Habeas Corpus: Black Womb (Black Womb Collection Book 1)

by Matthew LeDrew

  “We know where she was last seen.”

  “Yea, well those two things are often very different. Either way, she’s a runaway. Killer hasn’t been takin’ many prisoners, in case you ain’t noticed.”

  “Just because it’s not related to the killer, doesn’t mean it--”

  “No body, no ransom: runaway.”

  “The crimes could be sexually - -”

  “Enough,” John barked, stopping the both of them. He turned to Don, smacking his lips together thoughtfully as his fiddled the Rolaids wrapper between his fingers. “You don’t have enough to run with it as a feature, but do it up. If nothing else, it might help get the girl found, and if the paper helps with that, then we’ve got a story.”

  “Done and done.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I hear the Mayor farted last week,” Drake scoffed under his breath. “Maybe you’d like to do a story on that, too.”

  Don dropped his pad, waving his hand before him as though to open the field for him. “I suppose you’ve got better?”

  “Abuse charges against Xander Drew,” he said smugly, tossing his open pad onto the Editor’s desk and leaning back.

  “What?” Don said, leaning forward to read the notes even as John did. “Where are you getting this from?”

  “Personal experience,” Drake smiled, tapping himself on the head. “Little bastard clocked me so hard I bled almost ten minutes. Had to go get it checked out and everything. That cute nurse at CBG thought I had a concussion. Riley.”

  “This is good stuff, Tom,” John said, almost drooling from the mouth as he looked over Drake’s story notes.

  “Please,” Don sneered, rubbing his head for a moment before sitting back down. “Its bloody Wow journalism and you know it, John. If I’d known we were working for a tabloid I would’ve brought in a few more stories about Elvis’ new love child.”

  John stopped reading and looked up, his mouth open as he lay the pad back down.

  “I think you’ve stepped out, boyo,” Drake chuckled a little, swirling finger around his head once before giving Don a hearty slap on the back.

  “Get off me,” Don snapped, pulling away at the moment of contact. “And how’d him hitting you give you a lump on the back of your head, anyway? But go ahead, go after the kid that Tim White found broken and bruised up where they caught Genblade. A kid not even the Feds will go near for God-only-knows what reason, because if I were them, I think I would’ve asked what went on up there by now, wouldn’t you? So try it, see what happens. When you go missing, I’ll be sure and tell the cops you’re a runaway.”

  Drake paused, opening his mouth to retort. After a moment he closed it again, turning away from Don and back to the desk.

  “He’s... right, Tom,” John frowned, handing back the folder sadly. “It’s sensationalism. We all know it’s sensationalism. As much as I’d love to, we can’t print it.”

  “Sure,” Drake nodded, picking the pad back up and closing it.

  “All right, you guys know what to do. Get to it,” he said, waving them both toward the door as he unrolled another white capsule and shoved it into his mouth.

  Both men got up and headed for the door, Don’s eyes cast downward and his free hand rubbing his temple again.

  “Everything okay, Don?” John asked, leaning forward onto the desk just as Drake left the room.

  “Hmm?” Don groaned, almost not even hearing it at first. “Oh, yes sir. Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to go off like that.”

  “It’s okay. You were right.”

  “Shouldn’t have gone off.”

  “Even so,” he shrugged. “Have you been feeling all right? We’re a little busy now, but you could go on leave after the trial if its - -”

  “Not that,” Don sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Got no sleep last night. Pipes kept me up at all hours.”

  “Pipes?”

  “Yeah, they thump and crack and make all kinds of weird shit noises. Happens every fall.”

  “Hmm. Well, get it looked after,” John nodded, turning back to his computer and visibly having been tuned out for at least half of the sentence Don had said. “Sleeps important.”

  “Yes, sir,” Don heaved again, turning to walk away as he started to yawn.

