by Peter Fang
Nothing.
“Wait, looks like the door wasn't fully locked.” Maria pointed at the door. The door lock’s deadbolt was halfway out and did not engage the lock well. She lightly pushed on the door, but it did not budge.
“Let me try.” Ansen moved in and pushed a little harder with his arm.
“Wait, we can’t go in. This is breaking and entering.” Maria tried to stop Ansen.
“No worries––the door wasn’t locked in the first place. We are simply pushing it open. If someone asks, say the door was ajar. I’m just going to peek in and announce myself. I’ll bet he’s probably waiting for us to come back.”
Maria was anxious to get her purse back. They both leaned on the door; the door initially didn’t move, but it shifted and creaked. Maria winced, and with a firm push, the door slowly swung open.
“Hello! Manfred? This is Maria and Ansen. We were here earlier…I think I left my purse here. Are you there?” Maria waited for a few seconds, expecting Manfred to reply back, but there was no sound other than the ticking of a grandfather clock.
“That’s odd. No one here? Perhaps he went out and forgot to lock the door? We should wait outside until he comes back.” Maria backed out of the shop.
“Wait, let me take a quick look at the counter to see if I can find your purse,” insisted Ansen.
“No, wait!” Maria whispered, but it was too late. Ansen walked into the shop and called out to Manfred.
When they both walked into the room, they were surprised to see it was empty. All of the antiques, the furniture…were gone.
“What happened to all the furniture and...the antiques? Did he move?” Ansen gingerly walked into the room, carefully moving ahead of Maria as they crossed the entrance into the room.
“Manfred? It’s Ansen and Maria. The front door was unlocked; we’re here for her purse. Hello?” Ansen passed the front of the store and hesitated near the entrance to the narrow brick wall that led to the back office. The hallway was not lit and was dark. Ansen tried to search for a switch on the wall but didn’t see one. He took out his phone and turned on a flashlight app, but the battery was too low.
“Damn it! My phone is almost out of battery.” He used just the screen’s background light and directed it down the hallway. The weak light did not go very far, but Ansen could barely see something on the ground.
“Well?” asked Maria with a slightly raised voice. “Do you see anything?”
Ansen shook his head.
The grandfather’s clock suddenly struck. The loud noise startled Ansen.
“Shit!” Ansen somehow mustered the courage to enter the dimly lit room. He closed his eyes and recalled it was just around the corner.
“This is getting too creepy,” Ansen said uneasily. He looked over his shoulder as if someone were lurking around the corner. “Let's get the hell out of here––”
“Wait, I think someone is here. I can feel it,” Maria whispered
“What do you mean someone is here? Did we trigger a silent alarm? Let’s get out of here!” Ansen whispered.
Maria ignored Ansen and walked deeper into the back of the room. She paused, then turned around and whispered, “Did you hear that?”
Ansen spread out his hand, then pointed at his ears. “What? I don’t hear anything. What was it?”
“I heard someone calling my name.” Maria turned and walked toward the sound source before Ansen could even reply.
“Damn it, Maria—” Ansen was forced to follow her into the room.
Maria followed the faint sound until she was all the way in the back. There, in the corner was that sewing machine, and her purse was lying on the top. Not too far from the sewing machine, a man’s body was on the floor, face down.
“Oh no––” Maria cried out.
Hearing her surprise, Ansen hurried over in a half-hunched position. When he saw what Maria saw, he almost tripped over himself. “Oh my God! Is that Manfred?”
Hearing Ansen's panicked calling, Maria wanted to flee, but an odd and familiar feeling subdued her. The same feeling she had before, but this time was more intense. She was almost certain now that she knew Manfred at some point in her life. She couldn’t help but move closer to the body to inspect.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ansen hissed at her. “Don’t touch the body, or we could be blamed for his death.”
Ansen suppressed the urge to call the police. All the pigs were nosy, and worse, many that he knew were corrupt. He couldn’t risk blowing the operation wide open with a slip of the tongue in front of curious police. Yes, the job he had been working on could not be jeopardized under any circumstances. Ansen couldn’t help but think about Mr. Reed and what would happen to him if the operation went to shit.
Focus, focus! Ansen suddenly realized something that almost made his heart stop—if his cell phone had a cellular connection, the police could pinpoint their location to the shop at this time. He anxiously searched for his phone in his pockets and let out a sigh of relief when he realized that Maria somehow left it in their car after she unsuccessfully searched for the shop’s name.
Ansen turned and saw Maria appeared to be fascinated by Manfred’s corpse. Odd, he thought.
Maria didn’t hear Ansen's warning––or perhaps she decided to ignore it. She saw her hand reaching out to feel Manfred’s pulse. His skin was cold to the touch and there was no life under that skin. But when she tried to pull her hand back, she couldn’t. Something painful set in, like something was threading a cold, metal needle through her fingernail and up her wrist.
“Is he dead?” Ansen saw Maria’s inanimate figure and realized there was something wrong. “Maria! Let go of him!” He yanked her hand away from Manfred’s body, and they both fell backward. Ansen’s body struck against the sewing machine, and Maria’s purse fell from the sewing machine and items scattered across the floor.
