The Girl in the Box 01 - Alone

by Crane, Robert J.

  After a visit to the medical unit to make sure I was all right, Ariadne had asked me to see Dr. Sessions. I’d agreed. So there I sat, clad once more in a long sleeved turtleneck, jeans, and with a pair of heavy mittens they’d rummaged for me, on his examination table, him keeping an arm’s length away while he talked.

  “I thought that succubi…uh…” I blushed as I thought about having to ask the doctor the question that was on my mind. Ariadne and Dr. Perugini were both in the lab as well, hovering in the background. Perugini, in particular, looked as though she was ready to level Dr. Sessions, staring at him from across the room through half-slitted eyes. “…slept with men in order to steal their souls.”

  Dr. Sessions smiled, which at the present moment didn’t creep me out as much as it might have a week ago. “No. Well,” he rescinded, “you could, I suppose, but all that’s necessary is the touch of your skin. You touch someone with your bare hands, or your face – anything involving flesh to flesh contact, and they’ll start to feel the effects of your power.”

  “Mom knew,” I said in a low whisper. “That’s why she had rule #4.”

  “Excuse me?” Sessions looked at me.

  “My mom,” I explained. “She had a rule that I wasn’t allowed to wander around the house without being fully dressed, down to having on gloves at all times. I assumed that it was because we had to be ready to run at a moment’s notice.”

  “Yes, your mother likely knew,” he agreed, turning back to some printouts of the data he’d accumulated on me through our testing. “She was probably the source of your power; I suspect she was a succubus as well. It’s very rare, of course; most of our data on succubi is apocryphal – in fact, there’s only one in our records known to be alive.” He chirruped with a twitter of excitement. “Well, three now, I suppose, counting you and your mother.”

  “How…do I kill someone by touching them?” I asked, still in disbelief.

  “Looking for a scientific explanation?” He shrugged, still an air of whimsical amusement, as though he were so excited by the prospect of a new subject for study that he failed to realize that I might be feeling something other than what he was. “I can’t explain it without studying the effect in more detail. Of course, we brought Wolfe’s body back for study—” he pointed to a white sheet on a nearby table, covering a monstrous corpse—“which should be just a wealth of information. Since this is the first chance anyone’s had to study a confirmed victim of a succubus, it’s really a pioneering step…”

  Victim. His words drifted past me after that, and as he kept talking, I thought about Wolfe as a victim. Wolfe had never been a victim of anything in his life until I came along. He made victims; he wasn’t one. Until now.

  Now he was my first.

  “…so I’ll be studying him. Of course there are tests I’ll be wanting to run on you as time goes by, and hopefully we can get to the bottom of the root physiological causes of your power.” Sessions clapped his hands together and looked at me with unsuppressed glee. “It’s very exciting, isn’t it?”

  I cast a look back at Wolfe, still hidden under the sheet. “Thrilling.”

  It is thrilling, isn’t it…

  I ignored the voice in my head and turned back to Dr. Sessions. “A question about succubi…aren’t they supposed to drain the souls of their victims?”

  He entertained a high, giggly laugh. “Yes, according to anecdotes, incubi – the male counterpart of your type of meta – and succubi steal the souls of their victims, but of course they also are reported to do it through sexual contact, which is not what happened in this case.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose, suddenly disheveled. “Right?”

  A wave of revulsion passed over me. “I grabbed him around the throat, Doc.”

  “Oh, okay, that’s what I thought.” He recovered and shifted back to glee. “I think it doubtful you ‘stole his soul’,” Sessions said with a scornful laugh. “Bear in mind that also in the mythological descriptions is the idea that a succubus or incubus comes to their victim in their dreams, which is,” he said with another giggle, “absolutely preposterous.”

  I stared back at him. “Right.”

  “I think you can see the myth and reality when it comes to meta-humans is somewhat divergent.” He smiled. “Any other questions? Very good, then. Well, you get back to recovering under Dr. Perugini’s able ministrations and I’ll give you a call as soon as I have anything of interest to report.”

  “Doctor,” I said as I stood. “This power…” He stared back at me, curious as to what I was going to ask. “Does this mean I’m never going to be able to touch anyone…ever?”

  “Through heavy clothing you can. We’ll need to do some study, but I suspect that there’s a certain thickness of material that will prevent bleedthrough of your powers.” He adjusted his glasses once more.

  “I meant with my skin.” My mouth was dry, but I didn’t need a drink.

  Well…no, I…I think not,” he stuttered. “We’ll research the effect further, but it seems that if you killed Wolfe with your touch, then it will have the same effect on anyone else you happen to be in contact with.” He seemed satisfied with his answer until he looked over my shoulder. I turned in time to see Dr. Perugini shaking her head in disgust and Sessions amended, “But…we need to do more research to be certain.”

  Dr. Perugini made a rattling sound of annoyance in her throat and reached up to place her hand on my back, avoiding touching the skin. Ariadne walked next to me and we descended into the underground tunnel back to the HQ building.

  “So,” Ariadne began, “now that Wolfe is out of the picture, have you given any thought to your next move?”

