The Eyes Have No Soul

by Matthew W. Harrill

  “Harley'll be waitin' for you,” Terrick warned.

  “I'm not without resource,” Tina said, “and he's not the only captain in the precinct. I'll get you down that rabbit hole and back out again, sweets. What we find there had better be worth it.”

  “Something tells me we will find more than we bargained for,” Clare said, lost in the photo. Her contemplation was disturbed by Julian returning to the room. In silence he handed her a clear plastic case containing a syringe, two loops for fingers on the base for a better grip with the thumb plunger. The needle, which looked impossibly thick, was covered in a second plastic sheath.

  “Just remember to remove that cover before you use it. That's rapid-acting insulin. Near instantaneous.”

  Clare held up the syringe, staring at the clear liquid inside. “Is that a lot?”

  “If you let me treat you that would keep you going for a couple of months. The amount your body produces is miniscule. You get all that in you, your blood sugar will plummet and you're hypoglycaemic in minutes, a coma soon after and dead not long past that. Be very careful.”

  “Won't they notice so much going missing?”

  Julian nodded. “Eventually, but you let me worry about that. Good luck.”

  Clare nodded. “Thanks, doc. Terrick, stop fidgeting. I know you want to come with me but I need you to do something else while you're here. Look over the security footage. I'm not saying Viruñas isn't who I think it is but he had to get in here somehow.”

  “I reckon he must have needed no more than a few minutes to paralyze and fill that young lady. I'll look for anybody comin' in that much before she was found. If I find anythin' I'll let you know. Keep yer phone on.”

  “Are you sure this is the only way?” Julian urged.

  “It has to be. There's too much muscle around here now, too much attention. By putting myself out there I have a chance to draw Viruñas to me, as desperate as it is.”

  “You sure you're seeing things the right way?”

  Clare took a deep breath to steady her nerves. He was only looking out for her. “Explain what happened in that room. Rationalize those symptoms. Did you see the bodies in the Worcester morgue? Did they look like my parents?”

  “I never saw your parents,” Julian admitted. “I just knew they were ill and that you had to be there.”

  “And who told you and why weren't you there? Julian after all of these years, with the way I am, I think I deserve that much truth.”

  Julian looked nothing more than a man who wanted to bolt. Terrick must have noticed this too. He moved to the door, blocking it with his bulk. He his arms and frowned. “Answer her, doc. Girl's been through far too much pain already for you to leave this wound festerin'.”

  Julian sighed and perched on the edge of the bed. “Truth is I was there, in your kitchen with Harley and Jarret Logan. I called you before I was driven to the crime scene. Nobody was supposed to know we were even there. Harley went apoplectic when you showed up. Accused us all of informing you but had no proof. Tracing calls was more basic back then. Logan bore the brunt of it and took the long walk.”

  “You know what happened to Logan?”

  “I do. I presume from that tone you've seen him. That would lead me to infer that his foolhardy sacrifice somehow inspired you. He was already ill and the plan was coming to fruition. We kept his condition secret from Harley and the others. Or so we thought.”

  “We? Julian, I know who 'We' is. Terrick and I met them yesterday. Tina's been in contact too. This is a choice I've made and I have to see it through.”

  Julian's face grew wide-eyed and desperate. “Clare, don't go down that path, I implore you.”

  “I have to, Julian. If you know what happened to Logan you know I've volunteered to do the same job. My way. There's time yet and I have a creature to catch.”

  Julian remained silent as he considered a response. As a conclusion was evidently reached he nodded and raised his hand to his mouth. Speaking into his cuff he said, “Bring them in.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Two large men appeared at the door. Terrick moved aside and the pair, both with hair clipped close to the skull and the bearing of military officers trying their best to remain inconspicuous, filed into the room.

  “What's this?” Clare asked Tina. “Where did the other guys go?”

  “After I found you the situation deteriorated rather rapidly. They remained behind to see to the rest of the escapees. I was advised we would get replacements.”