“Wow!” Ansen caught Maria's limp body and dragged her away from Manfred’s body. “Shit, this is not exactly what I had in mind!” Ansen cursed as he tried to wake Maria.
Maria suddenly came to and saw Ansen holding her. She sat up and then looked back at Manfred. “The old man is gone, but there was something about him––”
Ansen interrupted Maria by putting his face inches away from her. “Whatever you felt or saw doesn’t matter right now. We have found your purse and we have to get outta here, now.”
Maria then turned and stared at the sewing machine. “I knew this thing.”
Ansen was busy picking up the items that had fallen out from her purse. While his hands were recovering the items from the bag, he called out to Maria. “Honey, I know this must be all very intriguing and thrilling to you, but trust me, we don’t want to be interviewed by the cops.”
Maria stood up slowly and walked towards the sewing machine, but this time she didn't touch it. She felt a stinging sensation coming from her right hand's fingertip. She raised her index finger and squeezed it until a drop of blood formed from a tiny cut. She then dripped the blood over the sewing machine. The blood was quickly absorbed by the wooden cover.
“I got cut,” Maria said plainly, then pressed the wound with her thumb to stop the bleeding.
Ansen walked over, straightened her finger, and looked. “It’s just a nasty splinter. Let's get out of here. Please.”
Maria nodded but took another look at the sewing machine and said, “The shape, smell, and the feel of everything here reminded me of my family. But I have very little recollection of my parents. Someone was also whispering to me, calling my name...”
Ansen finally had enough and decided not to prolong their stay inside the shop. He finished putting everything back into her purse and pulled her along until they were out of the shop.
He observed the surroundings and was glad that there were no obvious surveillance systems that he could see. He turned around and instructed Maria to follow him. When Ansen was sure no one was around, they made a cut through the alley and exited out to another street.
Inside the sewing machine, the queen received the blood infusion she desperately needed. It was not enough for a full recovery, but it was enough to survive until she could make the next move. She took stock of her collective thoughts and felt the grip of her brood was severed; the proxies and the infected people around her in the surrounding region were her connections to the physical world, but now she could not call them for help. She sent out several calls to them, but there was no one replying through the echo. From eons of experience, she knew many of them wouldn’t survive long on their own. She had to find a way to reconnect with them quickly. For that, she still had Lão Chóng to help her.
Queen searched her thoughts again to try to reconnect with Lão Chóng. She sent out a strong signal to get its response, but its familiar humming was absent.
10
Bedlam of the Brood
A homeless man woke from a deep stupor. His dream with the queen had been severed, but now awake, he only recalled traces of the elements in that fantasy. He tried to remember his name, but it eluded him. Something about his past was slowly coming back to him. He was kicked out of the last dirt hole he was hiding in by Seattle police, underneath the I-5 overpass crossing the south side of Seattle. He looked around and saw himself surrounded by wet, brick walls covered with aged tar. The air smelled of mold mixed with rotten garbage. He saw himself with some unknown equipment that he know nothing about. Looking around, he realized that he was inside a narrow tunnel, and there was a muted traffic noise coming from above—a rhythmic droning of something heavy running overhead. It dawned on him that the sound was coming from cars and he was inside an underground tunnel below the street surface. He propped himself up with his weak arms and slowly got himself to sit up. He felt a nausea washing over him, and the world around him spun. Someone else close by vomited, and the rancid smell soon permeated the small enclosure. He stood up slowly, and this time the dizziness did not come back. He surveyed his space and saw other swarming bodies on the ground inside a large cutaway hole with a red brick wall.
He tried to collect his thoughts, but he couldn’t remember a thing, not even his name, or date of birth. He slowly walked out of the small enclosure, feeling bewildered. Where am I? Why the fuck am I here? He felt someone behind him, so he quickly turned around.
It was just another person like him, but shorter, skinnier. More people were emerging from the shadow, perhaps ten or more.
Slowly, he recalled Sai was his name. There was a man called “Manfred” that visited them once in a while, sometimes taking a few people away. Sometimes he brought back more humans along with food to share, but they never talked to each other—their ability to talk was stripped. He also recalled why they didn’t run away because they were all infected by bugs. Having impure thoughts of escaping would awaken the bugs inside. He had seen what those bugs could do to a person—literally ripping them apart from inside. It was best to stay put—stay pure in his thoughts and wait for Manfred to call upon them—so he sat down and waited.
The rhythmic traffic noises overhead droned endlessly, and Sai could only imagine what a life of freedom was like up above.
The effect Queen’s mind severance continued across Chinatown. Under the I-5 overpass in Downtown Seattle, where it meets the South Dearborn Street, another homeless dredged up from her drugged-up state. She was experiencing a severe bout of hallucination. Everywhere she looked, she saw faces staring back at her, judging her—it reminded of her someone she knew; oh yes, her disapproving mother. She started yelling angrily at the nearby pedestrians. She heard footsteps behind her and she thought it was her mother, so she ran. Behind her, other homeless woken up from their sleep state, each with their own nightmare.
They started to scatter.