  “Neocitran. Does it for me every time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Garfield Samson smiled softly to himself, the smirk spreading tenuously over his aged, angular face as he spotted a small patch of tulips growing just outside the Peterson’s fence. They were colored a milky white and were just starting to shrivel back from their summer bloom as the cold of fall got to them. He bent over to pick one, pausing only slightly when his right hip didn’t seem to move with the rest of his body. He clutched the stem tightly, sawing the nail of his thumb back and forth on it until it snapped loose of the rest of the bush. Grinning like a gargoyle, he turned toward his companion and presented it to her theatrically. “For you, my love.”

  Linda Samson turned away for a moment, blushing. She took the flower from him without meeting his gaze, knowing that she would start to laugh the moment she saw the sun caught in his large ears, making them glow like candles in the night. “Flatterer,” she chided him, holding out her arm for him as they started to walk again.

  He took it gently, keeping stride with her even though his back now ached fiercely. “Isn’t that how I won you to begin with? It certainly wasn’t my looks.”

  “Certainly not,” she agreed, hiding her smile as best she could.

  He raised a single bushy eyebrow at her, then chuckled softly.

  She laughed too, squeezing herself a little closer.

  Black Womb landed on the chimney of the Peterson home, sending soot and grime toppling over the side. It leaned forward as far as he could, its body standing at an angle almost impossible for bipeds, digging its claws into the red bricks for support. The early morning sun reflected off of its opaque, green eyes as it stared down at the old couple walking on the sidewalk. Its mouth was practically invisible while closed, its large catlike eyes following their every moment as emotionless as a statue.

  Garfield winced as his right leg gave a little in mid-step, forcing him to limp.

  The Womb’s head turned slightly at the sight of this, watching the way the impairment affected the man’s step. It leaned a little closer, then finally let go of the chimney and slammed chest first onto the roof, grabbing onto the rain gutter. It swung its legs underneath itself until it found balance, then continued to stare.

  Usually the beast would be heading home about now, but for whatever reason, it didn’t. Its aqua eyes shone in the twilight, giving eerie images to those who passed. Daylight now loomed along the outskirts of mountains, creating a beautiful orange glow. Black Womb stared up at it, its eyes changing slightly, adjusting to the light. The creature looked at its hands. They were splattered with blood that was nearly impossible to see in the low light, appearing so black that it blended in with his skin. It licked them, then turned its vision back down towards the couple. Extending one claw to its fullest, he started tapping the rain gutter rhythmically.

  -click-

  -click-

  -click-

  “Do you hear that?” Garfield asked, those huge ears twitching with every sharp sound. He stopped in mid-step, craning his head up to look around. Nothing surrounded him but more shrubbery and the Peterson home. A car passed them quickly and was out of sight before he even really saw it.

  Linda stopped, tilting her head to one side and straining her ears. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Oh, you’re deaf anyway,” he laughed, poking her arm playfully.

  -click-

  “There,” he said again, turning and taking a step back the way they’d come.

  Even though it was almost impossible to tell one emotion apart from the next on the Womb’s face, the creature’s eyes sharpened and turned upwards in a way that could only ever be described as delight. Licking its lips, it glanced
at the incoming sun again. Its head twitched painfully to one side and it let out a low growl, deep inside its throat. It could feel the other awakening... like being stuck half way between dreaming and alertness. Its jaw dislocated like a snakes, stretching down to its lower chest and revealing two rows of jagged teeth. Its fingers elongated into freakish claws. It squatted, preparing to pounce down at Linda Samson, who was now admiring tulips just beneath where it was perched.

  “Arrgh!” the creature bellowed, clutching its gut as it exploded in pain. Desperate, it turned the talons on itself, slashing at the black scales that covered its abdomen. It brought its hands up to its face as the sun shone across Coral Beach, burning at its eyes until all it could see was white and all it could feel was pain.

  Garfield and Linda both backed up a pace from the home, their eyes wide with fright. They stood paralyzed for a moment, then turned and ran back the way they had come, towards home. Half way there, Garfield felt something snap deep inside his side but kept going anyway. As bad as it hurt, he had the impression it was nothing compared to what would happen if whatever had made that sound caught him. Besides, they had coverage.

