Curse of the Red Evil

by Zel Spasov

  "He’s well, Father,” the woman replied. “I'll go visit him in the next few days.”

  Silence descended again, interrupted only by the clinking of silverware.

  “The organization needs a leader,” the old man said after a while. “I did all this for you, my children.”

  “We know, Father,” the woman replied, rolling her eyes. "You've already told us."

  How annoying, Angela thought. The old fool and his boring stories. If only she could make him shut up. Forever. For now, however, it would be enough if he remained silent until they were finished with dinner.

  “If your brother doesn't recover,” the man continued, "then you will have to take my place as director of the organization.”

  Angela held her breath. Her eyes flashed with hunger.

  “Did you know that I took up the leadership position when I was younger than you are now?”

  “Yes, Father,” the bored Angela replied in a monotone voice.

  “I didn’t get to have a normal life, but I never complained. Our mission is more important. The Starosta organization goes back centuries—”

  “We've heard the story already,” the daughter tried to interrupt.

  “Listen, Angela. You just sit and listen. You're still very young; you have a lot to learn,” her father said in a sharper tone. “There were many who wanted me to fail. Man is an envious creature—if he sees that someone else is succeeding, he immediately wants to hinder his progress. Remember this.”

  The woman shifted in her chair. The last sentence hit too close to home. So, I must be the one who sabotages others and not the other way around, Angela thought.

  “Don't worry about the organization, Father,” Angela said out loud. “You're sick, and you need to rest. I’m going to handle the association; you’re too senile to be making decisions. Go and lie down now, or your heart might give up.”

  "Do you know how many sleepless nights I’ve had, worrying that someone might take this away from us?” he continued, ignoring his daughter’s command. A coughing fit cut his sentence short. The cough was heavy, accompanied by wheezing. For a moment, he seemed unable to breathe. Angela stared at him, the light from the fireplace reflecting off her eyes. Finally, the cough subsided, and the father continued. "Your mother and I gave up so much for the good of the world. And for you, so you could have a life...”

  A new bout of coughing made him stop. This one was worse than the previous.

  "Take care of your brother..." the old Mister Starosta continued through the cough. “He's sick... Someone has to... help him...”

  His wheezing got worse. Her father’s tired lungs weren’t strong enough to handle the fit. The old man squirmed. It looked like he was going to drop dead at any moment.

  An orderly, wearing white clothes, came into the room. He grabbed her father's wheelchair and wheeled him out of the room.

  “Come on, Mister Starosta, it’s time for your medicine now,” he said.

  As they walked away from the dining room, the old man's coughing gradually subsided in the hallway, and Angela was left alone. She got out of her chair, the wine glass in her hand, and approached the fireplace, staring at the flames.

  Only her sick father and her brother stood in between her and the top of the organization. Luckily, the old man would croak soon, and Cayden was locked up in a psychiatric facility Her face tightened for a moment. Angela despised her little brother. Cayden had always been her parents’ favorite, especially her mother’s. Everything she’d done in her life had been aimed at earning her parents’ respect and love, but had they shown her the appreciation she deserved? No.

  She gripped the glass tightly. The logs crackled in the fireplace as the heat of the flames enveloped them.

  Cayden was the source of every misfortune in Angela’s life. If he hadn't been born, her parents would have loved her more, and the association would have been hers. The birth of Cayden was a mistake that needed to be corrected. She wanted him out of the picture, and once Angela had dealt with her brother, they’d all see how capable she was.

  Recently, luck was on her side. New information regarding Cayden had surfaced—information that made him an enemy of the organization. Getting rid of him now wasn’t only a personal ambition; many innocent lives were in danger as well. And once her close relatives were all taken care of, she would be the only heiress to the family’s fortunes and the only one who could head the institution.

  Alas, no one would ever find out about the service she was doing for humanity by taking care of her brother. It was of the utmost importance to keep the existence of their establishment secret. Only from the shadows could they pull the strings of world affairs so they could achieve their goals. With Angela as an executive director and Persephone carrying out missions in the field, they had been able to prevent great catastrophes in the past.

  Persephone was an instrument which, when yielded with precision and control, could be deadly. Her record was flawless, spanning over centuries of successfully carried out missions. As long as she obeyed Angela’s exact orders, Angela was sure that her strategy would lead to success.

  Although Persephone had infiltrated the hospital and gained control over the simpleton Petrov, that wouldn’t be enough. Angela had to make sure the plan was executed exactly as it was supposed to be. Her next step was to send organization members to the hospital to supervise Persephone and make sure she followed the plan. Angela had learned long ago she couldn’t trust anyone but herself.

  The same orderly who had escorted Angela’s father into his bedroom appeared again.

  “Mister Starosta is in bed, Miss Starosta,” he said. “Is there anything else you require tonight?”

  “Yes,” Angela said. “I want you to start moving our people into Mercy Hospital. I will notify Miss Dimitriou. Make sure that everything goes smoothly.”

  “Yes, Miss Starosta, I will tell the cult members to mobilize,” said the orderly.

  “For the last time, we’re not a cult,” said Angela. “We’re an organization. There’s a difference.”