The girl’s yelling and screaming escalated quickly into throwing garbage at people. Something in her pushed her forward; that something inside of her skull was gnawing her at the root of her neck. Strange and unfamiliar voices pounded her head, and panic swelled inside. She pulled her hair, hoping the pain would stop the voices. Hair strands yanked from the root, and blood creeped down her cheek. The scraping sound did not ebb; it turned into pain, inexplicable pain. She turned and cried for help, but her plea turned violent. She grabbed a girl that was trying to side-step her on the sidewalk. The girl screamed and yanked her arm away. She tried another pedestrian, but they all ran away from her.
A pair of city police on their bicycles were nearby and responded to the incidence. They tried to subdue her, but she fought back with a flint knife.
The flint knife cut her fingers, and she saw worms crawling out of her fingertips. She cut herself repeatedly, trying to dig out the warm.
She heard someone yelling at her. She looked up.
“Ma’am! Drop your knife, now!” the police officer warned.
She screamed at the top of her lungs, and charged.
Shots fired, one in her lung. The scraping sound in her head subsided. Her neurons fired in bursts and she could remember everything that led up to that moment in life––-the birthdays, her grade school teachers, her best friend in high school, and the rest of her trauma. Something came out of her mouth, and she felt an overwhelming relief to be free.
Three…two…one…she relived the happy moments of her childhood with the last few breaths of her life.
Craig Williams was eating at a diner when he felt the scraping in his head. For a brief moment, he didn’t know who he was or why he was there. A pretty girl was sitting across from him, but he didn’t know who she was. He recalled he just finished a sentence and the girl was still laughing, but in a split second, he experienced total memory loss. Fear welled up in him, and he had to excuse himself to the men’s room. Slowly, he remembered his name and why he was at the restaurant. He was with this prostitute, on the clock. He felt a tremendous headache drumming inside his left temple. No way he was going to take the prostitute back to his place for his brother—not tonight. His twin brother Ake would be pissed, and there would be a mess in the house from his tantrum, probably worse than his headache, but it was too much risk to take the girl back. Of the last nine girls he had done the job on, things went without a hitch. It had been a while, but still, he asked himself the question every time he got a prostitute to go back with him—when did this obsession start? Five years ago, he recalled both he and his brother just merely decided to take on this high-stakes sport. Now it had become an elaborate addiction.
Twice a year, they would do this, and there were no predictable dates. It could be spread out anywhere in Washington, Oregon…sometimes even in Montana and Idaho. They left no discernible patterns for the police to track. Craig was the younger brother, but the more successful one—a highly paid and respected CFO at a financial firm. He could not fathom how long he could do this with his brother, Ake, the insane one. But he promised his mother that he would take care of him, because he was the one that was successful and had the resource. Deep down though, what Ake said to him somehow rang true:
“Your soul needs it. It opens up a whole new dimension.”
His brother had been pursuing medicine but dropped out of medical school when he experienced a nervous breakdown. Somehow he never recovered from that episode. When Craig first saw him at the hospital, he mentioned something about treating a homeless man during a night shift. The homeless man said he was there to see his brother and handed him a package. He said it was a red mustang matchbox car that he lost when he was a kid. The car fell through a manhole on the street while he and Craig were playing outside. Craig remembered that matchbox car and remembered their mother had to buy another one to appease his brother’s tantrum. It used to be bright red, but the one his brother now held in his den was rusted, chipped and with a faded paint job. He and his brother never figured out how the homeless person knew about the lost car, or how he found them. The man died soon after he met his brother. Since then, his brother didn’t care about his career anymore. He did strange things, sometimes disappearing for mo
nths on end.
He recalled once he went to his brother’s house and saw him with a stranger. The stranger was blindfolded and gagged. He looked like an Asian runaway teen, with tattoos on his arm and multiple earrings. He remembered being surprised that he did not even ask why his brother did it. He just knew because he could read his mind. They tasted the teen's blood and knew the kid was related to some old enemy of their bloodline. That night, it changed Craig’s life forever. Everything made sense to him. He and his brother had a connection that night with something that was called the “Queen.” Soon, they discovered there were other voices around town and a man who called himself “Manfred.” They never met the queen, but Manfred visited him once. Manfred told them that they were all related by blood and they had one singular goal—to eliminate every one of their old enemy’s descendants—however remote their bloodlines. Manfred also quoted some ancient passage that clicked in his mind.
His phone rang. He already knew who was on the other line. He picked up the phone and waited for the voice.
There was a pause. “…Craig, did you feel it? Something is wrong with our queen.”
“I did. I also heard others screaming. Then it went away. I can’t hear or feel anything now.”
“Nothin’s changed, remember that,” his brother’s voice was calm. “Guard your beliefs. Those suffering voices we heard were from the infirm, but not us. I’m sure Queen and the minions will sort it out.”
“But––-Manfred is gone. I felt it, didn’t you?”
There was silence on the other side, but Craig could sense his brother’s thoughts––-Nothin’s changed.
The phone clicked into silence, and Craig felt a deep dread chilling his soul. His brother’s voice was like a quicksand of misery now pulling him into an abyss he had avoided since childhood. He stayed up all night waiting for the connection with the queen to reemerge, but it never came.