What Happened to Lori

What Happened to Lori Page 43

by J. A. Konrath

 

  The creepy alien who called himself the Watcher shambled over to Presley after she passed out, a rictus of pain still sculpted into her face. He rubbed the greasy yellow spot on his wrist and did something with his ray gun gizmo to wake her up.

  Presley’s eyes popped open, showing obvious alarm.

 
 

  The Watcher stroked Presley’s hair.

  “Painful, yes? On par with the obedience prod, I am told. I call it a supplication collar. You all have been fitted with them. They are hooked to your neural pathways, and can also be triggered by pheromone secretions.”

  “You rub that thing on your arm to activate the collar?”

  “Congratulations for paying attention, Mr. Kadir. It is a directional pheromone excretion from my exocrine gland. Similar to your Wi-Fi, but with chemicals.”

  “Like how a dog can sniff out a bitch in heat.” He eyed Presley.

  “Similar to that, but a bit more complicated. If you try to touch your collars, they will activate. If you even think about trying to touch them, they will activate. If you try to touch the collar of another volunteer, both will activate.”

  “So I can’t think about the collar?” The moment the words left Doruk’s mouth, the collar activated. He screamed and writhed and sobbed and eventually passed out.

 

  The Watcher revived Doruk, and the dumb lunk went nuts with panic.

  “I can’t stop thinking about it! I can’t stop—”

  Again Doruk did a strapped-down pain dance, veins in his head throbbing, his hands clenched so tight his fingernails dug into his palms and bled onto his table.

  Making it even better, Kadir glanced at Presley and basked in the absolute horror on her face.

 

  Sadly, it only happened two more times before Doruk figured out how not to think about his collar. Either that, or his brain became fried with pain to the point where he couldn’t think about anything.

 

  The trick to all successful sycophantry involved airing confidence and radiating strength while still being respectful and deferential. Powerful men don’t respond to boot-licking toadies. They required obedience, but never fully respected subservience.

  “Mr. Watcher, obviously your power and intelligence are way beyond our comprehension. What could someone like you want with us?”

  The Watcher’s bumpy, mottled, slack face brightened at the compliment.

  “An excellent question, Mr. Kadir, and I appreciate you showing me my due respect. The short answer is; you have all volunteered to help save lives. The lives of my people.”

  “You talk real good for an alien. Sound like you could be on the TV news.”

  The Watcher nodded.

  “I have extensively studied and practiced your 2017 culture. My actual dialect is so advanced it would be impossible for you to understand.”

  Doruk overcame his stupor long enough to blurt out something stupid. “Your nose looks like a butthole!”

  Kadir bit his tongue to avoid smiling.

  The Watcher reached for his wrist, but Doruk shocked himself, apparently thinking about the collar again.

  The Watcher woke him up.

  “Mr. Doruk, I am compelled to ask. Were you dropped on your head as a child?”

 

  Doruk slurred his words. “When I was a kid, I got hit with a fastball in the head. And a hockey puck in the head. And I fell off my bike once, and hit my head.”

  “Have you ever heard of a helmet?”

  “Helmets are for sissies.”

  “Might I posit, Mr. Doruk, that chronic traumatic encephalopathy caused by repeated concussive brain injury is measurably worse than being called a sissy?”

  “Are we going to Mars?”

  “You need to shut up, Doruk.”

  “Take the advice of Mr. Kadir, Mr. Doruk. Or I may shut you up myself.”

  The Watcher stepped away and spread his hands.

  “As for why you are here, you can all thank Mr. Pilgrim for your current situation. Mr. Pilgrim has a unique genetic makeup that is essential to my kind.”

  He walked up to Grim and caressed his cheek.

  “We need your pheomelanin.”

  The ex-cop made a face. “My what?”

  “To put it into terms you can understand, it is a chemical pigment manufactured by your body. Among other things, it is responsible for your red hair.”

  “And you want red hair? Is this why you took Lori? You don’t have Rogaine in space?”

 

  As if cued, the Watcher stroked that mucus spot on his arm, and the ex-cop screamed and blacked out.

  Once again, Presley looked horrified.

 
 

  The Watcher revived Grim.

  “Let us stop with the insults, shall we?”

  Grim appeared ready to sob. “What is it you want with us?”

  “Your genes are valuable, Mr. Pilgrim. More valuable than you can possibly imagine.”

  “How about me, Mr. Watcher? How can I help you?”

  The Watcher raised the ray gun.

  “This device I hold is known as a sculptor. It uses a molecular DNA laser in conjunction with an amino acid push to modify the body. It can be used to heal.”

  The Watcher went to Doruk, stroked his wrist, then waved the sculptor ray gun injection thing over Doruk’s bound body.

  An image shot out of the ray gun, sort of like a motion picture projector, but all 3D and expensive-looking. It showed Doruk’s insides, all of his bones and guts and veins, his heart pumping. A lot of blood pooled and swirled around a dark mushroom, lodged in his side.