  The foremost of the two, with green eyes in a face that was worn with experience, allowed his mouth to edge up into the slightest of smiles. “We're protection detail, miss. We'll see you safe to the precinct and back.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  The second of the pair threw a zipped duffel bag onto the bed. “Put that on. It'll keep you inconspicuous.”

  Clare opened the bag, pulling out the garments within. “A boiler suit, a baseball cap and a hoodie? This will keep me safe? Where's the specs and the false beard?”

  “Just waiting for you to dress, miss. The beard comes later.” The second agent spoke in a tone that said he wasn't joking.

  “Clear the room then, guys,” Tina said, grabbing anybody male and shoving them to the door. You can all protect us once we are ready.” Once the door had closed behind the retreating form of Terrick, Tina turned back to her. “I'm not gonna ask you what you think you're doing. Nor am I gonna lecture you on the futility of going right into the one place where at least fifty percent of the entire inhabitants want you in chains. What do you expect to get out of this?”

  Clare stepped out of the hospital gown someone had seen fit to robe her in. Catching her reflection in a mirror, she winced. Bones stuck out everywhere. It was hard to spot any muscle on her gaunt frame. She was reduced to a fraction of the woman she had been. “I'm going to find a conclusion. There's something evil, something morally rotten at the core of that precinct. Even if it isn't Viruñas then we do what we were meant to do and put an end to someone else's foul practice by doing our job.”

  Tina helped her pull the boiler suit on over her underwear. It was small, yet it still felt painfully loose, the material coarse and scratchy at the seams. Clare suffered worse than the distraction of clothing. “We don't have long,” she sighed.

  Fitting the hoodie atop the boiler suit bulked Clare out somewhat. She pulled the baseball cap on, tipping it down low. The syringe case went in a pocket on her chest. “Okay?”

  “You'll do,” Tina said and signalled to the agents.

  A few minutes later, a man nobody had laid eyes on before walked out of the emergency diabetic treatment ward flanked by what looked like three cops. Clare kept her head down and her hands in her pockets. The makeup applied to her face to fake stubble was still sticky and it was all Clare could do to leave it be. Her companions moved at a steady pace beside her. She was running out of time and yet was still willing to push herself to the edge to accomplish a common goal. The creature was out there, watching, waiting for a chance to jump in and finish what it started but it would never make the hospital and the poor girl it had assaulted. Not with the crowds filling the ward.

  The hallways were so crammed with people they had to walk single file; all seats were taken and many had to stand and wait. She felt a sense of satisfaction that at least part of her plan had worked. People who might have ended up victims were safe. But the gratification was overlain with the unconscious girl's face, swollen to bursting. It was an image that would haunt Clare. “Who are they?”

  “Your hypochondriacs mostly, or those that think a good dose of sugar will make them appear diabetic.” Tina stopped as an elderly couple shuffled past to search for a seat. “Many are just lonely and want the attention. Most of the severe cases, the ones that matter, have been treated already. You've helped a lot of people.” Tina's tone spoke of pride, all directed at Clare.

  She couldn't bring herself to defend her choices, or take credit. Not as l
ong as it was out there. There were no words left. She touched the case to reassure herself. This was her final gambit.

  They made their way down to the parking lot, taking the elevator, inching through the human traffic. Outside two buses were unloading more people who headed straight back past them. They climbed into a squad car, the two agents stripping and pulling patrol uniforms atop slabs of muscle while Tina drove. Clare kept her eyes fixed firmly at her feet, a picture of subservience while inside her mind she pondered over what she had missed when she had been in the precinct before.

  “Take these,” green-eyes offered, handing her a bottle of water and some pills.

  “What are they for?”

  “Pain relief. Your symptoms will return much more quickly now you've been taken off the medication a second time.” He knew about the retreat?

  Clare took the pills and swallowed them down, emptying the water bottle without pause. Her stomach clenched at the sudden influx and her body cried out for more; an ocean could not satisfy her now.