  “Not really.”

  “You could stay here,” Ariadne answered, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” I replied, “so I suppose I will for now.”

  “I meant long-term,” she corrected. “Our facilities and resources for meta-humans are unparalleled. We can help you learn how to control and harness your power.”

  Control and harness, two words that mean they’d like to make you their willing slave…

  “Can we please focus on getting her to the point where she’s no longer badly wounded before we start talking about anything else?” Dr. Perugini’s irritation finally broke loose, causing Ariadne to do as the doctor ordered. Parting ways with us at the medical unit, Ariadne promised to stop by again later to check on me. Dr. Perugini walked me back to my bed, filling the air with florid Italian curses. I doubt she realized I knew them.

  “Rest,” Perugini commanded before she disappeared into her office. I lay back, resting my head on the pillow following the doctor’s exhortation, and glanced around the medical unit. The curtains were down and the bay was empty.

  They want to own you…they want to make you their property…run while you can…

  “I can’t yet,” I said, voice no higher than a whisper. “I need answers.”

  They don’t want to give you answers; they want you to work for them, to…kill for them.

  I snorted, staring into the steel wall opposite my bed. “Let me ask you something…where’s my mom?”

  I don’t know. And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.

  “You’re lying.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I looked up, startled. Dr. Perugini had appeared from her office door and crossed the bay. “Who were you talking to?”

  I tried to keep my expression blank. “Myself. Bad habit, I’m afraid. It’s what happens,” I said with a light chuckle, “when you have no one but Mom to talk to for years and years.”

  “Ah,” she said. Her face bore discomfort and I could tell she felt sorry for me. “Here you go; something to dull the pain.” She dropped two pills into my outstretched hand and reached to the side table where a pitcher of water sat, poured me a glass and handed it over. She watched as I dropped the pills in my mouth and drank half a glass. “Anything else I can do for you?”


  “No,” I said.

  “You’ll be healed by tomorrow. Nasty marks on your neck should all be gone by then. Skull fracture too; it’s already almost knitted together.”

  “Thank you.” I mouthed the words, not sure if I really meant them. I felt a sudden urge to hit her, to beat her bloody and then slam her head in the door until she stopped moving, and then…

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Dr. Perugini looked at me, eyes searching mine.

  I looked at the blank steel plating that covered the wall across from my bed, the shiny, reflective surface, then looked back at her with a practiced smile. “I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all. And my head hurts. It’s been a long day.”

  “Of course. I’ll leave you alone. Just call out if you need anything.” With a smile, she turned and went back into her office, closing the door behind her.

  You wanted to do it, to beat her, to kill her…

  “No, I didn’t,” I whispered, softer this time.

  You did; I felt it; you’re coming around to my way of thinking…

  “No.” I stared at the wall, and I could see just the faintest image of myself. “Tell me where my mother is.”

  Told you. Don’t know…and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.

  Somewhere in her office, Dr. Perugini must have hit the light switch, because the medical unit was bathed in darkness, broken only by the faint light of instrument panels. I looked back at the steel, mirrored surface across from me and my face was gone, replaced by black eyes and teeth that looked unusually sharp; predatory, even. I smiled, and my voice came out harsher, lower and more rasping than usual.

  “We’ll see about that…Wolfe.”

  About the Author

  Robert J. Crane was born and raised on Florida's Space Coast before moving to the upper midwest in search of cooler climates and more palatable beer. He graduated from the University of Central Florida with a degree in English Creative Writing. He worked for a year as a substitute teacher and worked in the financial services field for seven years while writing in his spare time. He makes his home in the Twin Cities area of Minnesota.

  He can be contacted in several ways:

  Via email at cyrusdavidon@gmail.com

  Follow him on Twitter - @robertJcrane

  Connect on Facebook – robertJcrane (Author)

  Website – robertJcrane.com

  Other Books by Robert J. Crane

  The Sanctuary Series

  Epic Fantasy by Robert J. Crane

  The world of Arkaria is a dangerous place, filled with dragons, titans, goblins and other dangers. Those who live in this world are faced with two choices: live an ordinary life or become an adventurer and seek the extraordinary.

  Defender

  The Sanctuary Series, Volume One

  Cyrus Davidon leads a small guild in the human capital of Reikonos. Caught in an untenable situation, facing death in the den of a dragon, they are saved by the brave fighters of Sanctuary who offer an invitation filled with the promise of greater adventure. Soon Cyrus is embroiled in a mystery - someone is stealing weapons of nearly unlimited power for an unknown purpose, and Sanctuary may be the only thing that stands between the world of Arkaria and total destruction.

  Available Now!

  Avenger

  The Sanctuary Series, Volume Two

  When a series of attacks on convoys draws suspicion that Sanctuary is involved, Cyrus Davidon must put aside his personal struggles and try to find the raiders. As the attacks worsen, Cyrus and his comrades find themselves abandoned by their allies, surrounded by enemies, facing the end of Sanctuary and a war that will consume their world.

  Available Now!

