by Leo King
Sam fell to her knees as the medication seized control again. Her great strength was gone once more. Just before she passed out, she saw Dr. Kindley staring at her.
He looked bitterly disappointed.
When Sam awoke, she was momentarily blinded by lights around her. Then, her senses returned. She was secured to an operating table, nude and gagged, with an IV stuck in her arm. Immediately, she broke out in cold sweats, expecting Dallas to come into view. Nearby, a heart-rate monitor started beeping wildly.
Instead, Dr. Kindley approached. She screamed into the gag.
He ran his fingers through her sweaty hair. “You’re awake. Good. I wanted to talk to you before the operation began.”
Removing the gag, he tapped her lips.
“Operation?” she asked, searching for some hint to her fate. “What operation?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll be put completely under before the procedure.” He kept stroking her hair, rubbing the strands together as if he were her lover.
She felt revulsion. “What procedure?” The monitor continued its rapid beeps.
“Do you remember when I told you that you made me a believer?”
“What of it?” she asked, glaring.
“As a pureblood of the Knight Priory, I was always taught that what Vincent did to you wasn’t supernatural. But after seeing you in action back in Tulane, I had a change of heart. I came into something one of the original members had—a collection of amazing information. Now I understand the nature of your possession. One gone wrong would weaken the host, but one done correctly strengthens it.”
He lifted her hair, sniffed it, and let the strands fall free.
“I guess.” The monitor continued to beep wildly. What were they going to do to her?
“But you’re something more than just possessed now. Only the Oracle has ever shown so much power. I still have so much more to learn. Think of what I could do with that knowledge!” He twirled her hair in between his fingers again.
Without warning, he tugged hard, lifting her head off the table.
“Ouch!” she cried.
“I wanted that power. And you were going to help me get it all. But you blew it. You blew it! And for what, an insult?”
She winced. “Stop it!”
He let go. “The Oracle was right. You’re not how I’ll take over the Priory. You’re just a liability. But no worries, this will only set me back a few years. See, I’ve struck a deal with our leader. She gets something she wants, I get to keep the grimoire a while longer.”
“Grimoire? What grimoire?”
“Don’t worry about it, Princess—Sam,” he said, stroking her bulging belly. “Sadly, I’ve done all I can for you. Soon, your real nightmare will begin. We won’t be seeing each other any longer.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Farewell, Sam.”
Then he placed the gag back on and left.
A few minutes later, Dr. Klein, Dick, and Dock entered the room in full medical scrubs. Dr. Klein started whispering instructions.
Sam struggled and groaned against the gag.
Dick took a syringe and measured a dose of pasty-looking liquid while Dr. Klein took out a marker and then felt around her belly. A moment later, he drew a line beneath her navel, right above her pelvis.
No! she thought as the beeping of the monitor spiked. Not that! The type of operation was now obvious.
She suddenly felt the area around her chill, the sounds begin to mute, and the world start to slow down. With the rush of anxiety came the familiar sensation of her power coming forth. The power of Bridgette.
Then Dr. Klein looked up. “Do it now.”
Dick injected the pasty liquid into the IV.
Sam pushed against the straps and started to feel them pop—when suddenly everything began to go black.
No! She struggled to stay awake. Don’t do this! Please!
Dr. Klein took out a scalpel, and then all was dark once more.
For a long time, Sam floated in that darkness, the memories of merging with Bridgette playing before her like an old 8mm movie.
We are now one being, Bridgette and I. And because of Vincent, neither of us can die until we free Baron Samedi. But once I free him, I will have to die for us to separate.
The film showing her making the pact played over and over.
I am fighting a war to earn the right to die. How messed up is that?
It was raining again when Sam woke up, still in darkness. Her head ached, and the taste of bile was in the back of her mouth. She tried to sit up and touch her face. But then she realized she couldn’t. She had been restrained.
She shook her head many times to clear the haze, but try as she might, she couldn’t focus or call upon her strength. She could feel Dr. Klein’s mixture coursing through her, clouding her thoughts and relaxing her muscles.
“What happened?”
As if on cue, the door to the cell opened, flooding the room with light. She was back in her cell, still nude and bound with leather straps.
“You’re awake? Good.”
Dr. Klein entered the room, sneering cruelly. “You are now mine for life. Und now that the inconveniences are gone, we can focus on your real treatment.”
“Inconveniences?” She furrowed her brow. A moment later, she realized that her belly was no longer bulging. A post-operative bandage was wrapped around her abdomen.
Her world went red, and her throat went raw. “What have you done to my children, you sick fucking bastard?” Muscles and veins all over her body started bulging and pulsing, and her jaw locked. The sedation started burning away again.
But even as the leather straps groaned under her strength, Dr. Klein snapped his fingers. Dick and Dock emerged from the doorway and fired what looked like pistols. She felt two sharp pains—one in her shoulder, the other in her thigh. Looking down, she saw two darts sticking out of her flesh.
“What is this shit?” Her throat tightened as she struggled to break free.
