by Peter David
“Don’t get yourself in an uproar, Dr. Frankenstein,” said Gunn cheerily, and he tossed the small unit to Rochelle. “We scraped that off the propeller blade that made coleslaw out of ’im. Should be more than enough.”
Rochelle stared in through the clear, albeit frosted, top. “Oh, yes,” he said excitedly. “Yes, indeed.”
“Take Abigail to our holding center,” said Arcane easily, feeling utterly confident. “We should be ready for her in a bit.”
Gunn started to do as ordered when Abigail suddenly planted her feet and said, “My mother, you creep.”
Arcane raised a curious eyebrow. “Yes? What about her?”
“How did she fit into all of this?”
Arcane sighed deeply and folded his hands behind his back. “Developing a restoration drug over many years is a very demanding process. Your mother worked with us, as an assistant . . .”
“Or as a guinea pig?” snapped Abby.
He inclined his head slightly. “Semantics. Her death was an unfortunate side effect of our mutual experiments.” He walked toward her slowly, stopping several feet away. “Her genetic code was perfect . . . just like yours.”
It took a moment for it to sink in. “You’re . . . you’re going to do to me . . . what you did to my mother.”
“Her death was inadvertent, even tragic. Perhaps you will be more fortunate.”
“You son of a bitch!” she shrieked. “All your talk about how you loved her! How you cared about her! It was all just bullshit, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?”
He stepped forward quickly and slapped her across the face. “I loved your mother,” he said hotly, “as much as I have ever loved anyone. As much as I can love anyone. You have no idea what she meant to me. Even after her death, I never let her go. What becomes mine, remains mine, for eternity.”
Her cheek stinging, she fought back tears. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He stared at her for a moment, then with brisk steps walked over to the wall and slid aside a panel Lana Zurrell had never noticed before to reveal an array of colored switches. Arcane flipped the one in the upper left-hand corner.
Hidden motors whirred, and to Lana’s astonishment, part of the wall slid back to reveal a six-foot-tall upright container. A blast of cold emanated from it, and she realized the inside of the container was completely encrusted with ice.
No. Not completely.
Two-thirds of the way up, there was a clear spot: peering through it was a face.
The face resembled Abby’s. It’s eyes were wide open in a rictus of horror. Icicles hung from its eyebrows; its skin was blue; its frost-covered lips slightly parted as though about to speak. It stared at the world lifelessly.
“My dear,” Arcane said in a conversational tone, “you have a visitor. See?” He gestured toward Abby. “It’s your daughter. See how she’s grown? Isn’t she beautiful? As beautiful as you were.”
Abby’s mouth moved, but no words came out. Over in the corner, Lana Zurrell jammed a fist into her own mouth to prevent a scream.
“You see, Abby?” Arcane said proudly. “I did love her. I still do. No one can ever replace her in my heart. I shall love her forever. Of course, unfortunately . . .”—he smiled gently—“you always kill the one you love.”
Lana shut her eyes and heard her own scream echoing in her head, except it was coming from Abby. The scream went on and on, and she bit her lips until they bled to prevent her own scream from mingling.
She came very close to blacking out. Suddenly she felt a touch at her cheek and jumped slightly. She opened her eyes, and Arcane was there, smiling at her.
She looked around. Abby was gone. The frozen body of Abby’s mother was gone. Only the terror remained.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” he said softly. “I should have considered your feelings. That was probably something of a shock to you.”
Lana drew an unsteady breath and forced a smile. “After everything I’ve seen, you’d think nothing would shock me.”
“Yes. Now . . . I am feeling fatigued. I shall go rest before the operation. You assist Dr. Rochelle in the final preparations. And then, after the operation . . .”—he patted her cheek fondly—“we shall celebrate as never before.”
He turned and walked out of the lab, and Lana watched him go, feeling completely, utterly numb.
He had no idea, she realized. He had absolutely no idea how he, or anything he said or did, affected her.