  Savages

  A Sanctuary Short Story

  Twenty years before Cyrus Davidon joined Sanctuary, his father was killed in a war with the trolls and he has never forgiven them. Enter Vaste, a troll unlike most; courageous, loyal and an outcast. When Cyrus and Vaste become trapped in a far distant land, they are forced to overcome their suspicions and work together to get home.

  Available Now!

  Champion

  The Sanctuary Series, Volume Three

  As the war heats up in Arkaria, Vara is forced to flee after an ancient order of skilled assassins infiltrates Sanctuary and targets her. Cyrus Davidon accompanies her home to the elven city of Termina and the two of them become embroiled in a mystery that will shake the very foundations of the Elven Kingdom – and Arkaria.

  Coming this Spring!

  A Familiar Face

  A Sanctuary Short Story

  Cyrus Davidon gets more than he bargained for when he takes a day away from Sanctuary to visit the busy markets of his hometown, Reikonos. While there, he meets a woman who seems very familiar, and appears to know him, but that he can't place.

  Coming this Summer!

  Untouched

  The Girl in the Box, Book 2

  Still haunted by her last encounter with Wolfe and searching for her mother, Sienna Nealon must put aside her personal struggles when a new threat emerges – Aleksandr Gavrikov, a metahuman so powerful, he could destroy entire cities – and he's focused on bringing the Directorate to its knees.

  Coming Summer 2012!

  Soulless

  The Girl in the Box, Book 3

  Coming Summer 2012!

  SAMANTHA’S PROMISE

  Nicholas J. Ambrose

  After a long and stressful week, capped by a thunderstorm and attracting the unwanted attention of a man in a bar, Samantha is too strung up to take Imogen, her younger sister, cycling. So she does the next best thing: she makes a promise to do it next weekend instead.

  As the weeks pass, though, Samantha’s promise fails to materialise, slipping further and further away until she has almost forgotten about it. After all, there’s always next week – and Imogen can go alone if she’s that desperate.

  But unbeknownst to Samantha, next week might never come. Because there’s something very, very wrong with Imogen – and the ten-year-old’s time is quickly running out.

  Available on Kindle now

  Carry on reading for the opening chapter!

  Chapter One

  Welcome to Thoroughfare!

  1

  Samantha Brown was meant to have finished work three hours ago. At five o’clock. But instead it was eight in the evening, she was the last one to leave the office, and all the blue sky had been eaten up by bruised clouds, letting loose every bucketload they had.

  To add insult to injury, the last bus had been an hour ago. So instead of getting a ride the two miles or so home, Samantha had to walk it. In the torrential rain.

  This, clearly, was not her day.

  The young woman hurried down the street, plastic folder held precariously over her head – for what little good it did, as now the rain went down her sleeve instead of soaking her hair – and cursed.

  After a quarter mile a car hurtled past her, horn blaring – wasn’t that meant to be a warning? Or was some prick taunting her for getting stuck in this? – and a thick spray churned up by its wheels splashed the full left-hand side of Samantha’s body. Shoes, jeans – jacket. Three weeks ago that had been new.

  So it was no surprise when she saw the flashing neon sign of the bar up ahead that she gritted her teeth and decided the best thing to do was to stop, seek shelter, and try again later, when – if, cynical voice reminded her – the weather had passed, or at least lightened to something a little more manageable.

  Samantha ran the last fifty feet flat out, stepped into the small alcove into which the door was set, and shook herself dry as best possible. Folder especially – couldn’t have that getting wet, she reminded herself drily. Then, with a sigh, she pushed through the door and walked inside.

  2

  How many times had Samantha passed this place without ever having stopped in? She had expected it to be small and dingy, but in truth what she stepped into looked immaculate. The entire room was decked out in shining, rounded m
ahogany, and split into two: one raised third, almost like a podium above the rest, on which the bar itself was housed, lined with tall steel seats with artistically twisted legs; and the remainder at ground level, populated with round and square tables that were surrounded by wooden chairs with plush red cushion seats. Against one wall was a jukebox – forties style, which was pretty cool – beside which stood a man who was keying away with his back to her. At the moment there was a low tune playing that Samantha might have heard on the radio. Might.

  Samantha took this all in with pleasant surprise. She let out a breath of relieved tension which she was unaware she’d been holding, patted her shoulder-length blonde hair – it was damp, but better than what she could say for the rest of her – and crossed to the bar. Placing her folder down gingerly onto the smooth surface, she lowered herself into one of the seats. It was so tall she dropped only maybe an inch in height.

  On the surface of the bar itself was a small touch-screen display, which illuminated itself as Samantha sat down.

  A jovial electronic voice greeted, “Hello! Welcome to Thoroughfare! Please make your selection.”

  Samantha’s lips drew down into a line. She hadn’t really wanted a drink, but there was little else to do – the bar was practically empty, she had no intention of talking, and the only thing she had with her beyond her phone was the folder of work which she did not want to look at another second tonight – and so she studied the first page of drinks she was presented with. These must have been the most popular selections, she mused; beers and lagers and cider lined the top rows, followed by a handful of colourful cocktails.