 

  Kadir stared, fascinated, as the Watcher pressed the trigger and the bullet pushed itself out of Doruk’s body—

  —then the bullet hole closed.

  The hologram image zoomed in, until Doruk’s blood vessels were the size of garden hoses. Many were broken, but as the ray gun hummed, they reattached themselves.

  “Regeneration at the cellular level. But the sculptor can do more with flesh than heal it.”

  The Watcher raised the sculptor gun, gave Doruk a jab in the head with the needle on the end, and squeezed the trigger again.

  Doruk yelped as his ear sliced off. Neatly, no blood, like ordering ham at the deli.

  Kadir couldn’t hide his delight at what happened next; Doruk’s ear got grafted to his cheek.

  “Mr. Watcher… that’s amazing.”

  “With this tool, I can sculpt flesh in any shape I choose.”

  Doruk looked all around, squinting. “What happened?”

  Kadir was happy to tell him. “Your ear is on the side of your face.”

  “Ain’t that’s where it always is?”

  “Your cheek, you moron. Your ear is stuck to your cheek.”

  Doruk spent an amusing few seconds trying to peer down at his own cheek.

  “Allow me to assist you, Mr. Doruk.”

  The next needle jab entered Doruk’s eye, and as he thrashed and howled, the Watcher plucked it out and relocated it to the tip of his nose.

  “I have maintained the optic nerve pathway to the BA8 in the frontal cortex, so Mr. Doruk can still see.”

  Kadir heard Presley
retch, but he was too transfixed to look at her.

  Doruk’s eyeball, stuck on the end of his nose, began to glance around.

  Then Doruk screeched like a child being beaten.

  “Mr. Doruk, I know the process is not without discomfort, but please refrain from raising your voice.”

  The screaming continued.

  The Watcher performed another stab/zap, removing a chunk of something out of Doruk’s throat and then sealing his lips together so his mouth wouldn’t open.

  Kadir laughed.

  “You find this situation amusing, Mr. Kadir?”

  “I’ve been wanting to shut his yappy mouth for years. You did the world a favor, Mr. Watcher.”

  The Watcher moved over to Kadir raising the sculptor.

 

  “So that sculptor thing can heal me? I got something wrong with my neck.”

  The beam came on. “A fractured C3 cervical vertebrae. Plus poison ivy, a bullet wound in the hand, and the obvious cutaneous ultra-violet radiation exposure, shared by all of you.”

  Kadir furrowed his eyebrows. “Radiation?”

  Presley spoke up. “Sunburn.”

  “Very good, Ms. Presley. Mr. Fabler has done an admirable job trying to prepare you for this. A pity you chose to steal from him rather than pay more attention. But I am going to fix it. We certainly do not want any DNA damage. Allow me to demonstrate on Mr. Kadir.”

  Kadir watched the needle come at him, and he braced himself, refusing to flinch.

  And then—

 

  The itch from the poison ivy? Gone.

  The pain in his neck? Gone.

  The hole in his hand? Healed.

  “The sculptor can even repair scar tissue. The pit-marks from the acne of your youth, all smoothed out. You have male pattern baldness, Mr. Kadir. Would you like me to fix it?”

  “If it pleases you, Mr. Watcher.”

  Kadir felt his head tingle, and bangs grew down over his eyes. Then a hologram of Kadir’s brain projected out of the sculptor.

  “This is your neural network, Mr. Kadir. Are you aware you are a psychopath?”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “That is not an insult. Psychopathy has many distinct evolutionary advantages.”

  Kadir couldn’t help but ask. “So… what else can that thingy fix?”

  The Watcher scanned the rest of Kadir’s body.

  “I cured your Toxicodendron radicans contact dermatitis, and fixed your bones and skin and flesh and hairline, and even took away the sunburn. But the sculptor cannot regenerate missing tissue from scratch. I am afraid your testicles and prostate will remain lost.”

  “You don’t have balls, Kadir?” Grim guffawed. “Sucks to be you.”

  Kadir shot him a look, wishing Grim dead.

  “Leave the taunting for the playground, Mr. Pilgrim. I will not remind you again. As for you, Mr. Kadir, I do have the ability to graft new testes on you.”

  Kadir grinned. “Who do I have to kill for you to get that done, Mr. Watcher?”

  “I appreciate the offer. You no doubt despise your partner, Mr. Doruk. Would you like his testicles for your own?”

  “I’d be very grateful if you did that, Mr. Watcher.”

  “Where would you like them? On your forehead?”

  Kadir’s smile lapsed.

 

  Kadir chose his next words carefully. “You’ve shown me things beyond my understanding, Mr. Watcher. I’m grateful. And I’d be honored to serve you any way I can.”

  Kadir studied the alien’s face, hoping he’d buy it.

  “I appreciate that. I believe I do have a position for you. How would you like to be immortal, Mr. Kadir?”

  “I would like that a lot, Mr. Watcher.”

  The pain attacked everywhere at once, and Kadir’s first thought was his supplication collar had been triggered.

  Then he saw his detached arms floating in front of his face.