  “Of course, Miss Starosta,” said the man and left the room.

  Angela sipped from her wine glass. She put it back on the corner of the table, the foot of the glass hanging partially over the edge. The glass tipped over and fell on the floor, and the wine spilled, leaving a large, blood-red spot on the carpet.

  ***

  Varvara Venari, a psychiatric nurse working at Mercy Hospital, was sitting on the leather sofa in front of Director Petrov's office. She was wearing a standard nurse’s uniform, which consisted of a dress, a white apron, and a cap. Her light-brown hair was tied into a tight bun. She was fidgeting with her hands as she waited for the director to invite her into his office. Her meeting with him was of the utmost importance; she wanted to know the truth about the dubious events that had happened in the hospital after the appearance of Doctor Dimitriou.

  Ever since the new doctor had arrived, the atmosphere was tense. She was a cold and strict person, with an aura of chill surrounding her. No one dared look her in the eye—there was almost something unnatural about her gaze. Whenever she gave orders, she expected people to listen and obey. Everyone feared her. On top of that, Director Petrov, who was soft, and, if Varvara was being honest, rather meek, was following every one of Doctor Dimitriou’s whims. Whenever Doctor Dimitriou made a request, he would allow it without consulting the rest of the staff. She had forced the director to introduce a harsher regime and punishments for the patients, which had resulted in an increase in aggressive outbursts and antisocial behavior.

  There was also the troubling case of the twenty-five-year-old patient Cayden Starosta, who had been admitted not long ago following an accident. Persephone was treating him on her own, which was highly unusual. The news Varvara heard about him wasn’t good—his schizophrenia seemed to be getting worse. After a recent incident in the cafeteria, Doctor Dimitriou had ordered seclusion for Cayden and another two patients.

  Varvara w
as starting to question who was really running the hospital. Even so, she had confidence that her talk with the director would give her clarity and perspective. Maybe things weren’t as bad as she thought they were. She could convince him to make some small but incremental changes that would improve the situation in the institution immensely.

  The office door opened, and the director popped his head out.

  “Nurse Venari, you can come in.”

  Varvara rose from the couch and smoothed out her dress nervously. She stepped into the doctor's office and sat in the wooden chair in front of his desk. The director was a soft-spoken man and usually tried to accommodate any desires his personnel had. He did his best to avoid conflicts.

  “So, Nurse Venari, how can I help you?” asked the director.

  Varvara had carefully thought about what she wanted to ask. The situation was delicate—Doctor Dimitriou could not find out about her visit to the director’s office.

  “Doctor Petrov,” she said carefully, “I think I speak for all of us here at the hospital when I say that, lately, the mood has been very”—she paused as she searched for the right word—“grim.”

  “Hmm, yes.” Director Petrov nodded. As always, he agreed with everything he was being told. “I suppose you're right, Nurse Venari.”

  “This atmosphere isn’t healthy for the patients either, as you must have noticed.”

  “Yes, I have, Nurse Venari,” Petrov said.

  “The number of aggressive outbursts has grown, even among those of the patients who were never combative,” Varvara said.

  “Miss Venari, do you have a question or a complaint?” Doctor Petrov asked. She wasn’t surprised by his reaction. She knew he didn’t like hearing about the poor conditions in his hospital.

  “All of these changes happened recently,” Varvara said. “I'm not saying the two things are connected, but…” She stopped. She felt the need to look behind her to make sure that Doctor Perfect wasn’t standing over her shoulder, listening to her every word. She managed to chase that ridiculous thought out of her head. However, her next words were quiet. “Since Doctor Dimitriou came to the hospital—”

  “Nurse Venari,” Petrov said sharply.

  Varvara was surprised—he had never interrupted anyone in his life.

  “If I were you, I would choose my next words very carefully.”

  His tone was harsh and... angry? No, that wasn’t it. Doctor Petrov didn’t have the spine to get angry. The dilated pupils, the raised eyebrows, the trembling arms, the beads of sweat on his forehead—these were signs of fear. The director was so frightened by Persephone Dimitriou that he was ready to get in a fight with Varvara.

  “Doctor Dimitriou is a wonderful addition to our team. The work she does in the hospital is invaluable!” he said in a high voice and a fake tone.

  “Yes, but certainly you have noticed—” Varvara tried to say again.

  “I haven’t noticed anything other than the good work of Doctor Dimitriou,” Petrov said with a shaky voice. He whispered the next part: “Please, Nurse Venari, for your own good and the good of this hospital, leave this be! If you don’t leave this matter alone, I will have no choice but to fire you.”

  “But Mister Starosta—” she said, but Doctor Petrov interrupted her again.

  “Cayden is in the capable hands of Doctor Dimitriou. His condition is complicated, and we are doing the best we can. Doctor Dimitriou is treating him with an experimental medicine which will help him get better.”

  “Experimental medicine?” Varvara’s voice rose in alarm. It was forbidden to use experimental treatments on mentally ill patients. “Who allowed this?”

  “Me, of course, who else?” said Petrov, puffing his chest out. “I'm the director of this hospital. The decision was mine.”

