The Eyes Have No Soul

by Matthew W. Harrill

  The convict took a deep breath. “Nectar; I can smell your fear. I can taste your illness. I see why HE wants you. What a meal.” The convict paused, cocking his head to the right. The others began to do the same.

  “Yes, Lord Iuvart,” the group intoned as one.

  Clare glanced toward Tina, the group behaviour confusing her. The convicts moved forward, spreading out.

  “Stop right there,” Terrick ordered.

  For a moment the level of command in his voice held the five fast. The foremost of them sneered in the direction of the column where Terrick was hidden. “You need cover and a gun, little sheriff?” He began to laugh. “You think that will be enough for you?”

  “I'll take my chances.” Terrick rounded the column, firing a warning shot at his opponent. The bullet ricocheted off the tiling inches from where the man was about to step.

  The convict paused but only to laugh more. The sound of his voice echoed through the hallway. “You think we're the only ones here? That we came alone? Two of you won't be enough to hide her. We have her scent. We only need to keep her for him. He comes.”

  A wicked grin lit up the face of the rotund convict, his eyes catching what light there was, appearing to glow. Clare stood immobile as his face began to change. Maybe it was a trick of the light but he seemed to be swelling and distending, his face losing its natural shape to some weird elongation.

  “Go,” Tina hissed.

  The rest of the men spread out, two on each of Joe and Terrick's hiding places. The foremost began to stalk Clare's refuge.

  “Clare, go!” Tina shoved her, breaking her stasis. Tina leapt toward the man, his face a combination now of pain and triumph.

  Clare stumbled toward the door. She could move no faster than a rapid shuffle. It was all the aching would allow, her muscles screaming in protest at the violation of their disparate state. The door resisted her initial attempts to pass through, stiff hinges unused to motion coupled with her returning state of weakness. She had to push forward, get safe.

  “Get out of here,” Tina yelled, moving from the shelter of the hallway into the fight. She fired her gun at one of the Worcester State convicts. The noise that resulted was a double-pitched roar so alien in nature it left a ringing in Clare's ears. How did that come from a man?

  It was enough to spur Clare into action. She shut the door and flicked the lock. Turning, she found herself in another hallway, the only lights being those from the DCU across the road. A door opened down the end of the hallway, another escapee spotted her and gave chase.

  From where the energy came Clare had no idea but she ran. There was no way these guys were going to catch her. Sounds of fighting punctuated with inhuman screams echoed down the hallways of the deserted hospital wing. She wanted to get as far away from them as possible.

  Darkness in the hallway merged with a deeper black of open rooms, sealed from the outside. It was the only way Clare could tell she was making ground. Behind her the footfalls, faster and heavier, made headway over her own. She rounded a corner and found herself faced with two doors: more hallway and stairs. She had no time to think. She shoved the door to the hallway wide open, then ducked through to the stairs, locking the door behind her.

  She crouched behind the door, her eyes closed. The footsteps reached the doorway and paused. A slow, laboured breathing came from the hallway. The fetid stink of bad breath reaching through a gap. A gap? The door had caught on the bolt of the lock. She'd been too quick, not checking it was actually shut. Clare opened her eyes a crack. After a moment the prisoner moved off down the hallway.

  She rested for a few seconds, catching her breath. Thirst pulled at her. Was it all to be lost in the labyrinthine vaults of this unused hospital wing?

  She crept down the stairs, afraid that at any moment the pursuer upstairs would realize his mistake and double back. Two flights down and she was on another level, still disused and empty of equipment. It was poorly-lit and lacking in anywhere resembling a hiding place. Clare pushed through a doorway on her left and let it shut behind her. She closed her eyes, listening for any sign of movement. Was that an echo of more fighting from above? It might have been her imagination. Opening her eyes again helped little as they adjusted to the dark. The floor was deserted. Reaching out to one side, Clare followed the hallway by touch, her fingers trailing along ceramic tiles, smooth and cold. Her footsteps echoed down the hallway. Compared to the wing above, this floor was a shell of a building. Clearly the big opening was only reserved for one level.

