BlackWind

by Boyett-Compo

  * * * *

  Deirdre looked up as Bronwyn entered the hospital room. When her mother opened her arms, Bronwyn flew to her, wailing her sorrow.

  “Oh, Mama,” she sobbed, trembling.

  “It was quick. I'm sure they felt nothing.”

  Bronwyn moved back, searching her mother's eyes. “He said it was Sean, Mama. He said—”

  “Don't say that bastard's name in my hearing!” Deirdre snapped, jerking her hand from Bronwyn's hold. “He killed your father and your son!”

  Bronwyn staggered back from the fury in her mother's face. “My—my son?”

  “Rory Brell was bringing the baby to us. We'd heard you'd managed to get out of Galrath. We knew you'd go to Belfast, so wanted to have the boy to use as leverage to get you to go back.” Tears formed in Deirdre's eyes. “How were we to know Cullen would come after us? That he'd kill his own child?”

  Bronwyn stood in the center of the hospital room, her teeth chattering, her limbs trembling. She felt the blood drain from her face, and as she sank to her knees, the terrible scream tearing from her throat brought doctors and nurses running.

  * * * *

  Deirdre watched as the medical personal hovered over her daughter. She sat on the gurney, unfazed as the doctors administered injections to Bronwyn to stop the hideous shrieks of grief. As her child was wheeled away, limp and unconscious, Deirdre could not rouse herself to follow. Instead, she lay down, curled into a fetal position, and stared at the wall.

  * * * *

  Following unseen in the wake of orderlies wheeling Bronwyn to her room, Danyon stopped dead in his tracks, frowning. He cocked his head to one side, listened, then sighed heavily. The woman to whom he had sworn his allegiance was calling to him and her tearful entreaty overrode everything else around him.

  “Not now, Aoife!” he hissed, digging his nails into his palms.

  “Danny, I need you!” came the clarion call in tones of misery.

  Torn between going to the woman with whom he had signed a Blood Pact and caring for the one who had captured his affection, Danyon growled with frustration. His shoulders drooped in defeat. Unable to do anything else, he closed his eyes, calling out to the world beyond the hospital's windows. In the space of four heartbeats, he opened his eyes.

  “Go to her,” he commanded. “Take her to confront the Reaper. Be my eyes and ears, Cedric.” He stared at the demon he had called from its lair months before. “Do not dare to sign a pact with her, old friend. That is a deadly mistake you dare not make.”

  * * * *

  Miles away, Cedric smiled. “I have been in this world too long, Danyon. I would welcome an end to my existence.”

  “Even Nightwinds as ancient as you can feel agony, Cedric,” Danyon warned. “Be careful how you tread with Bronwyn McGregor. The Bugul Noz will be my ears and eyes.”

  Cedric nodded.

  In a flash of pulsing light, he sped across time and distance. When his essence settled, he was standing in the corridor of St. Simon's hospital in Derry Byrne.

  Unseen, he walked to Bronwyn's room, then stood to one side as nurses and doctors finished their tasks and left the young woman lying still and as pale as death beneath the crisp sheets. Cedric went to the bed and put his hand on her cheek.

  “Wake, Bronwyn,” he whispered.

  * * * *

  Bronwyn opened her eyes and gazed up at the old man hovering over her. “Cedric?” she questioned. “What are you doing here?”

  “Danyon the Nightwind summoned me. He bid me look to you.”

  “You're like him—like Danyon.”

  “I am.”

  “Go away,” she hissed.

  “He is here, lass. Just down the hall.”

  “I know where he is,” Bronwyn seethed. “He brought me here.”

  “I meant the other one.”

  “What other one?” she asked. “You're not making any sense.”

  “The man who killed your child.”

  “Sean is here?” she asked, her voice tearful.

  “Just down the hall.” Cedric held out his hand to her. “Do you wish to see him?”

  She hesitated, staring at his face. There was deep sadness in his watery gaze and a tremble to the hand he had extended toward her.

  “I am old, Bronwyn. Older than anything on your world. I have seen much sorrow and caused more of it than I care to admit.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because Danyon summoned me to take you to Sean Cullen.” He moved his hand closer to her. “Will you go in to see him before it is too late?”

