Face Behind the Mask

by Leo King

  “Where am I?” She squinted, trying to see.

  “You are finally where you belong, Sam,” a voice speaking in a thick German accent said.

  Blinking a few more times to chase away the light spots, she gazed at the doorway once more. What she saw made a bitter taste rise in her mouth. Standing in the doorway, flanked by two large, muscular men, was someone she both loathed and feared.

  “Dr. Klein,” Sam said. “I had a feeling it was you.”

  From where he stood, peering at her from behind his glasses, Dr. Klein looked like a veritable cock-of-the-walk. As he entered the cell, his smile was one of boastful conceit.

  “I told you that I would eventually get you, Sam. Zat hack Dr. Lazarus could only stop me for so long.”

  She exhaled and pushed down the bitter soup in her throat. “Hack? What are you blabbing about?”

  “I am talking about his ridiculous belief zat you are possessed. Und after working things out with ze local magistrate, we got his protection on you revoked. Now you are mine.”

  Her bangs fell over her face as she shook her head again and again. She couldn’t focus, and she couldn’t activate her power. It was all she could do to stay standing.

  “Maybe I am possessed. You ever see me run up a crane? Or dodge bullets? You think a normal chick can do that?” She could feel the local spirits around her. Like her, they must have been repulsed by Dr. Klein, for they were keeping their distance. Richie and the others were gone, on the run from Vincent’s loa. She really was alone.

  He snorted. “Normal? Sam, you are anything but normal. You are an aberration created by sweet little Samantha because she could not handle what her grandfather did. Ze only demon here is you, Sam of Spades.”

  Recalling that Dr. Klein was convinced that Samantha, her “good personality,” was subverted by Sam of Spades, her “bad personality,” she felt that arguing it was a moot point. He’ll never believe that Sam of Spades was just what Marinette called herself because the drugs he gave me made her forget she was even a loa.

  “All right, I’ll bite. How do you know I’m Sam and not Samantha?”

  He snapped his fingers. At once, the two men were upon her.

  “What the hell?”

  Each secured one of her legs and shoulders, pinning her to the wall. As Dr. Klein approached, one of them grabbed her head while the other held one of her eyes open.

  “Have you lost your mind?” She gnashed her teeth, panting. Her face flushed with the rush of blood. She strained against her bonds and tried to tap into her power, but she couldn’t focus. She felt powerless as Dr. Klein shined a small flashlight into her eye.

  He smirked.

  “Your pupils are dilated beyond ze acceptable range. At the wharf, when you showed the strength of your madness, they were dilated. Therefore, so long as your pupils are dilated, you are Sam und not Samantha.”

  The two men tossed her to the ground. She yelped as she hit the floor. As Dr. Klein walked back to the doorway, she realized that with her being Bridgette, she’d probably seem possessed for the rest of her life.

  I am screwed.

  With a grunt, she struggled to her knees. “That’s a crackpot theory.”

  He shrugged. “I think it’s quite sound.”

  She spat. “Fine. So what happens now?”

  At that question, he grinned cruelly. “I have already told you. I am going to use every technique I know to destroy you so zat Samantha can be whole again.”

  Cold descended through her. “You’re gonna torture me?”

  Waggling a finger, he said, “’Torture’ is such an ugly word. My experiments will not only remove you as ze dominant personality, but also provide valuable data in treating future patients.”

  “But I’m pregnant!”

  He sniffed the air with disinterest. “Normally, I wouldn’t care. But my benefactors have forbidden me from doing anything to harm those twin inconveniences. So, for now, the treatments vill be mild.”

  Benefactors? Oh, the Knight Priory.

  But then his expression darkened. “After they are born, however, ze real therapy begins.”

  The look in his eyes made her heart race. She struggled to stand, jerking her head back and forth to try to focus. If only she could activate her power and increase her strength, she could break free. But even as she reached her feet, her legs gave way again. With another cry, she fell down, hitting her chin. Colors and lights exploded around her.

