“Like I said,” Tim agreed, motioning in his direction.
Cathy frowned. “You said... the Jacobies adopted kids... right?”
“Yes,” Tim answered, rubbing the bridge of his nose while he mentally calculated the hours he had gone without sleep.
She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Then... is there any way to find out where these kids are now? Or where they were adopted from?”
Mike and Tim exchanged a look.
Tim leaned forward and opened up a web browser, typing in his user ID quickly. After only a moment of looking, he responded to her query. “I can’t find out who they adopted... there’s just no record... but they were all adopted from the same place. A little convent upstate.”
“That’s where Xander was adopted from,” Mike said, leaning in and squinting at the screen. “And me.”
Cathy rolled that around in her head for a minute. “Who are Xander’s birth parents?”
Again, Tim typed for a moment. “No record.”
“How does that happen? Is it just, like, a drop the baby on the doorstep kinda deal?”
Tim’s eyes went large as he realized what she was getting at. “Yes. It would be something just like that, actually.”
“So... what’s to stop us from going to that place and just looking for a big building with Engen stamped across it?” Mike said, giving a nod to his girl.
Tim paused, taking a long look at each of them, trying to gauge how serious they actually were. He got up and grabbed his coat.
“Interesting. Most interesting indeed,” the man on the intercom said, as he observed Xander getting shocked by the electrified bars of his cell. He brought an oxygen mask to his face and sucked back air, steadying his voice before he pressed the intercom’s ‘On’ switch so that Xander could hear him.
“Welcome home, Subject 08276,” he said in an overly dramatic voice. “You probably don’t remember, but this cell was once the home of you and your dear mother.”
“My mother?” Xander gasped, smoke rising up from his back.
There was a slight pause on the intercom. Suddenly, the rough voice returned. “Welcome home, 08276. Welcome home, Black Womb.”
The intercom switched off, leaving Xander with more questions than answers. He rose up and looked down at himself, taking note of several red stains on the paper gown he was clothed in. He looked around his cell. It was exceedingly simplistic in its nature, with three concrete walls that obviously held wiring for the electrical steel bars that covered his exit. The floor and ceiling were both metal. The room itself was only about five meters cubed, with no furniture or plumbing.
He stared at the bars.
He stared at them until they went from being solid lines dissecting his vision to watery, unfocussed slashes. There was an ache building in the centre of his chest the more he looked at them. They filled him with an anxiety that dispelled all rational thought, until for a moment all he could think was: the bars.
He sniffed back hard and forced his eyes to refocus. Slowly, thought returned to him.
But the anxiety remained, no matter how much he tried to bury it.
Electrified bars needed to be hollow to have wiring inside of them and to better conduct electricity, he recalled. So the only real problem was getting past the electricity. Xander frowned.
“Genius, man. Genius,” he mumbled to himself.
Still, he searched his brain for something, anything he could use. Finding nothing, he walked over to the bars. Touching one lightly with his index finger, he pulled it away immediately as the electricity coursed through his fingertips. He touched another bar with the same result, then pulled back and stroked his chin.
He poked at the bar at the top, near the ceiling. There was still a shock, but it wasn’t as potent. If there was a place to short it out, it’d be there. There was still the problem of what to do with this knowledge. He sat down on the metal floor.
“Ow!” he yelped, jumping to his feet. Something had poked at him. He examined the floor and found nothing, then reached around to his back and smiled.
Safety pins.
He pulled the top one out of the back of his gown. The top of it opened and he glanced down at his chest. To his relief, many of the wounds were healing. Except the ones from the crucifixion.
He stepped up to the bars and inserted the pin to the top. He pulled away automatically with shock, but the electricity held the pin there. As he watched the pin began to glow white hot, until finally the bar’s generator exploded in an array of white and blue sparks from which he had to shield his eyes momentarily.
He stepped up to the bars again and attempted to stretch them. To his surprise, they slid open. He stepped out and looked around.
There was no one in either corridor, in any direction. Both sides seemed equally long and equally intimidating, stretching on forever. So he just went with his gut and chose right. He started to run but his body rebelled, smashing him to the floor. He looked down at his feet, which were now bleeding again from the crucifixion wounds.
“Dammit. Where’s my guardian monster when I need him?” he uttered in self-pity as he began to crawl along the floor. Inwardly, he thought, It hurts. It hurts so bad. But I can’t stop. Just like Sara always said. You can never stop. I swear I’ll kill that monster for what he did to you.
“Just like his mother,” chuckled the voice behind the intercom, before letting out a massive, hacking cough. “An admirable try, my boy. But nobody escapes from Alpha Quadrant twice in one lifetime.”
He pressed a small red button on his control panel, and a buzzer began to sound throughout the facility.
Xander heard the buzzer and forced himself to his feet, despite the incredible amount of pain that it caused. He made his way to the end of the corridor already gasping for breath, then looked around for options.
Again, it was a simple choice of left or right. He thought he heard something and turned around quickly, sending shoots of pain up and down his spine. He thought that he saw something out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t be sure. Turning back around, he decided to once again go right.