  Bronwyn placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her to her feet. Her bottom lip quivered. “They said he died.”

  “They lied. He is alive and his parasite is striving to heal him.” He shook his head. “It will not be successful. It was burned too badly to rejuvenate his flesh. Sean Cullen will die before the evening is out.” He squeezed her hand. “Do you wish to see him?”

  “I don't understand...”

  “You don't need to. We must hurry if you are to see him before he leaves this world.”

  Her heart breaking, she walked beside the Nightwind, wondering why no one seemed to look their way as they passed. Even the burly guards who flanked room 105 never batted an eye as Cedric opened the door and ushered her inside.

  A horrible stench permeated the room, and Bronwyn realized it was the smell of burned flesh. It sickened her, and when she gagged, Cedric touched her forehead and the sensation passed. He led her to the bedside, where a nurse was adjusting the flow of an IV tube.

  “He can hear you and see you, but she will not,” Cedric said.

  The nurse took a seat across the room, picked up a magazine, and began reading.

  Fearfully, Bronwyn looked at Cedric.

  “I am right here, Beloved,” the ages-old Nightwind said. “I will not leave you.”

  A groan from the bed drew Bronwyn's gaze. She shivered, her bare feet icy against the marble floor.

  “He doesn't have long to live,” Cedric insisted. “If you wish to speak to him, do it now.”

  The light over the headboard was low, casting shadows in the room, but bright enough for Bronwyn to see the gruesome spectacle. Had she not known who lay atop the stark white sheets, she would have sworn she had stumbled onto the set of a horror movie. The ravaged flesh—blistered, peeling away from bone, oozing fluids—seemed surreal. The shriveled holes where once there had been eyes made her stomach lurch in protest. So hideous was the apparition, so horrible the smell, it was all she could do to believe it reality. Only stray wisps of blond hair clinging to the bloated skull identified this awful sight as human. When the monstrosity tried to lift a withered, blackened hand to touch her, she jumped back, her gorge rising, despite Cedric's hypnotic suggestion.

  “Talk to him, Beloved,” Cedric pressed. He draped his arm around her shoulder.

  “Why, Sean?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Why did you do it?”

  “He cannot answer you, Beloved. His vocal chords are useless.”

  Bronwyn looked helplessly at the old man.

  “Tell him how you feel,” Cedric encouraged. “Let him know.”

  Turning back to Sean, Bronwyn dug her nails into her palms. She willed herself not to hear the pathetic attempts at speech coming from the bed. She steeled herself not to react to the trembling hand struggling to reach her, the sickening sight of the blistered flesh.

  “I will never forgive you, Sean Cullen.”

  There came a loud exhalation of air as Sean lowered his hand, palm up, to the bed.

  “Goodbye, Sean,” she said, swatting at the tears that threatened to choke her. She ripped the chain from her neck and dropped the Claddagh necklace he had given her so long ago into his palm, then flinched when his destroyed fingers closed over it.

  “Turn your back on him,” Cedric instructed.

  She did, burying her face in Cedric's chest.

  Sean gasped. The loud sound of the machine bes
ide the bed brought the nurse to her feet, the magazine flying.

  Cedric pulled her back as doctors and nurses entered. He held her against him as the medical team applied paddles to the seared chest and the monitor flat-lined. The monitor's high-pitched squeal continued long past the doctors made several more attempts to bring the man back to life.

  “Time of death...” were the last words Bronwyn heard before she collapsed in Cedric's arms.

  CHAPTER 24

  Brian stood with his sweaty hands pressed against the glass of the observatory. Beside him, four other physicians stood attentively, watching the proceedings in Operation Room 4.

  “I can't believe you were able to get the body so quickly,” Dr. Felix Cramden remarked.

  “Be quiet,” Brian snapped. He was in no mood for idle conversation. Since he outranked them, he doubted they would balk at his command. If they did, he would personally toss them out on their rear ends.

  “Who's decision was this, Brian?” Dr. Gerard Mabry asked.

  “Dunne's,” Brian said through clenched teeth.

