Shadow Life

by Jason Mather

  “Here, have some water,” he extended the glass.

  She shook her head almost imperceptibly.

  “Are you thirsty?”

  “I’m not allowed to drink from the good dishes.”

  Hans put his head in his hands, resisting the urge to yell at her. She was already crying. None of this situation was her fault; she was as much a prisoner as him.

  “Look… um… what’s your name?”

  “Lorilei.”

  “Look, Lorilei, you obviously have some expectations of how this is supposed to go, and I’m not living up to my end. I’m not interested in sleeping with you, and I find it disgusting that Brigham would assume I would be, but that’s not your fault. Can you let somebody know I don’t need you? Maybe they can take you to another room?”

  “I live here.”

  “Here where?”

  “In this room. I’m not allowed anywhere else.”

  “Ever?”

  She just shook her head.

  “Jesus, how long?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You live here and you’re not allowed on the furniture.”

  “Only if the guests require it.”

  Hans’ hatred of Brigham was growing by the minute.

  “Where do you sleep? Are you allowed in the bed?”

  “I…” she stumbled, “I have a little place.”

  “Show me.”

  “I’m not supposed…”

  “Show me… please.”

  She was shocked by his request, shocked enough that the tears had stopped.

  “Lorilei … is that what you parents call you?”

  “I don’t know my parents. My, my nanny used to call me Lori.”

  “Lori then. As your current guest, I would like you to show me where you stay when no one is here.”

  She considered, rose, wiped her face, turned quickly and walked into the bedroom. Hans followed. She made her way to the far corner and unlatched a camouflaged door, its height nearly a foot shorter than her. She stood looking at him.

  He moved over, looked into the small alcove behind the wall. A cot with a little quilted blanket, its faded pattern still showing flowers and small animals. A shelf on the wall with a few personal items. Further back a toilet not much more than a hole in the floor, and a shower-head sticking from the wall.

  “You stay in here when there’s no guest?”

  “Yes.”

  “All day.”

  “Except meals and an hour in the gym.”

  Hans was shocked, angry, completely twisted up, helpless. How many more rooms like this were there in the building? In the city? Was this the norm? His anger was wasted, its only target undeserving. He was here now, as trapped as the girl. He didn’t expect anyone to come let him out.

  Lorilei radiated waves of trepidation. What could he do for her?

  “That big viewscreen in there, does it show movies?”

  “We usually watch people in other rooms on it.”

  “That’s not really my thing. Have you ever seen a real movie? One without sex, I mean?”

  Lorilei shook her head. Her tears had dried a little.

  “You think you could get them to bring us some popcorn?”

  — «» —

  Does he suspect?

  “I don’t think so; he’s too assured of his own greatness and invulnerability. Are your troops in place?”

  They’ve been infiltrating the upper floors for the past few hours. A minimum of resistance has been encountered.

  “How many?”

  Fifteen hundred.

  “And you’re sure Hans can control this thing?”

  He doesn’t have any of the normal internal modifications, making him immune to its side effects.

  “So, it won’t kill him.”

  I don’t think so.

  “Think?”

  Hope.

  “I’d rather he stayed alive.”

  — «» —

  Hours passed before Brigham sent his men to retrieve Onyx. She’d waited patiently, checking and rechecking her plans. Patience and planning were her strengths, why she had risen to the top. The plan was not foolproof, but there was no such thing.

  They led her back to the throne room, still keeping their distance. In her absence, a large table had been brought in. Tons of heavy stone and marble, ornamented with endless dizzying motifs, gilded with precious metals, set with crystal goblets, china plates, cloth napkins. Candles smoking in their gold sconces. Brigham had changed into what he probably thought was rather dapper evening wear, though the tuxedo only enhanced his penguin-like waddle, and the collar pushed the folds up on his neck, like it was trying to eat his head.

  “Madame Onyx,” he placed his bulk in an oversized chair, “please, have a seat.”

  Onyx remained standing. “I didn’t come here to watch you stuff your maw, Brigham.”

  “John, please.”

  “We’re not on a first-name basis.” She crossed her arms, moved her feet slightly apart. “Do you have my property or not?”

  Brigham took no notice, or at least appeared not to. Onyx doubted he was as oblivious as he let on. He leaned back and placed his hands on his belly. “You are a very disagreeable woman.”

  “And you are the most repugnant representative of humanity I’ve ever met.”

  Brigham laughed at that. “Well, now that we have that out in the open, are you sure you won’t join me for a meal? My chefs have been working overtime today, creating a rather extravagant repast.”

  “I don’t want your food, Brigham. I don’t want your company. I don’t want your hospitality. I want what belongs to me, and then I’m leaving here as quickly as I can.”

  Brigham took a moment to pose, not quite sure whether he wanted his hands under his chin (or at least where it should have been), or continuing to rest on his gut. Professorial versus casual. Casual eventually won.

  “Very well. Do you have my money?”

  “It will be transferred to your account as soon as the package is in my hands.”

  Brigham nodded and reached beneath the table, bringing up a rectangular metal box. It fit easily in his huge hands, though he did not look comfortable holding it. He placed it on the table to his side. “Please, take it; I’ll be glad to have it gone. It’s resulted in the deaths of three of my men already.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  She moved forward around the table, planning her next move. She reached for the box.