  “Having trouble, Sam?” Dr. Klein’s voice was filled with glee. Then he snapped his fingers. A moment later, she was roughly pulled to her feet. “Your little displays of psychosomatic superhuman strength have forced me to be cautious. What you’re feeling is a special drug of mine that acts as a muscle relaxer und a mild anesthetic. You will find concentration and exertion to be impossible.”

  Approaching her, he stroked his beard. “I want to run a few tests. Don’t worry, they won’t endanger your little inconveniences.” He poked at her stomach.

  Her body heat rose to a boil, and her muscles, despite being like jelly, quivered with rage. She growled at him. “Don’t you dare touch me there, you son-of-a-bitch! Never touch my children again!”

  He pulled his hand back as if it were in the mouth of a lioness. “My apologies. Gentleman, bring her zis way.”

  A moment later, they were dragging her down a dimly lit hallway lined with condensation-laden pipes along the ceiling and dirty, stained tiles on the floor. They passed a few other large orderlies and armed guards. Some were even escorting other patients, all of whom looked as bleak as she felt. One of the guards was dragging an unconscious, badly bruised girl whom Sam instantly recognized.

  “Meghan? Meghan!”

  Although she bubbled up some blood, Meghan didn’t respond. The guard dragged her around the corner.

  Sam tried to pull free but just couldn’t. “You bastard! What did you do to her?”

  Dr. Klein again sniffed the air in disdain. “I did nothing. Twice now, she has beaten herself against the walls of the treatment room. I am sure that is what happened.”

  She tried to glare holes into the back of his head. From the short glimpse she’d gotten of Meghan’s injuries, they didn’t look self-inflicted.

  Several twists and turns later, they entered a well-lit room. “Here we are, Sam.”

  In the center was a table with leather restraints in each corner. Nearby lay a tray of medical equipment with everything from syringes to scalpels to forceps. Next to that was a small side table with a notebook, a pocket watch, and a pen.

  The two men unfastened her jacket and strapped her down to the table, her jelly-like muscles making it impossible to struggle. “You realize that you’re acting just like Vincent and Dallas, right?”

  “Except I’m not going to kill you, Sam,” he said with disinterest as he jotted down some notes. “Not until there is no other course of action.” He took out a syringe and a small glass bottle, which had only a numbered label on it.

  She craned her neck and eyed it warily. “What is that?” The question came out more shakily than she would have liked.

  “A concoction of my own design,” he said, tapping the excess liquid from the needle. Then he nodded, and one of the men exposed her neck. “It will cause you some, well, discomfort. But the idea here is to gauge your reaction.”

  A moment later, she felt a pinprick and then the rush of warm fluid enter her. Crying out, she bit at them, wanting nothing more than to feel their flesh tear beneath her teeth. “Fuck you!”

  They backed away without concern. Dr. Klein clicked the side of the pocket watch. A ticking sound started.

  Laying her head back, she stared up at the ceiling. “I hate you all so much.”

  No one replied.

  Weariness washed over Sam. With it came a sense of resignation. “When will it take effect?”

  “Pretty soon,” Dr. Klein said, opening the notebook.

  She gazed at the light fixtures above. “Will there be pain
?”

  “Most likely.”

  Asshole. But she said nothing else. She just wanted it to be over with.

  Minutes passed with no result, and she had just started dozing off when her skin began itching as if it were dry. It started at the injection point and then spread along her veins and arteries. Soon, every inch of her body was covered in the unpleasant sensation. She shifted side to side on the table, trying to get even a second’s relief.

  “Crap, it itches!”

  “Good.” He scribbled in the notebook, glancing occasionally at the pocket watch.

  Then the itching penetrated deeper until the rawness in her flesh felt like fire. She panted and arched her back. “What the hell? It’s starting to burn.”

  “That’s what it’s supposed to do,” he said clinically, his eyes never leaving the notebook. “It’s purging your body of toxins und old medication.”

  Every nerve was alight, as if someone were rubbing a red-hot iron over them. She screamed until her throat ached. Tears ran from her eyes. Snot dripped from her nose.

  “You bastard! It hurts! It hurts!”