She felt as if her mind were beginning to clear. Whatever magic he had used on her—personal magnetism, charm, hypnotism—whatever it had been that had attracted her to him, that had made her his virtual slave, was beginning to lose its potency. Perhaps he hadn’t reckoned on her strength of will. Perhaps he had simply become overconfident and hadn’t counted on the effects his acts would have on her.
Rochelle’s soft voice behind her made her jump.
“Dr. Zurrell?” he said. “I need your help in this.”
“Oh?” she replied, trying to put together a course of action. She stared at this horrid man with whom she’d worked and felt a wave of nausea.
“I need to draw a small amount of blood from you,” he said, his hands fidgeting. “Just as a test, you understand.”
“What about . . .” She licked her dry lips. “What about Conklin?”
“Well . . .” Rochelle sighed. “If I take any more I’m afraid I might kill him. Still, we can check his levels, I suppose.”
He now went to the same panel Arcane had been at moments before and flicked a different switch. This time another wall panel opened and Conklin, in a similar compartment but one not covered with ice, slid out. He was blanched, almost completely drained of blood.
“I would really hate for him to die,” said Rochelle unhappily. “I had something very special planned for him. I even had a special cage prepared.” He pointed over toward a darkened corner of the lab.
“Really?”
“Yes,” said Rochelle, warming to his subject. He started over toward the cage. “Believe me, its potential exceeds anything we’ve attempted thus far. I’ve developed a pyridoxine hydrochloric emulsion that, when combined with a human pituitary extract, will produce a nearly spontaneous superdeveloped mutation.” He pointed toward a solution in a labeled vial in a test tube rack. Then he paused and smiled. “Remember that evolved man with a superbig head in The Outer Limits? That’s where I got the idea from.”
“Wouldn’t you be risking cranial hypertrophy?” Lana stopped next to a microscope on a nearby table.
“Nothing wrong with that,” was his cheerful reply. He opened the cage and reached in, pointing proudly. “Now you can see where I’ve reinforced the—”
He never completed the sentence, since the microscope crashed down across the back of his head. He went to his knees, tried to stagger up, and Lana brought it down a second time, knocking him cold.
She shoved him all the way into the cage and checked his skull. He might have had a concussion.
“Nothing wrong with that,” she echoed his words. Then she realized there was something wrong with that. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough for the little bloodsucker.
She glanced around at the test tube he had so proudly indicated moments ago. She smiled mirthlessly, and, dusting herself off, went to begin preparing a hypodermic.
The pain . . . of humanity . . .
I had forgotten . . . what it was like.
Earth mother . . . I cannot go out there again . . . and face that.
Why must it be like that? Why must there always be pain . . . when humans are involved?
The flame brought back memories . . . long buried . . . and traumatic. It sent me screaming back to the womb . . . to the cool earth . . . to hide . . . and cower.
But Abby needs me. I can feel her.
She has taken root . . . within me . . . and I cannot deny her . . . for it would be . . . to deny myself.
I am coming . . . Abby. The ghost of Alec Holland . . . is coming to save
you . . . and to put . . . other, evil ghosts . . . to rest.
15
The holding cell had been carefully prepared for, and frequently used by, the less enthusiastic guests of the Arcane Mansion in the past.
Now it was Abigail Arcane who sat inside the stark cell, staring with a dull look at the wall. There was some obscene graffiti scrawled on it that didn’t even register.
The cell door was heavy wrought iron with an intricate A carved in it.
Abby ran her fingers through her hair and brushed against the rose Alec had given her. She sighed slowly, trembling, trying to bring back to herself the feelings she had shared with him.
She heard a nasty chuckle and glanced at her current jailer. Johnny Gunn was seated outside, tilting his chair against the corridor wall.
“So, city girl,” he said, snickering, “how’d your ‘date’ with the swamp man go?”
“None of your business.”
Slowly he got up and walked toward the door. “Suppose I make it my business.”
