitement.

  Across the road from the DCU stood Saint Vincent's Hospital, the modern brick fascia elegant and simple. If a hospital could look inviting then this was a good start.

  Clare stopped to stare.

  “Keep walking,” Tina advised. “Let's not stand out.”

  They crossed the road against the general flow of pedestrian traffic. Even if someone was watching for them it would be unlikely they would spot individuals in this much humanity. The flow of people didn't stop once they entered the hospital either. The makeup of the population changed. Instead of animated teenagers, now along the yellow marbled floor walked medical staff decked out in uniform, patients in wheelchairs or moving at a delicate pace with the aid of loved ones or crutches. With cafes and a small shopping mall along the central atrium the general hubbub was loud.

  “You've never been here before?” Tina asked.

  “I never had any cause to,” Clare replied. “I always went to Julian Strange in Holden if I ever felt unwell. The nearest I have been to a building this size was the precinct.”

  “Talk about a sheltered life,” Tina said before chortling. “They want you to forget that you're in a hospital with all this. It's distraction; the ultra-modern face of medicine, fitting in with the commercial lifestyle. It's not all like this.”

  Tina wasn't kidding. The press of humanity lessened as they passed further into the bowels of the hospital. By the time they rounded a glass-clad bend to the new wing, they were but four, the last person a few minutes away.

  “Why so empty?” Terrick asked. “It's brand new.”

  “It opens on their timeline, so not for another week.” Clare replied. “The wing is fully functional though, which will be to our advantage.”

  A thick blue ribbon hung on the doorway, ready to be cut in a ceremony. Tina lifted it aside and pushed through one of the glass doors. Clare followed, the two men close behind. The rooms were dark, the only light coming in from the hallway behind them. The random collection of fluorescence left the wing looking like an alien landscape. Everyday objects such as chairs and desks were thrown into bizarre stark relief by the various hues of yellows, blues, and pinks. Clare stared around the empty wing. The hygienic scent of a hospital ward untainted by neither ailing humanity nor the constant application of cleaning fluids left her unsettled.

  “Clare, come here,” said Tina.

  Obedient in her detached state of mind, Clare crossed to the computer terminal where Tina had logged into the Worcester P.D. database.

  “I think you're gonna want to see this.” Tina's voice was mysterious, holding the promise of long-sought answers.

  Clare sat down, looking over the screen. She couldn't see the wood for the trees in her current state, until she noticed the date. “That date's last week. Those are the chem-analysis on the samples taken from the Morris house back in Holden.”

  Tina was still speaking but Clare was lost in the statistics on the screen. The samples must have been of the fluids excreted by Viruñas. Trace elements of human blood, elevated toxicity and… ”Mescaline…”

  “The drug?”

  Clare leaned back, massaging one withering hand with the other. “Yeah, that's how it subdues its victims. It injects them and they don't even realize what's happening until their heart stops.”

  “What's that?” Tina pointed at a fourth sample.

  “Some blood we found. I've already looked at that.” Clare clicked on the test results. “I don't see anything out of the ordinary. Wait. There's a DNA match.”

  Intrigued and excited, Clare moved the pointer to the flashing red icon and clicked. What showed on the screen was both a revelation and a bafflement at the same time.

  “Andrew Harley; twelve and a half percent.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “So it's him but not him?” Tina had one eyebrow raised in confusion.

  “It's a relative,” Clare answered. “Autosomal DNA is shared between family members. The more distant you are the less you share. Kids share fifty percent with their parents for example. A match of this type puts it at either a great grandparent or a cousin. Harley is on the database because we all are. This test could have picked up any member of his family, or shown that we were related if that had been the case.”

  Tina scanned the information again. “Just Harley, which is damning in his case. Your name's nowhere to be seen, sweets. Doesn't matter what Harley claims now. If they check your samples against these, they'll find nothing in common. You're clear.”

  “That's a relief,” agreed Clare. “But the fact of the matter is that whatever's going on, Harley is not just concealing a random person while they go about killing. He's protecting a member of his own family and he's been doing so for well over a decade.”

  Recent memories of Harley and the doomed Jarret Logan struck Clare. She pulled an ID from her pocket, showing it to Tina. “What if they aren't on the police payroll but work for a third party?”

  “Juan Menzes?” Tina asked. “Whose that?”

  “It's the janitor. It has to be. I found this in his room.”

  Terrick tilted the pass, squinting. “You still think it's him?”

  “Too much adds up, Terrick. Harley is protecting a member of his family while they're given carte blanche to slaughter innocents. Where else to hide the man than in plain sight?” A thought made Clare pause. “Are these results public record, Tina?”

  “Not quite. Any hacker with a modicum of computer skill could probably find them. Why? Do you think this might be how your man has been identifying targets?”

  Clare shrugged. “Perhaps. Let's say samples get submitted and are recorded on the hospital system. Harley gets alerted by somebody when a particular blood glucose reading is recorded, and sends the menu to his cousin who picks up the takeout before the victim is alerted to their medical condition.”

  “That's grasping at straws,” Tina countered.

  “And yet look what's happened lately. How else are Harley and his squad getting to these places so fast? Come to think of it, he looked pretty close with that tall guy in the footage on TV. Who was he?”

  “The guy he stood with at the fire? That was Gideon Homes, the chief administrator over at Worcester State. Eva Ross, the woman Mike and I interviewed, she worked for him before she fled the state.”

  “Would he have access to such records?”

  �
��Sweets, he runs a prison hospital for psychos. I guess he'd have connections to whatever or whoever he likes.”

  “Then they might have spotted my results. They might go after Jeff…”

  The door rattled from the darker recesses of the wing. They all went silent.

  “That wasn't from the direction we entered,” Tina whispered. “Someone's already here.”

  “Move,” Terrick ordered.

  Without thinking, Clare followed the command, hurrying from the open-plan central wing into one of the hallways to their left. Dim emergency lighting helped conceal her. There was no way anybody in the bright light of the entrance could see one woman hidden down a side passage. Or so she hoped. Tina stood guard in front, gun held low as she watched for movement. From their hiding place Clare watched Terrick direct the officer into a position behind a large column across the lobby. Between them the two men should hit anything that walked into that particular killing ground.

  Another door rattled, this time closer and insistent. Someone was getting frustrated. Then a movement in the corner the room caught Clare's attention. A man shuffled into view, the features of his face obscured by the shadows of a post so only the paunch of an older gut was exposed. He had on a grey jumpsuit with the letters W.S. in large black letters on his chest.

  “Worcester State,” Clare whispered directly into Tina's ear.

  “We couldn't find them all,” Tina whispered under her breath, her lips not even moving. “Now we know why.”

  More bodies shuffled into view behind him; one became two, then three, then five. All stood still, staring around the wing.

  Clare held her breath. Spots began to appear in front of her eyes. When she finally exhaled, the lead convict smiled. “Welcome Clare.”

  How did he know that was me?

  Tina turned her head toward Clare, shaking it. Do not engage with them.

  Clare checked behind her. Down the hallway was a door. More so, it was a means of escape or a place to hide. She felt safer with options even as nervous sweat began to trickle down her brow.