  “Understood, Sam. Thank you very much.” Dr. Klein closed the notebook and watched her writhe about. “It should end in a few minutes. Then you will urinate ze toxins out. Just go when you must. There is no shame here.”

  Sam shrieked again. It felt like she was burning from the inside out. Liquid streamed from her nose and eyes. “You’re crazy! You’re evil and crazy!”

  Then her body started shaking, and she felt her jaw lock. Spittle started foaming out as she convulsed. Her vision took on a red tint as the liquid pouring from her eyes turned thick and hot.

  One of the men said, “Doctor, her eyes are bleeding.” He sounded nervous.

  Panic grew in Dr. Klein’s voice. “Get me the number twenty-five bottle. Hurry!”

  As her rose-tinted vision grew dim, her thoughts numbed. The tremors strengthened as her throat relaxed and her stomach tightened. The iron taste of blood filled her mouth as she vomited into her throat. Then she started choking on it, her lungs gasping for air. The last thing she felt before blacking out was someone grabbing her head and jerking it to the side.

  Then all was dark.

  When Sam finally awoke, it was from a nightmare of Dallas torturing her. His maniacal laughing as he cut into her flesh rang in her ears as she sat up, crying out.

  Her cry died into silence as she realized it was just a dream. She rocked back and forth. Then she tried to reach for her face but couldn’t move her arms. The straitjacket was back on.

  With a groan, she leaned to the side, her face resting on the padded wall.

  “Damn it. That crazy bastard.”

  She closed her eyes, realizing that her future now was a lifetime of pain, one she couldn’t even escape through death. “So, Vincent, is this what you envisioned when you bound Baron Samedi to you?”

  No one answered. She tasted more blood and spat it out.

  “Jesus. Why is it that so many men in my life are such assholes?”

  A voice from behind the wall said, “Men just suck in general, Sam.”

  The voice was muffled, likely from the padding, but Sam knew who it was. “Meghan?”

  “Yeah.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you’re OK. I was so worried about you.”

  “Me, too. About you, I mean.”

  She slid down until she was lying on her side. Just knowing that Meghan was still alive was enough for now. After a few moments of silence, she closed her eyes, imagining she was back at Tulane, in her comfortable dorm room.

  “Hey, Sam?” Meghan asked, sounding tired.

  Sam opened her eyes as if she could see her friend. “What? Yes, what is it?”

  “I just wanted to apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “For not being more honest. Ya know, about everything with Dr. Kindley.”

  “What was really going on?” Sam asked, stretching out to get comfortable.

  Meghan frowned. “It’s just… he knew I couldn’t help myself. And he exploited it. He wanted me to keep an eye on you and report things you did or said. In return, I got to do stuff with whomever.”

  It was what Sam had figured, but knowing it did nothing to dull the pain of betrayal. “So that’s why you became chummy with me.”

  “At first, yes. But after a bit, I told him to go screw himself.”

  “You broke your deal with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you became a friend. A real friend. Probably the only real friend I’ve ever had.”

  Sam rolled on her back. She wanted nothing more than to believe Meghan’s story. She just didn’t know whom to trust anymore.

  After coughing a few hard, hacking coughs, Meghan said, “So I don’t expect you to forgive me, Sam. But I’m sorry.”

  Lying in silence, Sam closed her eyes and sorted through the aching that swelled in her heart. Kent Bourgeois. Jacob Heuber. Louis Ouellette. Dixie Olivier. Vincent Castille. All those people and more had betrayed her trust. It seemed that now, only the dead and the spirits were honest. Even Vincent, as a ghost, had never lied to her.

  “I guess you’ll hate me forever,” Meghan said. “I deserve it. Take care, Sam.”

  Opening her eyes, Sam decided to give the living one more chance.

  “Meghan, I forgive you.”

  There was a long pause, and with it the sound of weeping. Then Meghan asked with a shaky voice, “You do?”

  “Yeah. The things you told me outside Dr. Kindley’s office. About us being friends. That’s the Meghan I know. Not the one who was told to spy on me.”

  Again, there was a long pause. “Thanks, Sam.” Meghan was obviously crying.