  “What happens if I'm recognized and they try to arrest me?” she asked as they pulled off Belmont Street and into the precinct's parking lot.

  “We stop them. By whatever means necessary. We can be persuasive.”

  “You're going to come into the main precinct of the city police and lay the smack down? I'm impressed.”

  “They were the ones that carried you out,” said Tina. “They took down most of the escapees while I was searching for you.”

  “Our orders are to only step in if we have to, Miss. When the situation became untenable in the hospital we took action. Think of us as your shadows. This here's your party.”

  “There are a lot of good people inside. Not everybody is on the take. I don't want innocent bystanders getting cut down in a firefight. Let me take the lead and figure out what's going on. If the situation becomes untenable, do what you have to. I assume all phones are tapped?”

  “Number listed 'support' is on your speed dial. We were told you might issue such orders. A mutual friend said to say that the best you're getting is constant communication. There's still a mission to complete. Turn your phone on and dial. We'll listen in from this end.”

  “This mutual friend is one who likes watching from a distance?”

  “Perhaps, miss.”

  There was no use trying to strike up a conversation with them. Clare did as bidden, placing her phone in the same pocket as the needle. It was into the lion's den or nothing.

  The car moved with purpose into the underground parking of the Worcester city precinct. Clare kept her head down, sneaking an occasional glance outside. For a Sunday night the place was buzzing, barely a space free.

  “This isn't gonna work,” Clare said, worried. “There's too many in.”

  “They're all in by the look of it,” Tina agreed as she parked the car. “Might not be a bad thing though; many bodies and all that. You're only a janitor after all.”

  With a warning glance at their escort, Clare climbed out of the car, almost choking on the fumes in the garage. Normally bustling, the area was frenetic with cars coming in and out.

  Several officers recognized Tina and waved. One or two others made to intercept her and were headed off by the first group.

  “I don't like this,” Clare said.

  “Like it or not, we're here now,” her friend replied. “Just stay behind me, look like you know where you're going and hope there's no human roadblock set up for us under the building.”

  Trying her best not to breathe, Clare followed at a pace that was no more than sedate. Only one hallway led into the precinct from the underground parking and it was full with people going both ways. The atmosphere was oppressive. The acrid tang of sweat hung in the dead air of the sub-level, the body heat of so many raising the temperature to a cloying discomfort. As luck would have it, most of the bodies moved in a particular direction, along corridors taking them to the building's central stairwell.

  Only once were they stopped, and then by an officer called Chris who recognized Tina.

  “They call you in too, detective?” he said, his voice dripping with anticipation. “They've got everybody coming in it seems.”

  “Why all the fuss?” Tina looked up at the giant of a man. Standing easily over six feet tall, the young officer's muscly bulk kept them protected from general view. The hallway that took them down to the janitor's lair was only a couple of metres away. Clare wanted to dash for it but felt already like her legs were going to give way. She had to conserve her energy.

  “They've got everyone who holds a badge out calming the streets. You've got the Worcester State breakout, strange and unexplained deaths, rioting. Reports of people showing up with strange, distended features. Take your pick. The incident room's full of it upstairs. Also we're on the lookout for a member of the forensics team whose supposed to be behind it all, though that last bit I don't tend to believe. Harley issued an order to find her. Name's Clare. Clare Rosser.”

  “I'm just giving this guy the tour, or by the looks of it personal protection. I'll be up and out shortly after.” Tina indicated with a nod of her head toward the parking lot.

  Chris nodded, and moved off.

  Clare stood staring into space, ignoring those that passed. Weirdly distended features? Bright, luminous eyes in the dark? She swore she'd never sleep again.

  A noise intruded upon her thoughts. “Hey, guy. Move, will ya?”

  Clare shook her head, her eyes focusing on a heavyset man frowning at her. “I wanna use the can and you're blocking the door.”