“You couldn’t begin to understand.”
“Yeah? ’Splain it to me, reaaaallll ssssloooowwww.”
She stared at him as if studying a microbe.
“So, did you do it with him?” he asked again.
Why should I feel ashamed? “Yeah, I did it with him,” she said, getting to her feet. “You got a problem with that?”
He shook his head. “Jeez. You got more problems than I do, lady.”
“And why is that? For your information, I happen to love him, okay?”
He gestured widely. “You love him? Christ almighty! I love the salad bar at Wendy’s, but you don’t see me taking it to dinner and a show!”
She turned away from him, staring sullenly at the ground.
“You don’t get it, do ya, city girl? I’m tryin’ to be nice to you.”
And slowly it started to dawn on her.
She mumbled something softly enough to prompt him to ask, “What was that?”
“I said,” she said a bit more loudly, with a heavy sigh as if unburdening herself, “it’s probably because I never met a man who could . . . y’know . . . satisfy me.”
It hit him exactly where she thought it would: in the ego.
He hitched up his pants slightly and lit up another cigarette before saying, “That a fact?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder coyly. “Uh huh.” Then slowly she walked to the door and ran a finger across the bars. “Y’know . . . I know you’re trying to be nice to me. I’d be nice to you, too . . . except it’s tough behind bars.”
Slowly he dangled the cell key in front of her. She watched, not saying a word. He gestured for her to step back, and she did so, eyes never wavering.
He unlocked the door and stepped in before she could get past him. “Where you think you’re going?” he asked.
“Thought we’d walk around a little.”
“Y’want parole, is that it?”
“Something like that,” she said nervously.
“Well, then . . . first y’gotta show good behavior. So let’s see how good you can be.” He moved toward her slowly and was pleased to see she wasn’t backing away. “C’mon, city girl, let’s play doctor.”
She smiled back. “Sure thing, sweets. Bet’cha can’t guess my favorite operation.”
Grinning, he said, “What’s that, baby?”
She suddenly dropped to the ground and lashed out in a vicious side kick that caught Gunn square in the groin. He sank to one knee, gasping.
“A vasectomy, asshole,” she snapped, and bolted for the door.
She hadn’t counted on Gunn recovering as quickly as he did. He lunged, grabbing her wrist, and he staggered to his feet as he dragged her back. She tried to struggle, but he was holding her arms tight at her sides. Breathing in her ear he spat out, “Like that? Ten years training in Okinawa.”
He swung her around, blocking her knee with his leg, and kissed her harshly. He pulled back, grinning, and Abby viciously slammed her forehead into his nose. He let out a yell, putting a hand against her face to shove her head back, and she sank her teeth into him, drawing blood.
She pulled away from him, interlaced her fingers, and swung with all her strength. The rabbit punch landed squarely on the side of his head, dropping him like a rock.
“Like that?” she shot back. “Two days of vacation in East L.A.”
She turned, ran for the door, shoved through, dashed into the hallway, and got exactly five paces before Points dropped her with a right hook to the jaw.
Abby lay there, the ceiling spinning around, and she rubbed her throbbing jaw. Points hauled Abby to her feet as Gunn staggered out of the cell, still shaking off the effects of the ear blow he’d received.
Abby tried to refocus and saw half a dozen security men in the hallway. Gunn’s short laugh resounded behind her.
“You thought I’d go in the cell with you without having backup handy?” he demanded, shaking his head once more to clear it. “City girl, you must think I’m some sort of major idiot.”
Flexing her jaw once more to restore it to life, she said, “No, I didn’t think they promoted you past corporal idiot.”
The other guards chuckled, but Gunn silenced them with an angry stare.
“Get her down to the lab. Arcane should be ready for her.” As they started to haul her off down the hallway, he called after her, “Hey, city girl! Maybe we’ll get together in the next lifetime!”
And she shouted back, “Maybe! When I come back as a human, and you come back as a cockroach, I’ll make sure to step on you!”
