Alone tgitb-1
Page 16
“Excuse me?” Sessions looked at me.
“My mom,” I explained. “She had a rule that I wasn’t allowed to wander around the house without being fully dressed, down to having on gloves at all times. I assumed that it was because we had to be ready to run at a moment’s notice.”
“Yes, your mother likely knew,” he agreed, turning back to some printouts of the data he’d accumulated on me through our testing. “She was probably the source of your power; I suspect she was a succubus as well. It’s very rare, of course; most of our data on succubi is apocryphal – in fact, there’s only one in our records known to be alive.” He chirruped with a twitter of excitement. “Well, three now, I suppose, counting you and your mother.”
“How…do I kill someone by touching them?” I asked, still in disbelief.
“Looking for a scientific explanation?” He shrugged, still an air of whimsical amusement, as though he were so excited by the prospect of a new subject for study that he failed to realize that I might be feeling something other than what he was. “I can’t explain it without studying the effect in more detail. Of course, we brought Wolfe’s body back for study—” he pointed to a white sheet on a nearby table, covering a monstrous corpse—“which should be just a wealth of information. Since this is the first chance anyone’s had to study a confirmed victim of a succubus, it’s really a pioneering step…”
Victim. His words drifted past me after that, and as he kept talking, I thought about Wolfe as a victim. Wolfe had never been a victim of anything in his life until I came along. He made victims; he wasn’t one. Until now.
Now he was my first.
“…so I’ll be studying him. Of course there are tests I’ll be wanting to run on you as time goes by, and hopefully we can get to the bottom of the root physiological causes of your power.” Sessions clapped his hands together and looked at me with unsuppressed glee. “It’s very exciting, isn’t it?”
I cast a look back at Wolfe, still hidden under the sheet. “Thrilling.”
It is thrilling, isn’t it…
I ignored the voice in my head and turned back to Dr. Sessions. “A question about succubi…aren’t they supposed to drain the souls of their victims?”
He entertained a high, giggly laugh. “Yes, according to anecdotes, incubi – the male counterpart of your type of meta – and succubi steal the souls of their victims, but of course they also are reported to do it through sexual contact, which is not what happened in this case.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose, suddenly disheveled. “Right?”
A wave of revulsion passed over me. “I grabbed him around the throat, Doc.”
“Oh, okay, that’s what I thought.” He recovered and shifted back to glee. “I think it doubtful you ‘stole his soul’,” Sessions said with a scornful laugh. “Bear in mind that also in the mythological descriptions is the idea that a succubus or incubus comes to their victim in their dreams, which is,” he said with another giggle, “absolutely preposterous.”
I stared back at him. “Right.”
“I think you can see the myth and reality when it comes to meta-humans is somewhat divergent.” He smiled. “Any other questions? Very good, then. Well, you get back to recovering under Dr. Perugini’s able ministrations and I’ll give you a call as soon as I have anything of interest to report.”
“Doctor,” I said as I stood. “This power…” He stared back at me, curious as to what I was going to ask. “Does this mean I’m never going to be able to touch anyone…ever?”
“Through heavy clothing you can. We’ll need to do some study, but I suspect that there’s a certain thickness of material that will prevent bleedthrough of your powers.” He adjusted his glasses once more.
“I meant with my skin.” My mouth was dry, but I didn’t need a drink.
Well…no, I…I think not,” he stuttered. “We’ll research the effect further, but it seems that if you killed Wolfe with your touch, then it will have the same effect on anyone else you happen to be in contact with.” He seemed satisfied with his answer until he looked over my shoulder. I turned in time to see Dr. Perugini shaking her head in disgust and Sessions amended, “But…we need to do more research to be certain.”
Dr. Perugini made a rattling sound of annoyance in her throat and reached up to place her hand on my back, avoiding touching the skin. Ariadne walked next to me and we descended into the underground tunnel back to the HQ building.
“So,” Ariadne began, “now that Wolfe is out of the picture, have you given any thought to your next move?”
“Not really.”
“You could stay here,” Ariadne answered, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” I replied, “so I suppose I will for now.”
“I meant long-term,” she corrected. “Our facilities and resources for meta-humans are unparalleled. We can help you learn how to control and harness your power.”
Control and harness, two words that mean they’d like to make you their willing slave…
“Can we please focus on getting her to the point where she’s no longer badly wounded before we start talking about anything else?” Dr. Perugini’s irritation finally broke loose, causing Ariadne to do as the doctor ordered. Parting ways with us at the medical unit, Ariadne promised to stop by again later to check on me. Dr. Perugini walked me back to my bed, filling the air with florid Italian curses. I doubt she realized I knew them.
“Rest,” Perugini commanded before she disappeared into her office. I lay back, resting my head on the pillow following the doctor’s exhortation, and glanced around the medical unit. The curtains were down and the bay was empty.
They want to own you…they want to make you their property…run while you can…
“I can’t yet,” I said, voice no higher than a whisper. “I need answers.”
They don’t want to give you answers; they want you to work for them, to…kill for them.
I snorted, staring into the steel wall opposite my bed. “Let me ask you something…where’s my mom?”
I don’t know. And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.
“You’re lying.”
“Excuse me?”
I looked up, startled. Dr. Perugini had appeared from her office door and crossed the bay. “Who were you talking to?”
I tried to keep my expression blank. “Myself. Bad habit, I’m afraid. It’s what happens,” I said with a light chuckle, “when you have no one but Mom to talk to for years and years.”
“Ah,” she said. Her face bore discomfort and I could tell she felt sorry for me. “Here you go; something to dull the pain.” She dropped two pills into my outstretched hand and reached to the side table where a pitcher of water sat, poured me a glass and handed it over. She watched as I dropped the pills in my mouth and drank half a glass. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“No,” I said.
“You’ll be healed by tomorrow. Nasty marks on your neck should all be gone by then. Skull fracture too; it’s already almost knitted together.”
“Thank you.” I mouthed the words, not sure if I really meant them. I felt a sudden urge to hit her, to beat her bloody and then slam her head in the door until she stopped moving, and then…
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Dr. Perugini looked at me, eyes searching mine.
I looked at the blank steel plating that covered the wall across from my bed, the shiny, reflective surface, then looked back at her with a practiced smile. “I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all. And my head hurts. It’s been a long day.”
“Of course. I’ll leave you alone. Just call out if you need anything.” With a smile, she turned and went back into her office, closing the door behind her.
You wanted to do it, to beat her, to kill her…
“No, I didn’t,” I whispered, softer this time.
You did; I felt it; you’re coming around to my way of thinking…
“No.” I stared at the wall, and I coul
d see just the faintest image of myself. “Tell me where my mother is.”
Told you. Don’t know…and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.
Somewhere in her office, Dr. Perugini must have hit the light switch, because the medical unit was bathed in darkness, broken only by the faint light of instrument panels. I looked back at the steel, mirrored surface across from me and my face was gone, replaced by black eyes and teeth that looked unusually sharp; predatory, even. I smiled, and my voice came out harsher, lower and more rasping than usual.
“We’ll see about that…Wolfe.”
About the Author
Robert J. Crane was born and raised on Florida's Space Coast before moving to the upper midwest in search of cooler climates and more palatable beer. He graduated from the University of Central Florida with a degree in English Creative Writing. He worked for a year as a substitute teacher and worked in the financial services field for seven years while writing in his spare time. He makes his home in the Twin Cities area of Minnesota.
He can be contacted in several ways:
Via email at cyrusdavidon@gmail.com
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