  Clare turned. Sure enough the men's bathroom was behind her. “Uhh, sorry,” she grumbled in a scratchy voice that was as deep as she could muster, and moved out of the way.

  The man looked at her, a strange expression on his face. “They'll employ any special case nowadays,” he muttered and pushed past, causing her to stumble against the wall.

  Clare recovered from the push and caught sight of Tina up the hallway. She hurried to make the ground up between them. “Sorry, I got caught up.”

  “There's too much thinking going on in that head of yours, sweetie. At least the disguise works. He's one of Harley's.”

  Clare pushed past her friend, her heart thumping at how close she had come to discovery. “Let's get this done. I can't take much more.”

  They moved away from the bustle, echoes of the hectic rush following them like the harassment of an overly excited spirit. The building was a mass of anxiety. Officers in body armor barging past as each new incident was announced. All around them cops called out for reinforcements, or tried to drag others to the garage. The air reeked of nervous sweat, warm and sickly. Clare felt hemmed in by it all, as if the walls would crumble on top of her. She shrank down a little more, stooping as she stumbled along. Only once they had passed through fire doors did they feel truly isolated.

  Tina took the lead, her gun out and held low as she crept on silent feet through the boiler room. They moved past the pipes clad in silver-coated insulation and colossal boxed machinery that Clare remembered with a familiarity she wished she didn't have.

  “This is all a bit too much like Freddy Krueger for my liking,” Tina said in a low voice as they reached the janitor's room.

  “I thought the same thing myself when I came down here before,” Clare agreed.

  “And you came down here alone?” Tina tried the door. The handle didn't move. “Locked.”

  “Kick it in,” Clare suggested. “If we find something, it's not like they can say we didn't get a search warrant. This is our own building and it's just a janitor's closet.”

  Tina considered this for a moment and kicked the door right beneath the handle. With a splintering crunch the door gave, swinging inward on protesting hinges and hanging half-open.

  “It's all right guys,” Tina said over Clare's shoulder. “We won the fight with the wooden door. No casualties.”

  Clare chuckled in spite of the situation. “Let's get to work.”

>   Tina pushed in with Clare closing the door behind them. There was no way of disguising the fact they had broken in. This was all or nothing. “Stay by the door, guys,” Clare said, “we don't want any surprises.”

  The room appeared exactly as it had during Clare's previous visit. Buffers stood in order by their cans of polish. The sofa had been left the same despite Clare's discovery. It was almost as if it hadn't been touched at all. This made Clare pause.

  “What?”

  Clare pointed to the side of the room where a small cupboard hung above the table with the kettle. “If that's a false wall, I think this is all just for show. That seat is how I left it last time I was here. There are no prints in the dust. Nothing's moved in a week. I really think the janitor's playing us false. There was never anything here to discover, unless he planted the jacket to keep us off of something worse.”

  Clare moved to the wall, following the brickwork past the orange glow coming in from the skylight. Running her hand over the surface, she traced the mortar, old and crumbling until a point about two feet from the back wall. “It changes here. The mortar's newer. The bricks are near-identical but not exactly the same.”

  “It is however, enough to pass a cursory glance.” Tina joined Clare in examining the wall. “Here's where it cuts off. This…” She poked at the join where plasterboard had been sealed with more plaster. “This wasn't meant to be here.”

  “Who'd notice a place so deep and hidden in this fetid labyrinth?” Clare began to feel woozy, tired. She stepped back, leaning on the back of the sofa.

  “Y'all right?” Tina looked concerned.

  The ache across Clare's middle had returned.

  “No,” she admitted. “But let's get in there and maybe I'll get one step closer to feeling better.”

  Tina searched the surface of the wall. “If this is detached and there's a room behind it stands to reason there's a door.” She reached a coat hook embedded in the wall and stood on tiptoe, taking a sniff. “That's fresh oil.”

  Clare stood up, the anticipation overcoming her ailment for a second. “Who oils a mounted coat hook?”