  Kadir’s legs came off next, and then organs were plucked from his body with their veins and arteries still attached.

  Kadir couldn’t imagine a worse pain.

 
 

  Kadir watched his heart beating in front of his eyes, screaming louder than he’d ever made anyone scream, until the scream got cut off with his severed head.

  GRIM ○ 9:51+am

  He closed his eyes and tucked his chin into his collarbone, turning away during Kadir’s vivisection.

  When the screaming stopped, Grim chanced a look and then saw Kadir’s various parts floating in the air, being divvied up into transparent containers that closed themselves around the limbs and organs, like bubbles.

 
 
 
 
  As Kadir’s entrails curled themselves up like a garden hose, Grim glanced at Presley, hoping her eyes were shut.

  Presley stared back at him.

  He held the gaze, drawing strength from it, trying to send strength back.

  “Now it is your turn, Mr. Doruk.”

  A blood and guts tornado whirled through the room, accompanied by a disturbing lack of sound. No cries from Doruk, whose mouth remained sealed. No tearing or ripping or slicing noises. Just the soft, almost musical, hum of the sculpting gun, which somehow made the gore even more obscene.

  In Grim’s peripheral vision, he saw Doruk’s spinal cord rip from his back, the ribcage still attached, organs pouring out and floating to the ceiling, flapping around their heads like birds.

  Grim kept staring at Presley. He told her, in his head, we’re going to get through this.

  Eventually, mercifully, the carnage abated. The bubblejars floated away. All that remained was a sheen of bodily fluids, coating the floor.

  “You appear worried, Mr. Pilgrim. Concerned about your fate?”

  “Do whatever you want to me. Let Presley go.”

  “Thank you for the permission. For your edification, I am going to harvest some of your DNA. It is not as dramatic as the fates that have befallen Mr. Kadir and Mr. Doruk, but I have been told it is somewhat uncomfortable without the dopamine enhancers. You can earn those, in the future, with good behavior. But the taste of the carrot is not nearly as rewarding without knowing the sting of the stick.”

  The Watcher approached, raising the sculpting gun. Grim steeled himself.

  The injection hurt a little bit.

  “Not too bad.”

 

  “I repaired the damage Mr. Doruk did to your face. Now the extraction shall begin.”

  Agony ensued.

  Unlike the supplication collar, which prompted a burning, stinging kind of pain, the DNA harvest felt like a million little knives gouging into Grim’s body, taking out scoops of flesh.

  He clenched his teeth, fighting the anguish that went on and on, trying to be strong for Presley, staring through squinty eyes as cells were drawn out of him like juice being squeezed from fruit, and as Grim felt the scream welling up in his lungs, it ended and the Watcher turned away, pointing the sculptor at himself.

  If what had happened earlier was bizarre, what happened next was downright inexplicable.

  First, the Watcher let his robe drop to the floor, revealing a naked body ravaged by boils and suppurating sores. Then injected himself with the needle on the gun. The Watcher’s eyes rolled up into his head, his countenance taking on the angelic ecstasy of someone high as balls on heroin. Then the Watcher floated into the air and—

  —his entire body turned inside out.

  The Watcher’s skin inverted,
and all of his insides became his outsides, an undulating mass of wet tissue.

  Whatever he’d extracted from Grim—all the tiny droplets had coalesced into a fibrous lump—floated toward the Watcher and…

 
 
  Grim didn’t understand what he was seeing. It looked like the Watcher was dropped into a molecular blender, every cell churning into a paste as it mixed with Grim’s DNA.

  Seconds after it began, it ended, and the Watcher returned to his recognizable form. With a few notable differences.

  He was no longer pale.

  All the boils on his body had vanished.

  He gained several pounds in muscle.

  And he still wore an expression like he was high as balls.

 

  The Watcher bent over, picking up his robe, draping it over his shoulders. He smiled placidly at Grim, revealing yellow, nubby teeth.

  “The healing power of the human body is quite remarkable. You will regain all of your lost mass in the next week or so. Until then, you will be put in the breeding program.”

  “I choose Presley.”

  “That is not how the breeding program works, Mr. Pilgrim.”

  “What happens to her?”

  “Is Ms. Presley the one you are really concerned for? Would you rather know what fate befell your sister, Lori? We have been watching for a long time. Lori is an obsession with you.”

  “What happens to Presley?”

  “What if I told you, right now, where Lori is. But you would never see Ms. Presley again. Would you take that deal?”

  Grim stared at Presley. “Not in a million years.”

  “Congratulations, Mr. Pilgrim. First you cured yourself of alcohol reliance. Now you have shown the ability to overcome your unhealthy obsession with the loss of your sister. As for Ms. Presley…”

  The Watcher’s smile faded.

  “I shall attend to Ms. Presley right now.”

  The Watcher moved to Presley and raised the sculptor.

  Grim wondered if he should say something. Kadir had been doing a good job brown-nosing the Watcher, up until the Watcher butchered and canned him.

 
 

  Grim settled for maintaining eye contact.

 

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