Nightingale Songs

by Strantzas, Simon

  "You confronted them?" Fisher tried to picture Rose on the school grounds, threatening two children. "I suppose they were terrified?"

  Here, Rose's proud smile faltered and she turned back to the medical histories she had been sorting for Doctor Wy. "No, they weren't. They weren't frightened at all."

  "What were they then?"

  "Nothing. They were nothing. Their eyes were cold and black and empty. And the noises those girls made --"

  A rapid banging interrupted her. The noise was so loud and sharp it drove cold sparks along Fisher's body like an electrical current. His tongue was bleeding from where he bit it but his teeth would not stop chattering. Rose however looked unfazed.

  "There's someone at the door," she said.

  Through squinted lids Fisher saw a pair of shadows move across the windows at the front of the lab.

  "Find out who it is," he said, hands across his ears, "and get them to stop."

  Rose sighed and picked up something Fisher didn't see from the desk. She looked back at him, holding up her keys, before shaking her head again. He looked over his shoulder at the camera footage of Sanderson's test. The display showed the patient lying motionless, the graph lines on the console barely moving. Thankfully he had not been awakened.

  At the door Rose spoke to someone who stood just out of sight. Fisher hazarded uncovering his ears, but though the banging had ceased it had been replaced by the drowning noise of construction that the open door permitted through. The mere sight of the unlocked door unnerved Fisher; he felt the dread of a half-forgotten nightmare squeezing his chest, and took a step forward to see who stood there hidden. The sight of Martin Breem jittering into view was not a relief.

  "You shouldn't be here," Rose said, following Breem inside. "Wednesdays are your day. You have to leave or you'll ruin --" Rose's voice faltered as she saw the dark bruises running down Breem's arms. It was clear the man had been crying; his whole demeanor radiated both weakness and hopelessness. He looked at Fisher as the words tumbled out.

  "My ulcers are back, and I haven't slept in days. There's something really wrong; I can feel it."

  "Mister Breem, you know we can't have you in here."

  "Why?"

  "Because the experiment will be compromised," said Fisher, "and that compromises everyone."

  Breem began to claw at his face. "Don't you get it? Don't you see what he's doing? Oh, God, I thought maybe you'd be different, but you're all the same." He dropped to his knees and started sobbing. Fisher looked at Rose who quickly mimicked downing a drink.

  Fisher checked his watch. What were they going to do with Breem? The night was barely at its halfway point and the Sanderson trial could not be interrupted.

  "Help me get him to Room Three, Rose; at least until he sobers up."

  "But didn't Wy say--"

  "I know what he said, but what choice do we have? We can't put him back on the streets like this. Look at him."

  The two of them carried the weeping Breem to the empty room furthest from Sanderson. From that room Fisher knew it was impossible to hear anything in the next. Fisher himself had taken refuge there when the noise in the lab became too much for him, and yet once he and Rose carried Breem in, the drunken man stopped crying and looked dazed-eyed at the intervening wall.

  "What -- who's there?"

  "Nothing to worry about, Mister Breem. Just rest and when you feel better we'll get you some breakfast."

  Martin nodded slowly, then hiccoughed and lay down on his side to face the intervening wall, hugging his bruised arms to his chest.

  "I tried," he said, just as Fisher and Rose were about to leave. He did not move as he spoke. "I tried to see the doctor for help, but I couldn't find him. He wasn't there."

  "I'm sure you just missed him," Rose said.

  "No, he wasn't there. There was no office. It was like he'd never been there. It was empty. Why wasn't he there?"

  "I just spoke with Doctor Wy this evening," Fisher offered. "He's definitely still there. You must have gotten off on the wrong floor. Now, go to sleep, please."

  They waited, but Martin Breem said nothing more.

  Once outside the room Fisher could hear the telephone ringing, and its soft trill immediately put his teeth on edge. He winced and waited for Rose to answer it. She did so with a put-upon sigh, then after a lazy moment listening pushed a button and handed the receiver to Fisher. "It's Wy. He's checking in. Again."

  "Hello, Doctor Wy."