“Tranquilizers. The kind we use on large, wild animals. Because zat is all you are now—a wild animal.”
Sam felt dizzy as the chemicals surged into her bloodstream, but she continued to strain against the leather straps, feeling the one around her right wrist snapping. “Where are my babies, you worthless speck? Where are they?”
Dr. Klein shrugged. “It is out of my hands. The Knight Priory felt they were worth keeping but felt that you were no longer fit to carry them. So I removed them, und they took them away. They were a bit premature, but a team of physicians will ensure their survival. They should thrive as their Prince and Princess. But you will never see them again.”
She started frothing at the mouth. Her vision doubled. “I want my babies, you psycho! I will kill you and the entire priory!”
Leaning over her, he smirked. “Doubtful. I will hurt you until you break, Sam. Und once you are gone and all that is left is Samantha, I will finally earn my place in the social elite. You will be my magnum opus, the culmination of my life’s work.”
The restraint around her right wrist finally snapped. She roared and grabbed him by the throat. He grabbed her arm, his face getting pale. For one moment, he looked terrified.
But then the tranquilizers kicked in, and her grip loosened. Dick and Dock rushed forward and pulled him away. She glared at him. One more second, and she would have broken his neck.
“Dr. Klein,” she said, spittle flying from her lips. The world around her started melting.
As he rubbed his neck, his color returning, he glared back.
With all the effort she could muster, she pointed at him.
“One day, I swear I will kill you.”
Then she passed out once more.
Chapter 15
A New Neighbor
Date: Saturday, April 3, 1993
Time: 3:00 p.m.
Location: Evergreen Sanatorium
Treatment Room
“Increase ze voltage.”
“Yes,
sir.”
Sam screamed against the wooden dowel in her mouth as the electrical current ran through her. The electrodes on the sides of her head felt like molten lead as they seared her skin. Every muscle in her body seized, her feet curling until her calves charley-horsed. Her shoulders pulled up until they locked. She bit down until she felt her jaw pop.
Then the current stopped. She continued to shake, her muscles quivering as she convulsed on the table.
“Anything?”
Dick roughly grabbed her now-clean-shaven head and shined a light into one of her eyes.
“Nothing, sir. Pupils are still dilated.”
Dr. Klein stood nearby, scribbling in his notebook with a silver fountain pen. He looked annoyed.
“Increase the voltage und try again.”
“But, sir,” Dock, who was manning the machine, said. “This is already past the recommended—”
Slapping the notebook, Dr. Klein said, “Increase the voltage und try again!”
“Yes, sir.”
As the current tore through her, Sam shrieked again. Ever since her children were cut from her womb, this was her life—electroshocks, experimental injections, overstimulation, sensory deprivation, and more. Every day was a new “treatment.” Dr. Klein was as vicious as he had once threatened to be.
The electricity stopped, and she continued to convulse. Ever since the surgery, she kept waiting for an opportunity to strike. But one never came. After she had choked Dr. Klein, security with her had become impenetrable. Every time someone came for her, she was tranquilized, and she was constantly kept on that concoction that relaxed her muscles and muddled her mind. Her restraints were steel chains.
But she was patient. She was immortal, after all. She could wait.
“Check her again. Any changes?”
Once more, Dick checked her eyes. “Nothing. It’s like we’re not doing anything to her.”
Dr. Klein closed the notebook, placing the silver pen inside. “Unhook her, und take her back to her cell.”
As they unfastened her and administered more sedative, he leaned down almost nose-to-nose with Sam. His breath stank of eggs. “Sam, I must warn you. I am losing hope that I can cure you. You don’t want zat.”
“Go to Hell.”
He sighed. “Well, it can’t be helped. If I lose all hope, we can always try brain surgery.”
“Just try it. I’ll rip your throat out.” She exposed her teeth to emphasize the point.
As they dragged her out of the room, she noticed a surgery scheduled on the whiteboard. “LeBeouf, Transorbital Lobotomy.” It was the sixth surgery she had seen that week. It was like Dr. Klein wanted patients to fail. Why would he do that to so many people?
Along the way back, they passed a surgical technician, someone Sam didn’t recognize. And to her, he seemed out of place—a Middle-Eastern-looking man with a military haircut and a tightly trimmed beard. He had to be in his mid-to-late twenties.
They stopped, and Dick asked, “Hey, new guy. Is the machine ready for that girl? The nympho? Dr. Klein wants to put her on it tomorrow.”
Sam gasped. Meghan!
“Yes, sir,” the technician said. “It’s ready.”
“Good, good.” Dick seemed quite pleased.
Dock tugged on Sam. “Whatever, man. You just want to be there and help stretch her out. Come on, let’s get this one back.”
My God, what are they doing to her? Just thinking about it made her stomach ache.
Once in her cell, Sam rolled to the side and rested her hands on her stomach, her fingertips brushing over her caesarean scar—the place where her children had been taken from her. Gritting her teeth, she placed both palms over it and pressed gently. It had healed to a thin line within days. The loose skin and detached muscles had healed back to a tight abdomen within a few more. It was like she had never been pregnant.