  Brigham’s hand shot out and closed on hers, his speed and strength surprising, his bulk shifting out of the chair, bringing his face close. She could smell the remains of his last meal on his breath.

  Nothing was said as a battle of wills ensued, the eyes the major player. Muscles strained. Then Brigham did something truly childish.

  His spittle landed on her face. He looked about ready to spit again, but the knife embedded in his wrist cut him short. The color drained from his face, and his eyes dipped down to see her hand pressing against his wrist. She twisted the knife savagely.

  Brigham roared. Once again, his speed was surprising and disconcerting. She was unable to completely dodge the wild blow that landed on her head, knocking her back as he involuntarily let go of her hand, leaving her sitting on the floor. He screamed as he yanked the knife from his wrist and stood there panting, dripping blood on the floor. He took a step forward, brought a foot up to stomp on her, but she was back on her feet, face snarling, another knife in her hand. Brigham took another wild swing. She dodged this one easily, and put the knife through the back of his other hand. He immediately swung the hand back, catching her off balance, knocking her to the floor a second time, cracking her skull and bringing stars. She tried to recover and back up, but a large boot caught her in the stomach, winding her and sending her skidding across the floor. She tasted blood.

  Brigham was coming; she could hear his pained panting. She tried to pull herself up, felt something in her abdomen give way, crashed back down.<
br />
  The roof fell in.

  — «» —

  The viewscreen turned out to have quite a selection, though his request for popcorn fell through. Lorilei didn’t know what to make of it at first, sitting next to him on the loveseat. She tried to drape herself across his lap, remove her robe, kiss his ear and neck. Each time he pushed her away, explained that he just wanted her to watch the movie. She sulked for a bit, but the movie won her over.

  They watched some flashy new high-tech 3D thing for kids, full of bright colors and loud sounds, something about a dragon and a spaceman. It was terrible, but Lorilei was enraptured.

  Afterward he talked her into a much older movie, one of his favorites. Black and white, with a jaded private eye and a fiery redhead. She was less interested than the first, but still sat quietly and watched.

  She fell asleep on his shoulder. He didn’t have the heart to move her, even when his arm went to sleep.

  When the movie ended he stood up, taking care to lay her head down on the couch, and looked for the bathroom. He thought he’d have to use Lorilei’s hovel at first, but another camouflaged door let him into a gigantic bathroom with a tub that could have, and probably had, held at least six people. He did his business, briefly considered using the tub, but thought better of it.

  She was still asleep when he returned. A yawn escaped him. No way to tell what time it was in this place. No windows, no clocks. Probably several hours had passed, based on the length of the movies they’d watched. Maybe they’d never let him out of here. He’d been prepared to die, but wasn’t prepared for imprisonment. Panic gurgled in his gut, complacent for the moment but ready to burst under any more pressure. For now, he would try to stay calm, maybe even sleep a little. He wanted a cigarette.

  As comfortable as it may have been, he could not bring himself to sleep in the bed. That left the floor or the loveseat, currently occupied. He gently lifted Lorilei (she weighed almost nothing) and moved her to the bed, hoping he didn’t wake her. She made a little sound, grumbling slightly and turning over when he put her down, sleepily grasping for something. He went to her cubbyhole and retrieved the faded blanket from the cot. It had the appearance of a worn, well-loved item. Hans covered her as best he could, though it was a choice between feet left out or shoulders. Finally, he pulled it up to her shoulders. She murmured again and lapsed into steady breathing.

  Hans would never have thought himself able to kill someone, but he was enjoying the idea. A twelve-year-old girl. How many men had she had to give herself to, just because they stayed in this room? Not even allowed the comfort of the room in the interim. Yeah, he could kill Brigham. Hans retrieved a couple of pillows off the floor and bedded down on the loveseat.

  — «» —

  A low rumbling woke him. Hans had never been in an earthquake, but he imagined it might have sounded like this. The floor wasn’t rumbling, though. Lorilei made a noise in the other room. She let out another soft yell when he rose and turned on the lights. She was squinting into the light, looking confused by her surroundings.

  “Hans…”

  Her sentence was cut short by a much louder boom, this one vibrating the floor. Loud footsteps went past in the hallway. Hans went to the door, put his ear against it, but there was no sound for the moment.

  She was standing beside him then. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know, can you use your intercom to ask them?”

  “They won’t tell me anything.”

  More feet went past the door, a larger contingent by the sound of it. There was another boom, farther away than the last. Lorilei grasped at his arm. He shook her off.

  “Is there another way out of this room, maybe through your cubbyhole?”

  She shook her head, lip trembling again. Hans had to get it together. He didn’t know what was going on, but terrifying a little girl wasn’t going to help. Comfort was not really his forte, but he tried. He put a hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m sure if there’s a problem they’ll come and let us know. Right now, we’re safest right here.”

  “OK.”

  Sounds he recognized now. Gunshots. A long way off but getting closer.

  “Maybe we should move away from the door. Let’s go sit on the bed for a moment.”