  "Who's in the lab tonight?"

  Fisher hesitated. "Pardon?" How could he already know about Breem?

  "Which patient is there tonight?"

  "Oh, um . . . It's Sanderson." He looked at Rose but her expression was inscrutable.

  "Good, good. I have Sanderson on a new permutation of the drug. I’m hopeful he sleeps through the night on this one."

  "He may, but he looks awful. Tonight his skin --"

  "A side-effect, nothing more. Once it's working I'll worry about fine-tuning it. How long has he been asleep?"

  "About two hours."

  "And how are his readings?"

  Fisher tabbed through the consoled software until he found the sensor readings.

  "A little more erratic than usual but still within the normal range. He's in REM right now."

  "Good. Watch him closely and report anything new to me at once. I have strong hopes this configuration will be the key."

  Fisher hung up the telephone. Rose shook her head; he already knew what she was thinking.

  The bulk of the nights in the lab were spent monitoring the polysomnograph, which recorded not only the subjects' heart rate but brain activity as well. The results were recorded in a series of jagged lines across the bottom of the console display, and Fisher was able to mark off any anomalies that he noticed. Despite the signs Doctor Wy warned him about he had never seen anything out of the ordinary, and as a result spent much of his time catching up on his reports and charting previous nights' sessions. He had to match the audio and video footage with the graphs and mark where any changes in one were reflected in the other. It was simply a matter of adding flags to the graph at each time something occurred, and then noting an explanation in the supplied field. The work was tedious but quiet, and as he did it Rose often spent her time cleaning the remaining two rooms and preparing them for their next occupant. She was hampered by Breem's presence in Room Three, and her nervous pacing put Fisher on edge.

  "I'm going to have to wash that bedding again. It probably stinks now."

  "I'm sure it will be okay," Fisher said. "It's only for tonight. The room would have been empty anyway."

  "It does seem a waste of space to be testing them all one at a time. I can't believe Wy thinks we can't handle even two at once."

  "It's not that we can't handle them," he said. "It's that Doctor Wy doesn't want them in contact with each other. He says it will taint the experiment. I don't think he wants them discussing their symptoms."

  "Do you think that's it, though? That that's the reason?"

  "What other reason could there be?"

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  They both turned at the sound of something falling outside the control room, but as Fisher recoiled Rose stood and walked out to see what had happened. There was a shadow briefly across the doorway but no doubt it was Rose's own. Nonetheless it took Fisher's heart a few moments to stop racing. As it did so Rose returned to the control room.

  "Well I can't see anything out there. Maybe those guys across the street dropped something outside?"

  "Possibly," Fisher said.

  There was a pause.

  "Hm. That's weird," Rose said. "The camera in Room One isn't working."

  Fisher walked over to the console and tried to call the room's details up but when he hit the command to display the video feed the picture was black. Fisher checked the connections; the feed was good -- the camera was sending information properly but the computer wasn't receiving it.

  "Try switchi
ng to the other rooms," Rose said.

  Fisher tabbed through Room Two's and Three's feeds and saw the ghostly image of a made bed and then of one unmade and slept in. Back to Room One, there was nothing.

  "That is strange," Fisher said, leaning closer. "If the cameras weren't working, we'd get an error. That fact alone --"

  Rose's finger pointing to the screen interrupted him.

  "Did you see that?"

  "What?"

  "That! Look!"

  Fisher did look, and at first didn't see anything in the black display. Then, glimpses of something indistinct appeared faintly in the darkness.

  Fisher scratched his head. He'd never seen a camera fail that way before. Then, the darkness parted further and Fisher saw a strange shadow in the room. It stood still, hovering over Sanderson. Something about its shape niggled at the back of Fisher's mind, something that coiled the anxiety in the small of his back, and when it sprung he had to cycle through the video feeds once more to confirm his fears. The bed in Room Three was unmade, but there was no one occupying it.

  "Breem is in with Sanderson," he said.

  Rose ran to the door while Fisher tried to study the readings. The screen of the polysomnograph was flickering wildly, drawing thin blue and red lines across the entire width of the display as rows of white corrupting code scrolled upward. "I don't understand," was all Fisher could think to say, his brain tripping over the incomprehensible events.