  Frightened, Nurse Venari pulled herself away from the director. Doctor Petrov was under the full control of Doctor Perfect. She had made him believe that he was still running things while she was free to do as she pleased. Varvara had no idea what this “experimental medicine” was, but something told her it spelled trouble.

  “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Director Petrov,” Varvara said and got up from the chair.

  As she headed to the door, Doctor Petrov said, “Be careful, Miss Venari.” His voice trembled with fear. “Please. I don’t want to have to fire you. You are a good nurse.”

  Varvara left the room without saying anything.

  Her heart was beating like a drum. Before her talk with the director, Varvara had thought she was overreacting, but things were far worse than she’d feared.

  Whatever was happening in this hospital, Persephone Dimitriou was connected to it. She had full control over Doctor Petrov.

  Not only had the talk with the director not brought Varvara any clarity, but it also raised more questions. Varvara didn’t trust that this “experimental medicine” was helping Cayden. She had a terrible feeling that he didn’t have much time left.

  Chapter 3

  C ayden and the Frog finally reached the palace. A wooden drawbridge spanning a deep, wide moat led to a gateway. The massive bridge was wide as the street and lit by torches. The torches burned in different colors, some of which Cayden hadn’t seen before and didn’t have names for. Luminous light flowed from the windows of the palace, bathing the gathered crowds in a breathtaking glow. It looked like a scene from a fairy tale. The castle itself was gigantic, its huge towers ascending into the night sky.

  The throbbing sensation in his head was tangible here. It was as if the ground beneath his feet pulsated. How was no one else feeling that?

  “Do you see the guards in front of the gate?” the Frog asked from his pocket.

  Two armored boars stood guard in front of the gate at the end of the drawbridge. They carried leaf-bladed spears.

  “Whatever you do, do not look them in the eye. It will send them into a frenzy. They will go through every obstacle to get you. And once they do, they'll throw us both off the bridge.”

  “You're probably going to be comfortable in the ditch,” Cayden said.

  “Not exactly,” said the Frog. “I can’t swim.”

  “What? But you’re a—”

  “A frog, I know. Not all frogs can swim, all right?”

  “I'm pretty sure all frogs can...”

  “Just leave it!” said the Frog. “We have to find an invitation to the castle.”

  The amphibian popped his head out of Cayden’s pocket.

  “There.” He pointed to a pair of well-dressed goat-people. A piece of paper was sticking out of one of their back pockets. “They’re an easy target. Be careful you don’t get caught.”

  “You want me to steal it?!” Cayden asked, shocked. “Nope. No way. No, no, no. I’m not stealing that. Nuh-uh. How about we ask them to sell them to us?”

  “Yeah, right, as if someone is going to sell their invitation to the palace,” said the Frog. “And even if we find someone, it will cost as much as a house. Unless you have a hidden treasure buried somewhere, this is the only way.”

  The idea of stealing didn’t sit well with Cayden at all. But the pulsating sensation in his head became more powerful. A Presence was calling out to him from the castle. His desire to find out what It was overruled the fear of being caught stealing. After all, it shouldn’t be difficult to snatch the invitation unnoticed.

  Gulping, he headed to the pair of goat-people, praying quietly to every deity who might listen to him that his plan works.

  He approached the goats, his heart beating in his ears. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. When he got close enough, he reached out for the invitation with trembling hands, careful not to be noticed by someone. He couldn’t believe that just minutes after meeting the mysterious talking Frog, he was stealing! He had never stolen in his whole entire life! Granted, he didn’t remember his life, but he had a feeling he had been an honest guy before he lost his memory.

  He grabbed the invitation in his hands and pulled it from the pocket
of his victim. The goat didn’t notice. Cayden immediately turned around and put the piece of paper in his own pocket, exhaling loudly.

  “Would you stop being so obvious?!” whispered the Frog from his pocket. “Everyone’s going to notice. Just be cool.”

  Cayden tried to relax his nerves, but it was almost impossible. His hands were shaking, and he didn’t know where to put them. That was it. He was officially a thief.

  “What now?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the crime he’d just committed.

  “Now you’re going to walk casually up to the guards and hand them the invitation. Remember—act like you belong.”

  “How do I do that?” asked Cayden, who was getting more and more anxious.

  “Just be casual.”

  The Frog’s explanation didn’t help at all. The last thing Cayden felt was casual. Among all these weird creatures in fancy dresses, he stuck out like a sore thumb. His hands didn’t stop shaking, and on top of that he was sweating like a pig. Ironically, the boar-like guards didn’t seem to be sweating at all.

  He walked around the crowd a bit, trying to be as relaxed and nonchalant as possible.

  “What are you doing?” asked the Frog.

  “I’m being casual.”

  “You’re being weird. You’re walking in circles. Just head for the entrance already. I swear, if you don’t relax, the guards are going to notice you.”

  Cayden glanced at the watchmen. As soon as he looked at them, his nervousness doubled. No, he couldn’t do it. It was too much.

  “You know what,” he said, “let’s just leave it. We’ll come another day.”

  “There isn’t going to be another day,” whispered the Frog. “This is the only day of the year when they allow citizens inside the castle. We either get in now, or we lose our opportunity.”