by Matthew Buza
“Jesus Christ.” His voice cracked as his lungs purged.
He still couldn't close his mind around what had happened. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his body, he rejected it as a hallucination. He was a man devoting his life to a science, a physical science, one predicated on touch, reason, and evidence. But here in this room, he had seen things. Things that would forever change how he viewed the world. He was feeling that warmth he had once heard about from his grandfather. Having had the time to reflect, he knew he felt it. It was that warmth, a comforting feeling. He knew he would never be able to run away from his faith.
On the center table was the woman's body. Parts of her flesh were still clean, giving off the pale white color that reflected so brightly in the fluorescent light. The rest of her was a different story. The autopsy incision was opened and the fleshy remains draped over her rib cage like paper hanging off the edge of a stack. It was frayed at the edges and loose and stained red.
The candles were on the ground, their fire long put out by the breath of the hot beast. The footprints could still be seen in the blood smears around the table. Amazingly, the salt barrier held. How it stopped that creature was still a mystery to Isaac. The claw marks could be seen where the creature had pulled itself out of her body. Clawing at the table and digging inch deep channels into the wood. The shavings piled up along the edge and along the base of the floor.
The cries and crawling still echoed in Isaac's head. He felt mad, like he belonged in a padded room. It was all too much. Isaac's hands gave off a subtle tremor and his mouth went dry. He reached out for the edge of a chair and slowly fell into the seat. His breathing shuddered as he held back his emotions. It was no time for tears. He was too deep and there was so much of him still in the room.
Isaac slowly lifted out of the chair and made his way across the room to the closet. Inside, he pulled out buckets, mops, and brooms. He was surprised earlier when he saw the amount of cleaning materials but assumed Lazarus liked a clean facility. He knew now there were other reasons.
It took him two hours to collect the blood into the center of the room. He ran a small hose and began to slowly wash the sticky soup of blood and powder down the main drain. He loaded the woman back into the body bag and cleaned off the table. There was nothing he could do about the claw marks. He scrubbed the grooves down to try and remove all of the dried and caked matter. Isaac was a ghost, slowly moving methodically across the room. His face was lost in a blank stare. He scrubbed and lifted and cleaned. He was numb and working was all he could do.
Beneath the woman's body was a small coin. He held it in his fingers and looked over the inscription on the edge. He assumed it must have been something dropped by one of the attendees. He placed it into his pocket and continued.
He was nearly finished when a crack sounded from the back of the room. Lazarus slowly walked in, hobbling gingerly on his left leg. He crossed the floor and sat in one of the chairs along the side of the table. Isaac stood like a statue watching the man as he held a trash bag filled with paper towels that were red and soaked through with a bloody soapy bleach solution. The room smelled of chemicals and bleach.
Lazarus looked around and leaned back in the chair. “You did a good job.”
“Thanks.” Isaac was cold and his eyes stared at Lazarus. He was waiting for some type of explanation.
Lazarus shifted, taking a deep breath. His arm went to his shoulder and he pulled down, releasing a loud popping noise as if a series of tree branches had broken under the strain. “That was an eventful night, well, the parts that I remember.”
Silence.
“Where's the girl?”
“I cleaned her up and put her back in the bag.”
“Good, good. I will have to call Eddy to come and pick her up.”
Isaac wasn't going to wait any longer. “What happened to that woman's body was disgusting. She didn't deserve that.”
Lazarus gave off a small snort of a laugh. “What do you think that girl was doing?”
“She was dead. She didn't do anything.”
“No no, why do you think we used her?”
“I don't know why you sick fucks did that to her.”
Lazarus patted the air with his hand. “Cool it, cowboy, I get you're upset, but that woman…that one…was deep in the occult. She was a Satanist, she welcomed the dead into her life, and she was a practicing conjuror. I don't see what happened to her as a bad thing. She was an imposter at best.” He shifted again in his chair.
“I don't care what she did in her life. She was dead and that's not a way to treat a body.”
“I hear you, but that woman had something in her. She was a monster as you clearly saw. Let me tell you something. That woman sitting there in that bag has been dead for almost two years.” Isaac was silent. “Did her body look it? No, it didn't. She looked like she was still alive, like a body in a coma. On top of that, we know that every month, she climbed out of whatever hole she was buried in and went off to kill someone.”
“Bullshit.”
“After this night, you are telling me…me, bullshit? There was a spirit inside her. She brought it there and it was her undoing. It was guiding her body and we needed to stop it.”
“I wouldn't call that a spirit.”
“Actually, it was an old spirit.”
“It looked like a demon of some sort.”
Lazarus smiled. “First, you don't know the difference. And if it was a demon, you would have known and you would have been chasing me out of the room. We would've had to call in the big guns to stop a demon.” He chuckled. “We don't waste our time with those.”
Isaac was confused. “That wasn't a demon?”
“No, sir. That was your average spirit. That girl called it up and they bonded together. Consider it a symbiotic relationship. It's no matter anymore. It's all taken care of. You wouldn't have happened to see a coin lying around here when you were cleaning up?”