  "Fish! Come here!"

  Fisher went to the door and saw Rose standing by Room One, looking though its tiny window.

  "Rose, what's happening in there?"

  She struggled for words. "It's -- I can't --"

  Fisher raced over and lightly pushed her aside to look through the window, but he too struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. Thick black smoke covered the ceiling, spewing forth from the unconscious Sanderson's gaping mouth. It billowed out in waves and continuously rose to join the cloud that amassed above and was slowly circling the room. There was a faint humming noise but Fisher couldn't be sure he wasn't imagining it. Beneath the darkness stood the muttering Breem, oblivious to the darkness creeping downward.

  "We need to get him out of there," Fisher said, desperately trying to make sense of what he was seeing. "Doctor Wy never wanted them so close to each other."

  "Why not? What's happening?"

  "I don't know. We need to get him out of there now and worry about the rest later." Fisher put his hand on the doorknob and then recoiled. It was vibrating. Rose cupped her hands and looked through the window set in the door.

  "Hurry, I think he's having a seizure!" she said, and opened the door.

  There was a drone as though insects were swarming. The sound pierced Fisher's head, the sensation like knives cutting through his skull. Rose ran into the room toward Breem, who had fallen to his knees and was rocking, releasing choked moans. Fisher covered his ears and called Rose back but she didn't seem to hear him. Above them the dark cloud swirled faster, swelling and contracting as though it were breathing. From that darkness split two protrusions like thick fingers; they slowly stretched toward the floor behind Rose while she held Breem's shaking body. As she turned to Fisher, screaming something he couldn't hear, the darkness behind her began to solidify and take shape. Fisher yelled and frantically pointed to where the two figures were forming but she didn't understand. The shapes were barely four feet tall, thin and childlike, and as they reached their arms toward her the cloud descended further, the storm brewing. Breem's lips moved as though he were silently incanting, each word causing further tumult above. Fisher screamed "Get out of there!" as loud as he could, louder than he thought was possible -- so loud his panic flared white-hot. But it came too late. Rose looked behind her, and everything slowed down in Fisher's mind. The two figures finally reached her and when they lay their dark hands upon her there was a bright flash like lightning sparking in the gathering storm and it blinded Fisher for an instant, leaving an after image burned on his retina like a photograph. He saw laughing children, but the laughter was without warmth, and as he blinked the image away he saw those two dark shapes fall apart, disintegrating in thousands of tiny shadows like flying insects. She was gone in an instant, and he saw remnants of what she had been as they bobbed along the surface of the dark swirling clouds above. Then they sank out of sight forever.

  Fisher shook as he closed the door. He could still see through the window though, see the cloud churning as its turbulence settled. Sanderson had ceased moving as the endless spewing of darkness filled the room. In the shrinking space near the floor, Breem continued his inaudible speech, bent as though in prayer.

  Fisher paced, his hands over his ears to block the noise but it didn't stop his heart from racing furiously, the pounding filling his head. He didn't know what to do or understand what he had witnessed; Rose had disappeared so quickly, so impossibly, that it left him numb. The droning noise worsened the sensation, creeping through the bones in his hands to fill his head with rough cotton. Everything was dull and shifted out of sync, as though he had fallen asleep and in his dreams was no longer part of what he surveyed. Fisher saw Breem through the door's tiny window, saw his face turning a deep crimson. The muscles in the man's throat stood out as though he were commanding the darkness above to stop. Fisher almost believed it was working. The spin of the dark cloud orbiting the room slowed as the effort exerted by Breem increased. His entire face shook, beads of sweat running down his cheeks. Breem poured every breath out to stop the thing, and as his kneeling body began to waver the tumultuous rolling of the cloud began to ebb. Soon it came to a full stop, settling upon the ceiling like a calm pond, and then Breem collapsed onto Sanderson's bed in a heap. Fisher took hold of the door handle to retrieve his and Sanderson's lifeless bodies. If he could get them to safety ... but before Fisher could open the door streams of dark shapes swarmed from the cloud above and with them came a sickening noise that filled Fisher with terror. Everything the darkness struck was consumed in a flurry of bright flickering sparks. The electronics in the room were the first to go, devoured seconds, then the stands and wires. Fisher removed his hands from his ears to bang on the door, but the sound paralyzed him with instant dread. There was nothing he could do but watch as the finger-like projections of darkness descended on the unconscious body of Breem. There was a bright flash and he was gone. Left behind was an image burned into Fisher's retina of Breem being joyfully beaten by a crowd of leering strangers.