  When hushed mutterings came from behind, Brian turned to glare. The muttering stopped.

  The sight on the operating table was the most horrible thing he could have imagined. Upon seeing the condition of Sean's body when it was brought to Fuilgaoth, Brian thought he would pass out. There was nothing human left in the charred remains that could have been identified as his son.

  Dr. Dunne glanced up at the balcony. “Are you sure you don't want to be down here, Brian?” he asked, his eyes glittering behind his surgical mask.

  “No,” Brian grated.

  Dunne shrugged, then nodded at his assistants, who turned the burned body onto its stomach. The charred backbone shone whitely through the split flesh.

  “As you know,” Dunne said, speaking to his team, “Cullen's parasite barely survived the blast. Had its host maintained a desire to live, there is no doubt in my mind the parasite might well have managed to keep the body alive a bit longer.” He spread his hands. “At least until we were able to get the body back here.”

  Brian clenched his fists against the glass.

  “But Cullen lost the will to live and expired at ten-thirty-five this morning. It is now...” He looked up at the clock. “Two-thirty-five in the evening. The body is cold to the touch and the parasite has died.”

  “Get on with it!” Brian hissed beneath his breath.

  “We will now attempt to implant a fledgling parasite in order to re-animate the body.”

  “It won't work,” Brian growled.

  The door to the observation balcony opened and closed. A hand touched Brian's shoulder, but he shrugged it away. It returned with a firm grip. He turned to see Dr. Helen Bryan standing at his side.

  “I have something to show you,” she said urgently.

  “Do you see what he's doing?” Brian snapped, cocking his head toward the operating table. “The man thinks he's God! He's trying to re-animate my son's dead body!”

  “Come with me,” Helen insisted, pulling at him.

  Brian shrugged away her grip. “Leave me the hell alone!”

  Helen grabbed his arm. “Dunne can't do a damned thing for your son, but there may be something we can do!” She looked around her. “Does anyone here remember what happened the day he was brought to Fuilgaoth?”

  Dr. Mabry stepped to her side. “I do.”

  “Well, She became twice as agitated when they brought him back this afternoon. The tank is rocking on its base.”

  “Could it be?” Cramden asked.

  “She's chosen him for her Prime,” Mabry breathed.

  “She has,” Helen agreed.

  Brian looked at Dunne, who was stepping back after having implanted a young parasite into Sean's body. He shook his head. “You know what will happen when he finds out,” Brian said. “He won't allow what you're suggesting.”

  “Does it matter what he won't allow?” Helen asked. “He's become a liability, Brian. The things he has done, the abominations he has created, are a sin each of us will have to help atone for. Can we allow him to continue perverting what could have been something used for the good of mankind?”

  “You're talking about doing the same damned thing!” Brian snapped.

  Mabry turned to the other two men who had remained quiet. “Colter, Devereaux. What do you think?”

  Dr. Henry Colter shook his head. “Do what you think best, but leave me out of it. I can't afford to have Dunne come after me.”

  “Dunne won't come after any of us if we have Her on our side!” Samuel Devereaux remarked. He walked over to the others. “Count me in.”

  “What do we need to do?” Cramden asked.

  “As soon as Dunne is finished and has gone back to his office, we'll wheel Sean up to the Room,” Helen responded. “The Queen will let us know what to do next.”

  “This is dangerous,” Colter insisted. “If you fail, you will all be terminated.”

  “Breathe one word of it to someone who might stop us and I swear we'll implicate you,” Mabry snapped.

  Colter held up his hand. “I want no part of this, but do what you have to. I won't interfere in any way.”

  “They're finished,” Devereaux said.

  Braan turned to what was happening in the operation room. He watched Dunne walk out of the room with his chief assistant, Louis Lutz.

  “Give them ten minutes, then we'll get Sean,” Helen said.

  Brian took her arm. “Do you think She can bring him back?”

  “All I know is She put the thought into my mind. We can only do Her bidding...”