Hours passed. Several times, she broke into tears, sobbing softly into the mildew stink of her cot. She was finally settling down to sleep when the cell next to her opened.
She craned her neck and listened. Someone said, “Well, this one’s a hard nut to crack. What’s he in for?”
“Murdered one of his own,” someone else said. “Claimed the Devil made him do it or something. Who cares?”
In the other cell, someone landed hard on the cot. Then he moaned with pain.
“Sleep tight. Tomorrow’s going to be real fun. Dr. Klein’s going to shock you back into sound mental health.”
The two men laughed as they left.
For a while, there was only silence. Sam lay there, listening for movement. It seemed like she had a new neighbor. Maybe this one would last longer than a week.
After a few more minutes, the springs of the other cot creaked. The man, whoever he was, moaned again.
Finally, Sam said, “Sounds like you’ve had a tough time of it.”
“Ah, what? Who’s there?”
“On the other side of the wall.” She tapped it a few times with a metal restraint. “Here.”
He tapped the wall, presumably with a fingernail. “I guess they don’t make cells like they used to, do they?”
She hummed and then said, “That’s a funny thing to say. Who are you?”
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not.”
“All right, then. Leave me alone.”
She stayed silent for a long time, just tracing mindless patterns on the wall of her cell and scratching the annoying stubble on her head. Finally, she asked, “So you killed someone?”
“Is everyone here this nosey?” He sounded both annoyed and tired.
For what felt like the tenth time that day, she ground her teeth. “Look, you ass, you may not realize it, but you’re stuck in Hell. Now, I don’t know what you’ve done, and quite frankly, I don’t care. But let me tell you, the days of torture and the nights of solitude wear on your sanity. So, unless you think you’ll be out in a few days for good behavior, you’d better get used to talking to someone. And, unfortunately, you’re stuck with me.”
There was a long pause before he said, “Sorry I was rude. And, so you know, I’m not getting out. I’m here for life. Might as well be a prison.”
Relaxing her jaw, even popping it a few times to help the muscles relax, she leaned her forehead against the wall. “You, too, eh? So what did you do?”
“I killed a cop.”
“Really? That’s pretty serious.”
“And you’re pretty observant.”
Sam chuckled. It was refreshing to hear someone else’s sarcasm. “So why did you do it?”
“To stop him from killing someone I love.”
Part of her wondered what this guy looked like—if he was handsome and good in bed. He sure sounded that way. Then she remembered that it was Bridgette who gave her such sexually aggressive thoughts. Pushing back those urges, she asked, “So, what, was it one of those bad-cop-holding-a-gun-to-your-girl’s-head things?”
“No, nothing like that at all.”
“Then what was it?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
She snorted. “Bub, I’ve been through shit you wouldn’t believe. Try me.”
The springs creaked again. “Fine. The cop got his hands on something that lets you kill people just by writing about their death.”
Sam froze, her forehead pressed against the stone masonry as she broke into a cold sweat. She knew something that could do exactly that.
“What…” Her throat tightened. “What are you talking about?”
He sounded tense as well. “A pen. A goddamn silver pen. Possessed by the devil himself. The Bourbon Street Ripper. Vincent Castille.”
A Shield That Protects
(Kyle Aucoin’s Story)
Chapter 16
Fat City Stabber
Date: Monday, March 19, 1993
Time: 8:00 p.m.
Location: New Orleans Police Precinct 8th District
The French Quarter
&nb
sp; A few weeks before Sam met her new neighbor…
“Kyle, I’ll be in town on Friday to close my Whitney account. Do you, um, want to have lunch afterwards?”
What Detective Aucoin wanted to say more than anything else in the world was “yes.” But as he sat at his desk, the floor all but empty, he just couldn’t bring himself to.
“Kyle?” Cathy sounded more desperate.
He rubbed his face, spreading his sweat. It made him feel greasy. “I’m sorry, Cathy. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He just couldn’t face her, not yet.
She sighed. “I understand. Are you at least sleeping well? Taking care of yourself?”
“Yes and yes.” He hated lying to her, but the truth would hurt more.
“All right. Hun, you take care. I’ll call you when I’m in town, just in case you change your mind.”
“Cathy, I really don’t—”
But she had already hung up.
With an exasperated sigh, he hung up the phone. She had asked for a divorce six months ago, and they had finally gotten around to officially filing the papers. Even though they agreed to do it “no-fault,” the cost and time was making every day drag out.
At least that’s how it felt to Aucoin, and having her continuously try to get together “for lunch” made it much worse.
“Well, seeing her would give her closure. I owe her that much.”
He was still mulling it over when Rivette sat down across from him at the desk that used to be Dixie’s. He put his feet up, fiddling with one of his action figures. “Ya know, if you ever need someone to talk to or just wanna yell about how much your ex-wife sucks ass, I’m here.”
Aucoin raised an eyebrow and stared at Rivette as if he was about to wind up his head with a clock key. “I don’t even talk to Dix about Cathy. Why would I talk to you?”