Isaac reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold coin. “Yes, I found it under her body.”
Lazarus stood up arching his back. He relaxed and took the coin, slowly examining the markings. There was a shawl draped over the cross and on the base were small flowers. He slowly looked up to Isaac. “You were really a non-believer?”
“I'm sorry?”
“You didn't believe in Him?” Lazarus pointed up.
“Well…”
“The coins always tell a story. I haven't seen this marking in a while. I'm glad you've been brought here. It will be helpful for us going forward.”
“I'm sorry, brought here? Going forward?”
“Yes, you are my apprentice now.”
Isaac backed away, uplifting his hands to Lazarus. “Oh no, no. I'm sorry. I can't help you out. All of this is, just, well…this is not for me.”
Lazarus put his hand on Isaac's shoulder. “It's OK to be nervous. You did a good job tonight. That was not a trivial event. Most of these go easy. We do a séance and it ends perfectly fine. You just happened to catch a bad one.”
“Lazarus, I appreciate your confidence but I'm not staying around here. I cleaned up mainly in an effort to hide the fact I was here. I didn't know if you were ever going to get up.”
“Listen, just head home. Get some sleep and we can talk about this in a few days.”
“Lazarus, I don't think you understand, I don't want to do this with you. I tried to get a new position to get away from the crazy and that shit last night was beyond anything I can imagine. I'm leaving and I'm not coming back.”
Isaac was shaking as he walked past Lazarus and exited through the double doors.
“Isaac, just relax…” Lazarus struggled to keep up as he limped along the ground. “You can't run away from this.”
By the time Lazarus made it to the doors, Isaac was around the corner and heading up the stairs to the street above.
Lazarus stopped in the middle of the room and rested his hands on his hips. He was alone. “Well, Isaac, if you don'
t want to listen, it doesn't matter. You don't really have a choice anymore.”
In the distance, Lazarus heard the entrance door close.
Across the room was an old wooden box that sat on the edge of a table. Lazarus slowly walked over and rested his hands on the oiled surface. There was a small slit in the top just wide enough to accept a small coin. An old faded cross was etched on the side and the carved lettering was lost to time. Lazarus reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold coin. It disappeared. A white glow emerged from the box seams and then died back. He tapped the box with his hand and slowly made his way across the room to his office.
Review and Analysis
The doctor sat across from the table from Zinn. He had read the case file and spent the weekend studying up on the gory details of the event. This was his first time meeting with her since being appointed by the defense to assess Zinn's state of mind. There was only one question that he was tasked to answer:
Was Zinn mentally fit to stand trial for murder?
At the beginning of the meeting, he spent time reviewing the evidence and data surrounding the murders. She had been quiet, answering most of his questions using short phrases and one-word answers. She was more shocked at her predicament than remorseful for the situation. She seemed to have little sympathy for the children. It was as if she had separated from two people, the woman before the murders and the woman after. She spoke with a detached tone, like a woman under the influence of some medication. Her words floated out in a drunk rhythm and she seemed content and relaxed, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
They discussed her childhood, focusing on her relationship with her family. The doctor could not find any indication of severe trauma that might have caused her behavior. He furiously scribbled detailed notes across his pad, pausing from time to time to clarify her comments. Along the margin, the doctor added his analysis, marking specific points, answers, and bodily movements. He paused for a moment as the silence strung out across the room. His pencil hovered before scratching in the margin “Rational Woman”.
She knew that she had murdered the children. There was no doubt. She talked about her emotions while she was in the water. The void-like feeling as she leaned her head back to keep the water from splashing on her face. She reflected on how they fought back, clawing her arms and wrists, but giving up fast. She told the doctor she thought it would have taken longer.
“Why did you feel you needed to kill the children?”
Zinn paused for a moment. It was the first time she hesitated and the doctor noticed. When her voice opened, it cracked at first. She fought her answer as if her mind wrestled with the correct words. As the answer flowed, the doctor could see the hesitation leave her and her comfort level return. She spoke in paragraphs. The doctor stopped writing and absorbed her. He looked for cues as her story unfolded. When she finished, the doctor could see the release on her face. She looked at peace. She went through in great depth describing the evil nature of the children, their actions that built over the year, and eventually the arrival of the tormentor. The woman who had been having a sensible conversation for 45 minutes had suddenly, and without a noticeable change in her appearance or tone, shifted into what the doctor would later diagnose as a schizophrenic nightmare. The conversation continued, but she was stuck on the tormentor. The conversation was caught in an eddy of fear and terror. Her descriptions of him flowed out like a river into an open delta. She spoke as if she were staring into the creature's very eyes. As if the doctor were him. She didn't hold back. She choked back tears as she described the smoke, how his arms swayed heavily as he walked, how his knees bent and shook after each step. As she detailed her madness, the doctor finally understood what drove this woman to the unspeakable act.
This wasn't the first time the doctor had seen a schizophrenic patient, but he became unnerved each time she described the tormentor, each time she referred to him by that name. His skin crawled hearing this small frail woman speak so calmly about a smoking demon that followed her throughout the day.