  * * * *

  An eerie ruby red light filled the Room as Sean Cullen's scarred body was rolled inside. The air was as frigid as the North Pole and there was a strange humming that jarred Brian's nerves. Inside the tank, the Queen was plastered to the glass like a giant leech, Her beady eyes as scarlet as blood. The fluid inside the tank violently agitated.

  Brian cast a fearful look to the Queen. The parasites inside his body squirmed, his own queen rolling within his kidney, making him grunt with the pain of her movements.

  “God, that hurts,” Cambry said, obviously experiencing the same.

  “What do we do now?” Devereaux asked. He was as far back from the tank as space would allow. Not being one of those implanted with the parasites, he was terrified of the creature.

  The humming grew in volume until those in the room had to cover their ears to blot out the painful sound. Brian could feel it in the fillings in his teeth, in the marrow of his bones. They all backed away from the source as the tank began to shake and wobble on its base.

  Brian's eyes grew wide as Helen pressed herself against him. He knew she would have preferred him to wrap his arms around her, could feel her need, but the sound penetrating the pressure of his hands against his ears was driving him insane.

  The glass tank burst. The liquid inside spread its fetid waves over those gathered. The Queen flung Her body atop Sean's, and before Brian's stunned eyes, sank into the ravaged flesh and disappeared from view. A sharp, sulfurous aroma saturated the air and sent Brian and the others into the corridor, gasping for breath, eyes stinging. Gagging, retching, Brian, Helen, Cramden, Devereaux, and Mabry slid down the wall, pulling at their clinging garments, trying desperately to pry the searing material from their bodies. Already Brian's flesh was turning red from the caustic intrusion of the liquid into his clothing.

  “What the hell is going on?” Dunne shouted as he and Louis Lutz came out of the elevator. They ran toward the group on the floor. “Lou! Check the Room!”

  Unable to speak, his lungs singed by the noxious fumes, Brian, along with the other physicians, kicked at the floor and tried desperately to drag oxygen into his rapidly depleting body.

  “The tank has ruptured—the Queen is gone!” Lutz reported. He was standing beside Dunne, a handkerchief over his mouth, tears running down his cheeks.

  Dunne tried to enter the room, but backed out, coug
hing violently, and fumbling for a handkerchief. Covering his mouth, he attempted to enter the room again, but was driven back.

  “Get the biohazard team in here. Now!” he ordered.

  “Cullen's body is in there,” Lutz said.

  Dunne's mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “It's on the floor,” Lutz reported before turning to make the call to the biohazard team.

  Dunne dragged Brian to his feet and shook him, ignoring his gasping. “What have you done?”

  Brian's lungs felt baked, his flesh on fire. His vision was gone, the fumes having burned a hole through his retinas. He felt himself being shaken, but could do no more than groan.

  * * * *

  “What have you done?” Dunne screamed, shaking Brian so savagely, the man's neck snapped beneath the onslaught.

  Louis Lutz stepped back as Dunne let go of Brian's limp body and turned his attention to the others. The only one left alive was Helen Bryan. Dunne went to her, jerked her to a sitting position and demanded she tell him what had transpired.

  Through gasps and groans, Helen whispered that she had been far enough away from the tank when it exploded that she received a lesser amount of fluid on her. She was also the first to stagger from the room so her lungs were not as damaged. Dunne surmised she might survive the experience, but at the moment, all she could do was choke in between moans.

  A warning klaxon brought Dunne to his feet. “No!” he shouted, running for the elevator. But even as he reached the stainless steel cage, the doors slid shut, narrowly missing chopping off his fingers. He pounded on the door, demanding it be opened.

  “We're quarantined,” Lutz said uselessly. “Not even the bio team can reach us now.”

  Dunne threw back his head and howled in frustration. His lips skinned back from his teeth as he kicked Brian O'Shea's body. “Son of a bitch!”

  * * * *

  Lutz knelt beside Helen and used his handkerchief to wipe her face. Dunne hunkered down beside them. She gazed up at them through blurred vision. Her mouth worked, but she could no longer speak.

  “You brought him here for Her, didn't you?” Lutz asked.

  Helen managed a nod, feebly reaching up to grip his arm. Her eyes, though seemingly unable to focus, pleaded with him.