  An idea struck Clare, and pulling out her phone she activated it. The light on the screen was just enough to give the hallway eerie green definition, to show her the way. Many of the doors lacked handles. Quite often doorways lacked doors altogether. Clare hid behind a door with a steel lock, closing and bolting it as slowly as possible to avoid any noise. There was the faintest of clicks as the latch engaged. Her sanctuary was sealed for the moment. She shifted a metal instrument trolley across under the handle. It didn't quite reach but the handle wouldn't turn fully. She prayed it was enough. Her friends would find her. They would reach her first. They had to.

  Taking a deep breath, she leaned against the far wall, her legs wobbling. The wall was solid, real. Not a monster in the dark. She turned to switch the light on, and paused. “Night vision,” she growled, fearing her sight would be ruined by the dazzle; she was no good blind in this world of darkness. She had to keep it together.

  After a few minutes, she realized this was a bathroom of sorts. She would only be able to keep this up for so long.

  The use of her phone's light revealed windows behind panelling. Clare pulled one panel back on its folding hinges, wincing as it squeaked. Her elation at a potential escape route turned to rapid dismay as she realized that she was still several stories up. Below her, cars filled the street outside Saint Vincent's, the drivers oblivious to one woman's waving from an insignificant portal above them.

  There was a click from behind her. The handle was being tested. It moved down and up, tapping several times against the metal surface of the trolley. Scraping metal on metal. Clare backed into the corner. Move on, you bastard.

  The handle stopped. Clare remained still. She counted silently. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  The door shuddered. Someone battered it from the other side. Clare screamed. She looked for some kind of weapon to defend herself with. The room was devoid of anything useful.

  Again and again the door shuddered. Under colossal impacts the lock held. But for how long? Another barrage and the whole door began to come out of the frame.

  She ran to the window, desperately trying to pull one of the panels loose but her strength gave out. She tried to dial Tina but the signal was so faint the phone barely registered.

  With a devastating blow that splintered the doorframe, the door toppled in. Clare shrunk back, dropping her phone.

  “Such a doomed family,” said a voice from the doorway.

  An average size, he wore a dark overcoat with a hoodie underneath. His face was concealed by the hood and the shadows of the dark room. The voice was familiar. She had heard it at the precinct.

  “I know who you are. I know what you are: Viruñas.”

  A dark chuckle emanated from the shadow. “A name I haven't heard in a very long time. A man left to his own devices in a room deep below a nest of self-serving vipers often goes unnoticed. I have watched you for years, known you for even longer. This day would always come. It was inevitable. Overlooked by you, by everybody, I have been free to feed, free to live. Exactly how I've wanted it.”

  “Do you think you are here by choice? That I did not know of your attempts at misdirection? I never sought to hunt those that were not destined to satiate me. There's a bigger endgame at play here, Clare Rosser. We are just the beginning, you and I.”

  Viruñas stepped fully into the room. One more step closer to Clare and a hallucinogen-filled end to her life. He was enjoying this, savouring what was to come.

&
nbsp; “You won't get another child. They are all safe.”

  “I don't need one. I have you. There are answers you do not have, daughter of Bud Maygan. There are victims of your own life that you cannot hide, those you do not, will not ever know. You do not know what you are, what you could have been.”

  Viruñas tilted its head to the right, observing her. From within the deeper shadow of the hood, two points of white began to glow. His eyes filmed over as he prepared to feed.

  Clare's legs began to buckle. She grabbed at the window ledge. Fear coursing through her body, the adrenaline threatening to overwhelm her. The thud of her heart sounded in her ears and still Viruñas watched as if waiting for something.

  “Let go, Clare. Your fate is at hand. I can taste the disease filling your veins.” He sniffed, and the shudder that resulted reviled Clare. Had she the energy she would have fought back, but she could barely stand.