“Wear high heels!”
He laughed, and was cut off by a scream.
He stared at Points.
“Damned if that didn’t sound like Arcane.”
Arcane sat bolt upright in his bed, his body covered in sweat, having awakened from a nightmare that had a sense of imminence to it.
He rolled off, fell once, staggered to his feet, and ran to the intercom. “Gunn!”
Obediently the security head’s voice came over the speaker. “Right here. You have a bad dream or something?”
“I’m living it. Bring Abby down to the lab.”
“Already being done.”
“Make sure Rochelle is ready.”
“I’ll have my people look for him. Anything else?”
“Yes.” He swallowed. “Holland is coming.”
There was a snort of disbelief. “No way. We quick-fried him. And even if he did come back, he’s only hot shit when there’s plants and stuff around. There isn’t a lick of green in this whole joint. Not on the grounds, not in—”
“I don’t care!” he shouted. “Make preparations. I’ll be right down.”
He released the talk button and leaned against the wall.
“Not this time, Holland,” he whispered, his body trembling. “Not this time.”
Through the great bay window of the main study, Arcane and Lana were surveying the perimeter of the area. The vast expanse of concrete provided some measure of satisfaction to Arcane. Still, it was difficult to anticipate everything. Was there anything he had overlooked? The samples taken from Holland’s body had been completely used up in developing the compound, the vitality sucked from them and the remains burned, so that would be of no help to him.
The experiment was going as planned. Everything would be perfect . . .
Except . . . there was something nagging at the back of his mind. Lately, as the deterioration had accelerated, it had been harder to think, harder to hold any thought for enough time to draw conclusions. There was something he was overlooking; he was certain. But what?
Gunn walked up to him and tossed off another mock salute. “I’ve got sensors all over the property. If anything breaks through those beams, we’ll know it.”
“Good,” said Arcane without looking away from the perimeter. “Have you located Dr. Rochelle yet?”
“My people swear he’s on the grounds, but no one’s seen him.”
>
Arcane bristled. “We need him for the operation.”
There was a reassuring touch on his arm. “Don’t worry, darling,” Lana said softly. “I’m fully capable of carrying on without the doctor.”
He looked down at her. She smiled lovingly, his obedient servant. “Of course you are.” He touched her chin. “Begin the preparations. I’ll be along in a moment.”
“Certainly.”
She walked away as Arcane turned to Gunn and spoke in a stern whisper: “Find Rochelle.”
“Ten-Four, Doc.” He turned as Points was entering the room and quickly gestured for her to follow.
Arcane took one last look out at the swamp.
The combatant would be coming for him.
“ ‘Lay on, Macduff,’ ” he whispered fiercely, “ ‘And damned be him that first cries “Hold, enough!” ’ ”
I do not have to see your gaze . . . to feel your evil . . . Arcane.
You poison . . . all you touch . . . you . . . and all your hellspawn allies . . . must be cleansed . . . from the earth.
Humans think nothing . . . of defoliating entire forests . . . in the name of war. This is war, Arcane . . . nothing less than war . . . and this time . . . the foliage is striking back.
16
Sheriff Beaumont walked slowly into the lobby of the Wein Motel, glancing automatically at the now vacant corner where that G-man had appeared determined to take up permanent residence.
“Where’d he go?” he asked.
From behind the counter Alan looked up. “He made some arrests and felt he at least had something to show for the horror that went on in there. Ask me now, I don’t think two producers of cheap alcohol balance the scales for the loss of four lives. Then again, I just work here.”
“Uh huh.” He started for the door.
“I wouldn’t,” said Alan calmly.
Beaumont paused and turned to look at the long-haired clerk. “Wouldn’t what?”
“Were you considering going to the Arcane Mansion?”
“Uh huh, yeah. Just thought I might do a little follow-up.” He grinned and traced a woman’s curve in the air. “Check out the scenery, if ya catch my drift.”