  Shivering violently, the Black Womb watched them disappear around the corner with regret. Its pupils finally adjusted to the new light, making at least part of the pain stop. The rest only got worse, the cuts it had sliced on its stomach spreading and opening like hungry mouths, recessing to reveal pink flesh and red blood underneath.

  Its eyes turned red for a moment, then black as the darkness seeped into the creature’s open mouth. The darkness that surrounded him seemed to lose its ability to maintain itself, flowing off of him and onto the Peterson’s roof, leaving only a thin layer of congealed blood behind.

  Xander Drew fell to the shingles with a wet thud.

  Groaning, he reached up and peeled the layer of blood off of his face. It resisted slightly, like plastic wrap trying to come free from a piece of meat.

  He felt a breeze, then finally opened his eyes with a small click and looked around. “What the hell?” he whispered softly into the air. He looked down at his bleeding, naked body and almost fainted again, then steadied himself before tumbling off the roof. Pausing to make sure he was balanced, he tried to get some sense of where he was.

  “Great,” he muttered, turning toward the Peterson’s back yard. There was a clothesline there filled with jeans and shirts. They were damp and cold, not to mention all meant to be worn by girls, but they were clothes and that trumped any other argument at this point. He shouldn’t get cold. He shouldn’t be able to feel cold. Yet still he felt... cold, somehow. Like it was coming from something other than the elements.

  Pausing cautiously, he dropped into the yard and waited to hear a high-pitched scream. When one did not occur, he started grabbing clothes that looked like they would fit off of the line, tossing the wooden pins to the ground.

  As he got dressed, he couldn’t help but wonder why things like this had actually started to become natural to him. Normal even, he thought. Just a few weeks ago, attempting something like this would have caused me more embarrassment than I would have ever wanted to remember, but would anyway. Why, now, would the Black Womb decide that it didn’t want to come in tonight?

  The answer to his question was ready in his mind. Too ready, as if it wasn’t even his.

  It’s thinking.

  Dr. Dennis Marx stopped just shy of room 1013, glancing down at the clipboard he had cradled in his arms. His eyes darted over the ink-smudged photocopy for a moment before he licked his fingers and turned the page, then kept reading. The second page was scrawled in handwriting that was legible only to him, along with a few crude diagrams of wound tracks with arrows going from them to equally crude stick figures to indicate their placement on his patient’s body.

  He ran a hand over his bald head, then through the greasy remains of his black hair that exploded from his neck like wild grass. Finally he stuck his pinky finger into his ear, subconsciously rooting around as he read down through the file before him until he found an obstruction to pry out by the nails.

  He glanced to one side and saw Nurse Riley staring at him, one of her eyebrows raised upwards suspiciously. Frowning, his cheeks turning red, he wiped his hand in the waist of his otherwise white lab coat and then turned around the corner, entering the room.

  Mike lay silently in his bed, his eyelids fluttering wildly as the eyes inside them darted back and forth. His breathing was slow and constant, his toned chest rising and falling every few seconds as he lay on his back. His mouth was open, but he did not snore.

  Cathy entered the room from the bathroom just to Marx’s right, in the middle of bringing her hair back into a ponytail. There was a bobby pin clasped between her pink lips for a moment as she gave the Doctor a look that said ‘just a minute’. After a moment she removed the black strip of metal and slid it gracefully into her hair to keep it in place, then smiled at him. “Sorry, hospital-head bugs me.”

  “Hospital-head?” Marx asked, raising one of his bushy eyebrows. His voice was very small and weak, a smokers wheeze of the end of every word.

  “It’s like bed-head only worse,” she explained, cocking her head in the direction of the paper sheets.

  “Ah,” he smiled, nodding as he chuckled loudly. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before.”

  Cathy winced at the surprising level of the man’s laughter, walking past him to close the privacy curtain around Mike’s bed. “He didn’t get much sleep last night, you mind?” she huffed impatiently, though not without her usual air of kindness.