  Viruñas breathed in, sucking back drool. “It is ambrosia to me. I knew this day would come the moment I fed on your mother and her husband. I could taste your future in their blood. I've watched you for years, you and your delicious brother.”

  The shadow flickered. In an instant the creature appeared in front of her. Still she couldn't see past the glowing eyes. This wasn't a pleasant end to life. This was a dark and deliberate death, the realising of one's worst fears. With delicate care, Viruñas traced his fingers down the sleeves of Clare's shirt. The material fell away. He placed a hand on her right arm, just below the shoulder, thumb laid on the inside, fingers clasping one by one in an iron grip.

  “No,” Clare moaned as he lowered her to the floor, seemingly beyond her control.

  “Yes.” As he raised his left hand above her a strange oval puckered mark began to force out of his palm, the skin rising, forcing itself into a ridge. The skin contracted underneath until the centre of his hand split open to reveal a large fleshy sucker, joined to his palm by an umbilical. The nails, already with pointed tips, secreted a clear fluid that glistened in the faint green light of her phone's screen. Clare began to draw in rapid shallow gasps, transfixed by the glistening appendage. Her body rebelled, remaining tense and taut even as she willed it to action. The sucker twisted back and forth, fluid dripping onto her arm. This was it. Caught by her own plan she held onto her last breath, her stomach tensing.

  “You're apples, ripe on the tree and ready to be plucked,” he hissed and jabbed his nails into her arms. Pain exploded as mescaline surged into her body. Clare twisted, trying to get free.

  Viruñas held her tight, pinning her arms to the floor. The mescaline overpowered her body, keeping her placid. The monster held her easily and leaned down, its face next to her ear. “Time to feed.” Something warm touched her arms where his hands held her. The suckers latched on and Viruñas shuddered again.

  Clare felt the suckers clamp tight, spreading wide. Pain exploded as something was forced into her arms. Clare tried to scream but her voice had gone. Then suddenly she was free. Viruñas hissed as somebody moved behind.

  A flash in the dark and the creature fell away.

  “Pluck this,” Tina Svinsky said, unloading her gun at the monster.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  A howl of pain filled Clare's mind, a warbling roar that distorted into deep bass mixed with piercing treble. She put her hands over her ears, collapsing to the floor and curling into a ball. Her upper arms throbbed, five small wounds on each like needlepoints of fire lancing into her body. She didn't have long.

  “Clare, are you okay?” Tina asked, her voice slowed as if someone had lowered the pitch.

  Clare shook her head, trying to clear it. “What happened? Where did he go?”

  Tina switched on the lights and Clare's head began to swim. The walls flattened and appeared to merge, lengthening into one flat boundary, the room disappearing off into infinity. This was happening far too fast.

  “Clare!” Tina appeared in the middle of the endless white, the angles of her face shifting as if something lay beneath it. “Stay with me girl. That thing's still out there. I wounded it; shot it in the shoulder but it moved like lightning to escape. It bounded all over the room before it fled.”

  Clare sat up, leaning over to examine the blood on the floor. The droplets were of the purest ruby-red, shining up at her, rippling, swirling.

  “Tina. It knew we were here. The ruse failed. It chose to come here. It was after me.” Clare's own voice sounded deep and slow. Time was beginning to stretch out.

  Then everything snapped back into focus. Clare saw the room with painful clarity. “There you are, sweetie. Welcome back. We need to get you outta here.”

  “Wait. Tina, I have to explain. He got me.” Clare pointed with her right hand to the marks on her left. “He filled me with mescaline. It's working faster than it should. Normally it takes an hour or so from ingestion. I'm gonna act very strange very soon. It's all a hallucination. Whatever I do, keep me close. With the diabetes I just don't know if my body can last.”

  “But this creature…”

  “It needs to feed. You wounded it. The pleasure of choosing and hunting its victim won't matter anymore. This'll be in my system for a good twelve hours. Look after me.”

  “You won't be the strangest thing I've seen in here,” Tina replied, her face shifting as her nose seemed to Clare to want to make its way across to the right of her now-angular face.