How could the human mind be so fragile and weak? A woman who seemed normal one moment was able to commit such an abhorrent atrocity the next. Her mind had been broken and poisoned by this figure. This thing watched her every move, observing how she slept, ate, and showered. There were no boundaries as her delusion seeped into every aspect of her day.
He finally asked Zinn, “You've described this creature that follows you around. Can you tell me, do you still see him? Is… Is he here right now?”
Her eyes had been calm and focused during the interview. For the first time, he saw her pupils dilate and her eyes grow wide. Zinn stole a quick glance over the doctor's shoulder towards the blank wall behind. “He's been here since the beginning.”
The doctor's heart was racing and he almost didn't want to ask, “Since the beginning of what?”
“The interview.”
“Where is he?”
“He's behind you in the corner.”
The doctor shifted in his seat, curling his back to see where she indicated. There was nothing. An empty wall. He turned back to her. “I don't see anything. What do you see?”
“Him.”
“Who is he looking at?”
“Well…you, of course. He is interested in you.”
The doctor's eyes locked with Zinn's. For a brief moment, the doctor felt a warmth on the back of his neck. As if a draft had dropped down from the ceiling. His hairs felt the tug of the breeze as he slowly lifted his hand to his neck and rubbed.
For the first time that day, Zinn showed a wry smile.
The doctor brought his hand back down to his notes. “What are you smiling about?”
“Never mind.” She shook her head gently as if brushing some dust off her head.
The doctor shifted nervously and pondered his next line of questioning. “Does he talk to you? How do you communicate?”
“No, no talking. He never speaks. We communicate in a way that is hard to explain. I kind of…just, you know…know what he is talking about or what he needs. Almost like he is beaming something into my mind. That's the worst part of it all.”
“What's that?” The doctor was jotting down notes as fast as he could.
“It is the silence. Real silence. He looks at me and I then have some type of image in my head. It's almost instant. I just know what he is saying. That's the hardest part. The silence. It's like you are alone except he's there watching. He's always watching. Can you imagine that? You are up at night, you're sleepy and you get up from the bed to head to the bathroom and you pass this thing on your way. He's there watching you walk by. You are eating dinner, he's there. I…I just have a hard time with it. You don't get used to it at all. It can cause you to do things. Believe things you otherwise wouldn't. Become someone you never were. Can you understand that doctor? How it consumes you?”
“I am empathetic, but not sympathetic. You killed those children. You had the choice and you chose to kill them. That can't be forgotten.”
“Is that what you think? Am I forgetting them? I had to do it and I regret it.” Tears were now falling from her face. “I didn't have a choice. You think I chose this? You think I wanted this to happen? I would trade anything to have them back and be free of this monster.”
The doctor stood up and gathered his things. Zinn was now standing, her hands gripping the side of the table.
“Zinn, we will see how your trial goes. I don't doubt you suffer from some type of psychosis. But I am just a piece of the trial. It is up to the jury to decide your fate.”
“My fate?” she snorted. “My fate is in hell.”
Jailbreak
It had been nearly a year since Zinn won her insanity plea, a month since her last conversation with the tormentor, and a week since her run-in with Isaac and James. Tennison didn't change her life's outcome at all. In her mind, she was still stuck in a cage in a hospital, as opposed to a cage in a prison. She ate three meals a day, jammed down her
medications faithfully, and endured the regular abuse from the hospital staff. Regardless of what they called it, this place was a prison to her.
The faucet dripped slowly, giving off a plinking sound as it struck the stainless steel sink. In the reflection of the drops, Zinn sat curled up on her cot with her back against the corner wall. The cracks in the walls darted out from the edges like lightning bolts searching for a place to discharge. Dirt and mildew collected in the openings accenting the monotone gray walls with a dark green color. She had aged these few weeks. Gray now fell through her oily plastered hair. Her arms wrapped around her knees and her eyes hid behind the thin loose flesh. Her fingers picked at her elbows and released a light dust of skin that collected on the navy blue comforter. She had been there for hours, just picking and digging, as if in a trance. A casual observer would have to place a hand on her back to know she was breathing.
Across from Zinn, her tormentor sat staring at the dark recessed door at the far end of the concrete cave. Through the black smoky vapor, his eyes focused. She could see what he was saying. The Door.
“How are we going to do that?” she asked out loud. “Please let me know how that will happen.”
There was a click on the door and the riveted steel panel began to slowly open. Zinn expected another wave of orderlies to storm the room and give her another sedative. The door creaked open revealing the empty hallway to the open block. There were nine other doors to rooms on the wing, but they all remained closed. Zinn looked at the smoky-faced creature. His arm lifted slowly and pointed to the opening. Inside her mind, she didn't hear a voice. Images and words floated across her mind.
Leave.
Zinn seethed in anger; her words spit through her teeth towards the creature on the bed. “I've been in this rat hole for a year and you have the ability to just open the goddamn door? When were you going to let me know?”
Another flood of images.
Go.
“Well, what if I don't? They'll hunt me down. Find me and bring me right back here. Huh? How am I going to get past the guards? Any ideas on that or are we going to just float out of here?”