  Sam cleared her throat. “Just do me a favor, OK, Meghan?”

  “What’s that?” Meghan asked as she sniffed wetly.

  “Live, OK? Live until we find a way out of here. I want to take my friend out to eat. Maybe we’ll go to Arnold’s. Or Commander’s Palace. Or maybe just Popeye’s.”

  “Heh. I like Popeye’s.”

  Chuckling, Sam asked, “It’s a date, then?”

  “Yeah. It’s a date. I’ll do my best to stay alive. You, too, OK, Sam?”

  In the darkness, she smiled.

  “Yeah, Meghan. Me, too.”

  Chapter 13

  An Apple Peel

  Date: Thursday, March 11, 1993

  Time: 10:00 a.m.

  Location: Evergreen Sanatorium

  General Population Block

  Staring at the ceiling and imagining the condensation patterns to be passing clouds, Sam gently stroked her belly, which was now several times larger. She could feel the two lives growing inside. It was moments like this, when she was allowed to bond with her unborn children, that kept her from losing what little sanity she had left.

  The first few weeks under Dr. Klein’s care had been pure hell. Enduring his treatments, which seemed focused solely on bringing discomfort and pain, was bad enough. However, ten days after her arrival, she was moved to a different block from Meghan. She hadn’t seen her friend since.

  When Sam had asked where Meghan was, Dr. Klein had grinned maliciously and said, “That girl has such a severe case of nymphomania zat isolation is the only possible treatment. I’ve moved her to a place I call ‘the tombs.’”

  That made her hate him all the more, but there was little she could do about it. His anesthetic mixture, which he injected regularly, along with vitamin shots for the babies, kept her unable to concentrate long enough to use the powers she had gained from merging with Bridgette. And, just as bad, her senses were dulled to the point where feeling for spirits gave her a pounding headache. So, to protect her mind, she mentally retreated, focusing every free moment on the twin lives within her.

  And that was her life, month after month.

  The sound of sliding metal latches pulled Sam back into the hell around her. The door to her
cell opened, and the two large orderlies who had been assigned to her entered. They never spoke directly to her, and she didn’t know their names. So she’d made up nicknames for them.

  “Hello, Dick and Dock,” she said. “Here to take me to my daily torture session?”

  Without a word, they pulled her to her feet. She groaned as her back muscles pulled against the bones, throbbing like hot coals. It was hard to stand with jelly for legs and a belly full of babies.

  “Easy there, fellas. Mama’s got buns in the crockpot, and they are getting heavy.”

  The three of them silently walked along the hallways, Sam’s bare feet slapping on the ground with every step. Dick and Dock supported her in a surprisingly gentle manner. And even if the only reason was that the Knight Priory wanted her children unharmed, she was grateful.

  They passed by another patient, a mocha-skinned woman being carried by two other orderlies. One of them was talking to her. “Well, Miss LeBeouf, you need to start responding to your treatment soon. Dr. Klein’s getting impatient. It won’t be too much longer before it’s time for a little brain surgery, you know?”

  The woman looked terrified. “Not that! I’ll get better. I promise I’ll improve!”

  Poor bitch, Sam thought. It was common knowledge in Evergreen that once Dr. Klein gave up on a patient, they were lobotomized. She couldn’t think of a more horrendous fate.

  A few minutes later, they entered a treatment room that had a video camera and a surgical table with stirrups. She frowned. Dr. Klein had begun filming their sessions a few months earlier. Everything, from talk therapy to his many painful injections, was recorded. Sometimes she was clothed, and other times she was naked. She had long ago replaced her dignity with sarcasm and disdain.

  “So how’s the home movie coming? Getting good wank time?”

  Dr. Klein was busy putting on a surgical mask and gloves. As was typical for him, he didn’t react to her comment. “Very educational, Sam. Very much so, indeed.”

  “So what’s on the menu today?” she asked as she waddled over to the table. Dick and Dock helped her up and strapped the restraints over her arms and chest. “I know it’s not to check my burns.” They were all healed, with only ugly scar tissue remaining.