  Clare reached out to track it with her finger, finding nothing but air. Something deep inside held on, reminding her that this was the creature that had done this. Her head started to throb as strong arms grabbed her waist and lifted her aloft.

  “I'm flying,” she said, her own voice rising as high as the air on which she floated. She began to laugh, spreading her arms wide as the endless portal opened up above her, welcoming her into its midst. The white light disappeared, being replaced with a latticework of red lines that began to swirl and distort. In Clare's distance, fireworks began to explode, bright and filled with sparks of red and green.

  “Who are they?” said a voice so slow and languorous it took an eternity for the words to filter through.

  “Harley's. They're from the precinct.” The words all mingled into a cacophony for Clare as all words merged into one. Clare felt herself lurch backward and down at an impossible angle. The sensation refused to dissipate. Green lines surged under her feet, shooting up into the midnight sky as she dropped like a stone into the abyss. “Help me,” she cried.

  “She's fading.”

  In the midst of the lines, two points of light stared at her, unmoving. Were they stars? No, they were eyes she could never again escape. Only the blackness of unconsciousness would spare her from the gaze. Clare began to let go.

  “Can you hear me?”

  She must have still been hallucinating; it all sounded so real.

  Yes? I can hear you. What do you want? Who are you?

  “Come on, girl. Come back to us,” the voice said, insistent.

  I'm here. Can't you hear me..? Am I alone in here? Where is here?

  “You're going to have to wait for the patient to come round in her own good time, Sheriff,” said a deep male voice. “If she even makes it there may yet be organ failure. She's on the critical list for a very good reason. She should have been given medical treatment a long time ago.”

  The debate raged on the other side of a wall keeping her from consciousness. She pushed against it and the wall remained firm.

  “…without good cause,” said the first voice, familiar. “She chose this.”

  Tina. TINA. Clare rallied, forcing herself against the invisible wall until it shattered. As it did Clare wished for a second she had remained in the dark recesses of her mind. Light came flooding in, enough to sting her eyes so hard she groaned. The scent; she was still in the hospital. No, it was different. The cleaner was missing from Saint Vincent's. She was somewhere else.

  “There she is,” Tina said through a grin.

  “You had us worried the
re for a while, kid,” Terrick added. “Runnin' off the way you did. Crazy fool thing to be doin'.”

  “You try standing there with a convicted murderer chasing you down and no means of defence,” Clare croaked, still very drowsy. Her eyelids weighed tons. It was difficult to keep them open. This fog-filled world was similar to that of the mescaline-fuelled hallucination, just with none of the whimsy. She raised her hand to her head and groaned; not only for the world-class hangover she was suffering with but also that her hand was once more bandaged to a drip.

  “Where am I?”

  “A private recovery room on the wing in UMASS where your misdirection seemingly sent half the population of Massachusetts, and every hypochondriac and freeloader contained therein.”

  “Julian?”

  A stern man with a military bearing and short-cropped iron-grey hair watched her from behind Terrick, leaning against the wall by the door, stethoscope wrapped around his neck. He had a straightforward, no nonsense kind of look about him. Dr Julian Strange had been a source of mistrust for Clare during her childhood and ultimately was responsible for her decision to choose forensics as a career. They hadn't spoken in quite a while. Not since the night her parents had died.

  “You almost didn't make it,” he observed. “You're in the latter stages of advanced hyperglycemia as well as suffering poisoning by mescaline. Mescaline? What were you thinking?”

  “It wasn't exactly my plan to go out and get high,” Clare said. She managed to focus her eyes. The room was as severely white as Saint Vincent's. Vertical blinds hanging across glass windows allowed a view of the wing. Outside the main room was crowded with people waiting for assessment.

  Tina adjusted the bed, tilting it higher so Clare could make herself more comfortable.

  “So what happened?” she asked when she was settled.

  “You sure you want to hear this, Doctor?” Terrick asked of Julian Strange.