  Fisher's head throbbed. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't take his eyes from the thundercloud in the window, terror weighing his limbs down. There was a ringing in his head he feared might be his brain about to burst until he recognized the sound. He managed to turn away from the small window and quickly made his way back to the control room. The telephone there continued to ring, as though waiting patiently for his return. He shook as he picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. He did not speak. He did nothing but listen and stare at the door to Room One and at the small dark portal in its frame.

  "Fisher? Are you there? This is Doctor Wy."

  Fisher's eyes began to water.

  "There's been -- We had --"

  "What's happened, Fisher? Is there something wrong? You were supposed to call me."

  "There wasn't time. It's Rose and -- and Sanderson. He's -- and Breem, he--"

  "Breem was there?" Doctor Wy's voice shook as he spoke. "Did he come into contact with Sanderson? I told you to not let anyone in." Fisher couldn't say anything. All he could hear was the sound of a windstorm, and that terrible droning that could no longer be blocked. "Fisher, you must listen to me now. The experiment is a failure. I should have known better; some things cannot be controlled. It's my mistake and I have to clean it up. What time is it? Stay there; don't do anything. I'm going to make a call and send someone right over."

  "But," Fisher was dizzy from confusion; "I don't understand. What's happening?"

  "There's a darkness, Fisher, that is slipping into
the world through the dreams of the weak. A force of corruption, of entropy, that is taking this world apart to feed itself. I thought -- naively it seems -- that there might be some way to control it, to slow it. Perhaps even reverse it, but I see that was a mistake. I thought I could plan for everything, but one cannot plan to thwart entropy. By its very nature it's unpredictable. I only hope I can stop this in time. Whatever you do, stay there until someone arrives. I -- I'm sorry about this, Fisher."

  But Fisher could not hear those words. They were overwhelmed by the sound of droning. He dropped the receiver to the floor and tried to rub the pain from his temples. "It's okay," he chanted. "It's going to be okay. Doctor Wy is sending someone." On the desk were his headphones and he put them on, desperate for anything that would block the noise from getting inside his head. He turned the volume of the white noise machine up as far as it would go but it was no use. It did nothing to mask that horrible droning. Fisher threw the headphones to the floor, nearly weeping, and watched them break into far too many plastic pieces, scattering them for all eternity. Unwillingly his eyes moved to the polysomnograph which was still drawing Room One's feed across the console screen. The peaks fluctuated so wildly it was a solid wall of color, yet how was it possible when Sanderson had ceased to be anything but some sort of gateway?

  Amid the noise around Fisher was something sharp and sudden, yet he could not place it, not until it repeated. He stepped from the control room to the sound of an echoing creak and saw the door to Room One had bowed out, its window a spider’s web of cracks, barely containing what lay behind it. Dark flying things swarmed, splinters popped off of the frame and landed a few feet way. Fisher wondered where was the help Doctor Wy promised him? He had to escape the lab before what was amassing inside Room One broke free.

  Fisher ran to the front door of the lab and tried the handle but it would not budge. He fumbled the key from his pocket, almost dropping it in his heightened state of anxiety, yet when he tried it he found it would not fit the lock. He scrambled back to the control room, throwing everything aside until he found Rose's keys on her desk. He ran back but it made no difference; the door would not open, no matter how hard he shook it. Desperate, he tried the front windows but found they too were locked. Outside them, on the other side of the fogged and dirty glass, a pair of figures moved slowly back and forth. He banged on the windows to get their attention.