He limped to the end of that hallway, to a large yellow door. A gold plated plaque on it read: STORAGE. He opened it slowly and stepped inside.
It looked like a warehouse, but with no visible exits that he could see. Large wooden crates were stacked up almost to the ceiling and there was moving equipment everywhere. He walked to the middle of the first column.
He heard the faint sound of scuttling footsteps and turned around quickly. It was like thousands of crabs all clambering toward him at once, their tiny legs pounding against the tile. Or spiders. It could have been spiders, too.
The door that he came in through was swinging, back and forth, then came to a slow stop.
Somebody’s here.
Xander turned around slowly, surveying his situation and his environment.
The crates seemed to go on for forever and ever, like a large wooden stairway. There were gaps where he could see through to the next column and when he looked out through them, all he could see was a long, slender hallway filled with more wooden crates.
He leaned on the box in front of him to get a better look. The cover rattled slightly with a clunk. He reached his nails under the lid and began to pull up. Almost instantly, pain began to shoot up his arms from his wrists. Blood poured fresh again, and he let a swear pass through his blood spattered lips. The cover finally popped off, revealing that it was filled with items that appeared to be bottles, all wrapped in a thick layer of soft gauze. Taking the prime opportunity, he unwrapped some gauze and wrapped it around his wrists. When they were done, he applied some to his heels, the cuts on which had stretched and bled with every step he’d made, and then finally to his side. The makeshift bandages almost instantly filled with blood, but they seemed to be helping.
He glanced down at what was in the jar.
It was a heart.
He jerked back with shock,
dropping the jar to the floor. It shattered with an ear splitting sound that echoed throughout the entire facility. Formaldehyde splattered onto his cuts, causing a slight burning sensation as he backed into the row of crates behind him.
He felt a sudden rush of wind and turned around, but there was nobody there. He felt cold. He began to turn around and thought he saw something in the next row out of the corner of his eye and followed it. Again, nothing. He ran to the end of the column, turned the corner, and gazed down the next row. Nothing. He looked down the next. Again nothing. He kept running down the same direction, trying to trap his follower. It occurred to him that given his condition that this may not have been the wisest tactic, but he had to know.
The columns ended abruptly.
There was nobody to be seen. Then it dawned upon him: he could have easily doubled back... and followed him. He stopped dead in his tracks and slowly began to turn around. He closed his eyes, expecting that when he opened them, Genblade would be raining down hell on him. He fully believed that it would be the last thing he would ever see. Coming to a halt, he slowly opened his eyes.
Nothing.
Nothing but the bare hallway. He let out a sigh of relief.
-clunk, clunk-
The sound came from above.
Xander looked up just in time to see the crate fall.
“Get up,” said the soft, soothing, feminine voice.
The voice triggered a memory deep within him. He had gotten into a fight with Grendel when he was twelve years old. He had given Grendel a black eye, but with one punch, Grendel had given him a broken nose. He had hit the ground hard and closed his eyes. The voice had come to his ears like a sweet melody that man could never hear, because no music made after would ever compare. There was a slight giggle in Sara’s voice as she said the words.
“Get up.”
A voice like springtime. The warm, soft... just good feeling that came with springtime. Like the sun’s rays on your face.
He opened his eyes and through his blurred, painful vision, he thought he saw her standing over him with that cute smile on her face. He smiled as the voice came again, but this time there was an edge on it. He felt a sharp pain in his leg, finally opening his eyes all the way.
An athletic woman loomed over him. She was Asian, with almond eyes and a perfect, thinly honed muscular body. She had a long ponytail which swerved down and wrapped around her body. She was dressed much like Genblade was, in skintight leather, only hers was dark red with black edges.
The handles of twin katana blades protruded from holsters on her back, the straps crossing her chest with an x. She removed one of the blades and pointed it at him. It had four gold spikes coming off of the handle making the legs of a spider, with two rubies making up the body and head. “I said, get up.”
He slowly rose to his feet to face her. “Mrs. Genblade, I presume.”
She struck him hard and fast with the broad side of her blade.
“You may call me Spider,” she said coldly. That voice was so smooth, so beautiful... it almost didn’t matter. As he crumpled to the floor, she looked down at him. “What could he possibly see in the likes of you, you impotent cur?”
“What?” he stammered.
“Nothing,” she smiled. She would have had a beautiful smile, if not for her eyes, which betrayed her sinister intent. “The weapon in your blood has been depleted as a result of your inexperience and carelessness. When it has healed your rather extensive wounds, it will return to you. It has not yet, which makes this a drastically unfair fight.”
She unsheathed her second blade and held it out.
He stared at it for a moment, then took it from her.
She backed up from him a few feet then stood still, glaring at him. He gripped the sword in his hands, attempted to swirl it around like on TV, and dropped it immediately.
She chuckled at the foolish attempt, watching him with fascinated amusement.
He picked it up again and held it straight. His chest rising with a deep breath, he lunged at her with a force that surprised even him, striking at her with the blade.
She lifted her own to block it, creating a sudden spark as metal met metal.