  Lorilei let him lead her to the bed. More feet in the hall. More gunshots, more loud booms, something that sounded like metal scraping or tearing. Lorilei was looking at him. Don’t look scared, Hans, stay calm, for the both of you.

  The noises continued to grow, couldn’t be far from them now. Men were yelling in pain and anger. Heavy caliber weapons were firing in a loud constant roar, still nearing.

  “Lori, I want you go to your cubbyhole.”

  “I want to stay with you.”

  “Please!” It was a yell, and he took a breath as she flinched at him. “I will come and get you, I promise, it’s the safest place.”

  “What is going on?”

  “Lorilei,” he put both hands on her shoulders, “please just go. I won’t leave without you. It’s just for few minutes.”

  She stared at him, face torn, then grabbed her blanket and scuttled for her cubbyhole.

  “Shut the door.”

  A pitched battle was occurring right outside, though the gunshots and yelling had stopped. Metal was ringing against metal, but no yelling or curses. The noise continued to rise in pitch and intensity, hurting his ears. They had to be right outside his door. Then silence, only his ears still ringing. Hans held his breath, hoping they’d gone by.

  The door exploded off its hinges, launching through the room, catching itself on the doorway to the bedroom, spinning as it crashed to the floor at Hans’ feet. What followed it was a nightmare. It was squat and metallic, bipedal, with massive elongated arms gleaming with sharpened menace and blood, and hundreds of other limbs sprouting from its body and head. It stumbled in and crashed to its knees, twisting and flailing. Tried to rise, stumbled again, made couple of steps toward him, then swung one its arms to stab at itself.

  The extra limbs were not a part of it. They belonged to the dozen or so smaller creatures hanging on, perfect featureless spheres, sprouting four tentacles from each direction, stabbing the larger creature repeatedly. He recognized them.

  It moved like it was in pain, making its way towards him. Hans leaped up and tried to put the bed between them, hoping the smaller creatures would finish it off. It struggled into the bedroom, lashing violently, one of its blades managed to spear an enemy, lifting it up into the air, and flinging it toward a wall.

  Crashing into Lorilei’s cubbyhole.

  The wall buckled under the projectile. He could hear rubble falling, and Lorilei’s short yelp.

  The larger creature was back on the ground again, flailing weakly as the smaller ones stabbed again and again through its shell. It made a last attempt to rise, but crashed heavily onto the carpet.

  — «» —

  Her troops had come in as planned, if not quite as gracefully as expected. The roof came down, and with it a mass of squirming, gleaming pods. There wasn’t much time to thank providence; she was too busy scrabbling for a corner to protect her from plummeting debris. What had looked like rock was shattering to dust on the ground; some kind of cheap ceramic.

  Brigham let out a little screech and retreated to the far corner of the room, yelling into his comm for men, rescue, deities. He was cradling his ruined hands, getting struck by the falling artifice.

  A pod landed just behind Onyx, climbed over her, and headed after Brigham. Not a pleasant sensation, but worth achieving her aims. Brigham was done.

  Without the ceiling to hold it up the exterior wall crumbled, falling outward to the street. Debris continued to rain down from the ruined ceiling. Head down, curl into a ball. Sharp debris struck her back, repelled mostly by the armored weave of her outfit. She felt a few bite in, something larger striking her thigh, numbing her leg. Onyx peered through the rising dust.

  Her troops swarmed an unfamiliar
object, two to three times their size, but very similar. A perfect sphere, standing on two squat legs, swinging vicious, articulated blades. Sounds from similar battles echoed across the room.

  She’d suspected Brigham would have something like what she was seeing. Its makeup was too akin to her own to be coincidence, though Brigham had to make everything bigger and flashier.

  The larger enemy went down quickly under the onslaught, falling hard, slashing frantically and destroying the ground beneath; taking itself and her pods down a level, crashing into the floor below. She could hear gunfire now, coming from the hall entrance, now partially blocked by debris. The bullets held no danger for her pods, but the wildly scattered shots stood a chance of striking her, even if by a lucky ricochet. She forced herself up, checking for any serious injury. All appeared sore but intact, the worst of it being the vicious blow Brigham had landed in her stomach. She could taste a bit of blood. She’d had worse.

  There was another loud thud as some idiot threw a concussion grenade into the room. It must’ve landed near one of the large pillars, as the next moment it came crashing down against the injured wall, breaking through and tearing down more of the ceiling. This room wasn’t going to last much longer.

  “I need an exit.”

  Follow the pods through the doorway; I’m removing the men there as we speak. Do you have sphere?

  “Not at the moment, we need to clear this area and search. What are those others?”

  I don’t know, they look like a variation on my own tech. Curious.

  “I was thinking the same.”

  Onyx moved toward the door. The gunshots had stopped nearby. She could hear more, farther off into the building. The pillar partially blocked the entrance, a pile of debris adding to the problem. The pods were scrambling over and through a man-sized hole near the top. She did the same, slowed greatly by injury and caution. Where the fuck had Brigham gone? Hopefully he was dead in the room behind her.

  She needed to get to Hans. If they needed the device to escape he’d have to do it. She couldn’t leave him here regardless. It was bad form.