  He nodded in apology. “Sorry.”

  “S’okay. What can I do to help you?” she asked, her face returning to her normal, soft demeanor.

  “I just need someone to sign the both of your release forms. You’re both making great progress. Usually we’d keep you an extra day or two to watch you, but the hospital’s all booked up and we have new patients that need the rooms.”

  “Patients?” Cathy asked, her eyes growing wide. “More victims?”

  “No... no,” the doctor mumbled, ruffling through his paperwork to find the forms. “Nothing like that. A lot of children have been getting ill lately. Haven’t really been able to put my finger on the cause.”

  “Oh. Good,” Cathy sighed in relief.

  He shot her a glance from above his clipboard.

  “Well, not good... you know what I mean.”

  “Mm-Hmm,” he hummed dismissively.

  “So, um, do you need to be a relative to sign those?” Cathy asked, making a big and fake smile as she tried to segway from the topic.

  “Um...” he mumbled, thumbing through a few of the pages looking for a document labeled parent/guardian, finding none. “No. We’ve already contacted both of your parents, so you can sign your consent forms yourselves on your own. It only says that you checked out of your own accord.”

  Cathy sucked on her teeth a second, getting the last bit of milt-flavoured toothpaste off of them. “I’ll sign,” she said, then took the forms out of the doctor’s hands. He gave her a black ballpoint pen with golden stripes to sign with. She did so hastily, scribbling her name where the ‘x’ indicated.

  “Thank you,” he said curtly, folding his arm back over the clipboard.

  “You too. And good luck with that kid... thing.”

  He did not respond, simply turned away from her and left the rom.

  “Tool,” she uttered to herself, frowning as she turned back toward the room. She smiled then, tip-toeing until she reached the yellow curtain he had pulled across. “Mike?” she cooed softly as she stepped forward in an exaggerated manner she had only ever seen used on Saturday morning cartoon shows.

  There was no response from beyond the curtain.

  “Miiikey,” she sung musically, her arm out in front of her and ready to pull the yellow plastic aside at a moments notice. She waited for a beat, then yanked the curtain aside, the rings that held it up scraping sharply along the pole they
rode on.

  Mike looked up at her as he finished buttoning up his shirt, his face devoid of almost all expression.

  “Oh,” she said, pouting a little. “Thought maybe you’d still be asleep.”

  “Dr. Mumbles woke me,” he said simply, fastening the clasps on either sleeve.

  She looked him up and down suspiciously. His shirt was red with white stripes and fit him very well. It somehow made him look older than he was, or at the very least nicer. His jeans were pressed and had no holes or burns in them, not even along the cuff. He was even wearing a belt, one that looked to be real leather. “You’re dressed up today,” she said.

  “Not really,” he scowled, shaking his head. He paused, then looked her up and down and smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with a ponytail. Not since we were kids, anyway.”

  She blushed a little, her small mouth drawing up in a smile. “Don’t try and weasel out of the subject. Who are you all dressed up for?”

  “You caught me,” he said with fake exasperation, letting his hands fall to his sides in defeat. “There’s another woman. She’s much better than you. I have to dress up around her to fit in.”

  “Nobody better than me would take you,” she giggled, moving in close to him and giving his bottom lip a kiss. “I shouldn’t even have.”

  He laughed again, kissing her back. “You’re probably right.”

  “Always am.”

  He moved her gently to one side, then stepped past her and scooped up his sneakers off the floor and began to slide them on.

  She watched him for a moment, unsure of what to say for one of the first times in their relationship. “Seriously Mike, where are you going?”

  He stopped tying immediately, turning around to face her. “I’ve just got somewhere I got to be. It’s nothing to be worried about.”

  Cathy forced herself to smile. “Any room for me?” she chimed innocently.

  He sighed, tilting his head to one side.

  “Guess not,” she said in response to her own question, casting her eyes downward.