“Good,” she said curtly, as if she were teaching him.
They both pushed away and she jumped at him, making one clean and graceful swipe with the sword.
He tried to lift his to defend himself, but he wasn’t fast enough and her blade cut at his elbow. He felt it scrape against the bone and cringed in a sudden rush of pain and adrenaline. He swung back, but she curved her body and jumped away casually. He lunged at her a second time. Again, she blocked him with her sword.
“Better,” she said again, suppressing a laugh.
They pressed against each other, neither willing to give up, until she kicked him in the side and sent him into a pile of crates. The wood splintered beneath the force of his weight and he let a deep groan from his throat. Formaldehyde leaked from broken bottles inside the crate as she dashed up to him, placing the razor sharp edge of her blade against his throat.
He glared at her, hatred in his eyes. She leaned her head in and kissed him lightly, then flipped backward, landing in a fighting stance.
He hurled himself at her, slashing with his sword.
She jumped over it.
He lashed out again.
She ducked under it.
Finally, she slashed back. He pulled away, but her blade still nicked the gauze bandages. They fell to the ground, their blood slathered surface splashing the concrete floor. He looked at the palm of his hand, wiggling his fingers. No blood. Not even a scar. His wrist was healed.
He sneered, then turned back toward her. “I think it’s time you saw what I’m really made of.”
He clenched his fists until the thin pads of his fingers dug into his palms. His heart began to pump so hard that he could feel it in his ears, drowning out the mechanical cackle of the madwoman across from him. His eyes pulsed with it as his breath became shallow and his veins became tight. He could feel them all, the pressure building all over his body until he felt like he was about to burst.
Nothing happened.
“Ngh,” he grunted painfully, he cheeks flushed and red as his pulse began to slow again.
“What’s the matter, little boy? Can’t summon the demon in your blood?” Spider laughed. She thrust herself at him again.
Then he realized just what she had said. The demon in his blood... I’ve got it.
He raised his blade up to eye level and ran his wrist along it.
Spider stopped in her tracks, watching him with wide eyed interest.
As the sword slit the vein, blood poured down his arm. At first it was red, then it was suddenly blackened. His face cringed in pain as his pupils grew to envelope his entire eye. The blackness seeped from his arm to the rest of his body and then to his head. Three red slits appeared to slice through his face, each glowing. They opened to form glowering eyes and a mouth. Long, sharp teeth grew in from the top and bottom of the gaping gums.
“Black Womb lives.”
Spider looked onward at the Black Womb in awe. She smiled, licking her lips. “Now I think I see what he sees in you.”
She jumped at him. This time, he was the one to jump over her swing.
Her face twisted angrily as he jumped so high that he landed on a stack of crates. Doing a flip off of them, he propelled himself toward Spider and kicked her in the face.
She sprawled backward, slipped on the formaldehyde that had spilled on the floor, then turned and looked at him with hatred burning in her slanted eyes.
He was crouching across the hall, staring at her. He slowly reached over and grabbed a large chunk of wood from the shattered crate.
As Spider got up, he tackled her, sending them both flying through wood and glass. He raised the wooden stake high above his head, prepared to bring it down onto Spider. She caught it between her hands an inch in front of her face. Pushing the wood backward abruptly, she smack
ed Black Womb in the face with it. He took a step backward, then regained himself. He looked at her, her face a mess of small cuts and her ponytail now ragged. She wiped a spot of blood from the side of her face, then smeared it onto her blade.
She got up and swiftly threw the blade at Black Womb, who tried to jump out of the way, but was too slow.
The blade sliced through the corner of his side and his face distorted from pain. Claws protruded from each fingertip and he started whipping at the air around Spider wildly with them. She jumped high into the air, coming down onto his shoulders. He got up and turned to her, then picked up her sword and prepared to lunge at her when a burst of blue electricity ripped through his spinal column. He slammed to the floor and Genblade loomed over him, continuously stinging at him with his taser.
“That’s enough playing around, Spider. The master requests an audience with our dear old friend, 08276 here.”
They both laughed. Spider walked up to Genblade, kissing him passionately on the lips. She put her arms around him, then quickly snatched the taser away.
“But I want to play,” she said with a pouting child’s voice. She dug the taser into Xander’s back and turned it on. His eyes lit up with blue.
Her smile widened.
“Okay,” Tim sighed, shuffling through a pile of papers. “We have about five hundred references to something called the Black Womb in all of these files, but the first two hundred and fifty contradict the last two hundred and fifty.”
He buried his head in his arms and tossed his glasses onto the table in front of him.
“Alright, but there is one continued reference,” Cathy noted, staring down at her own stack of papers.
“There is?” Mike said, leaning over her shoulder, giving her a little kiss on the cheek.
“What?” Tim asked, getting up from his chair.
“A date,” she said thoughtfully. “March 7th... fifteen years ago.”
They all looked puzzled for a moment.
“Hey,” Mike said, his eyes brightening. “That’d be around the time Xander was born.”
Habeas Corpus: Black Womb (Black Womb Collection Book 1) Page 15