Monster M.D.: A Monster Girl Harem Mystery Thriller (Monster M.D. )

by Leighton Lawless

  Motion detection tube lighting snapped to life. Jasper flinched when he heard massive and booming footfalls. He stopped, wheeled around, and gasped at what he saw.

  The tube lighting flickered off, and a figure in the shadows at the far end of the corridor stared at him with glowing yellow eyes. Jasper spun on his heels and ran like hell in the opposite direction. His glasses slipped off and broke on the linoleum floor. He skidded into a side office, locked the door, and leaned against it for a few seconds to catch his breath.

  After a moment, he slipped into an ergonomic office chair in front of a workstation. He keyed an old-school laptop which beeped, booted, and loaded. His fingers stabbed the keyboard. A loud crash came from the corridor. He’d run out of time and couldn’t wait any longer.

  He yanked the laptop free from the workstation and kicked at a rear door. The man ran for his life down a back hallway as the crashing grew louder in.

  The unseen footfalls picked up speed as they closed in on him. Jasper ran harder, panting.

  The dark figure loomed just behind him and reached for him. The footfalls stopped, and Jasper felt himself being lifted. He looked back around and down.

  His feet were no longer touching the ground. He dangled from the grip of a creature he couldn’t even see because of the awkward angle.

  The creature began running with Jasper in its hand. He looked ahead at a huge plate-glass window.

  The creature didn’t slow.

  Jasper closed his eyes and felt himself being propelled forward.

  He smashed through the glass window and plummeted several hundred feet down toward the parking lot. His last thoughts were of Celine and what would become of his discovery.

  A few seconds after Arnold Jasper became one with the asphalt, an obscured form approached his pulped body and the remains of the shattered laptop.

  An enormous, leathery hand pawed the corpse and removed a small object from Jasper’s breast pocket. In the leathery and beastly palm lay a business card spattered with Jasper’s blood. It had a name scrawled across a soft matte finish: DR. HIERONYMUS ‘JER’ BENNINGTON, M.D.

  2

  Progress

  North Brother Island, which was situated in the East River near New York City’s South Bronx, was comprised of twenty-two acres of rundown and deteriorating neighborhoods, complete with crumbling warehouses, factories, and 19th Century buildings. In the middle of it all was the old Neo-Georgian Nurses’ Home, which was still in relatively decent shape despite originally being built in 1904. The squat and drab building was circular in shape and made of steel and reinforced concrete block. Two stone lions stood in the courtyard entrance, looming over the decrepit cityscape. The walls were fortified and insulated, ostensibly for temperature control, but also to keep good thoughts in, and bad thoughts out. At least that’s how Doctor Hieronymus “Jer” Bennington preferred to describe it.

  The interior was constructed with bullpen was at its center, from which Jer and his staff were able to monitor, at all times, the residents who were stationed in therapy rooms around the perimeter. Deeper inside the neglected building was Jer’s small mental health clinic.

  The morning after Arnold Jasper’s untimely demise, Jer was seated at a circular table with three monsters. Paul, his slump-shouldered assistant, was also taking part in a session inside the therapy room. Jer ran a hand down his chiseled, expressive face, which was far more serious than it had any right to be at twenty-nine years of age. He fidgeted with an old stethoscope around his neck and threw a look at Paul. His assistant scanned a clipboard and tapped his right index finger against his thigh.

  “I’m detecting a little hostility, Damiana,” Jer said.

  Jer’s gaze fixed on the female monster seated across from him, whose eyes glowed red as she raked her long fingernails on the table.

  Damiana possessed exquisite features, shaved-down horns, and undersized dragon-like wings. The wings didn’t help much with flying. She could barely get a few feet off the ground, but her aggressive and powerful personality filled the room.

  “Hostility?” Damiana spat. She turned to Lars, a milquetoast new guy in his forties. Lars had a haunted and zombified look in his eyes, because…well, he was a zombie. “Yeah, so?”

  “So, you’re cycling again,” Lars said. His putty-colored flesh rearranged itself into a sort of submissive smile.

  Damiana grabbed a foam baseball bat from the table and stood up.

  “Don’t project, Damiana,” Isis cooed. Her feline eyes narrowed and her tail whipped back and forth.

  Jer got up and strode over to Damiana.

  Damiana swung the foam bat wildly. The plastic tip at the end grazed Paul’s head, but he didn’t bat an eyelash.

  “Project my ass!” Damiana shouted. “It ain’t right for them to discriminate against us. Don’t they know who I am!? I could send ‘em all to the Lake of Fire like that…” she snapped her fingers. “Just like that!”

  Jer looked at her, a sympathetic look in his eyes. He reached out a hand.

  Damiana handed over the foam bat.

  “We know you could,” Jer gently said. “But when it mattered most, you didn’t. We believe in you, Damiana.”

  She gritted her teeth. “I wanted to, though.”

  “But you didn’t,” Jer replied. “That’s called progress.” He turned to the others and clapped, but no one joined in. He paused, then tossed the foam bat aside and moved around the table.

  “In fact, all of you are doing wonderfully,” he said. “Lars, remember your hypertension when you first came in?”

  “Kind of high,” Lars admitted.

  “You were red-lining, big fella. But we worked through it, didn’t we?”

  Lars nodded in agreement. “We did, and I’ll never forget what you did for me, doc.”

  “And what did you learn, Lars?” Jer asked.

  “That humans aren’t meant to be eaten,” Lars replied as he hung his head.

  “Bingo!” Jer blurted. “You’re a zombie, but you don’t have to eat like one.” He motioned to the others. “We’re making real progress here today.”

  Lars nodded as Jer pointed to Isis.

  “And your lunar cycles, Isis? Taking feline form at the most inopportune moments…” His voice trailed off, letting her remember. Isis blushed and fought off a giggle.

  “But we worked on it,” Jer continued. “And that’s the thing to remember. Therapy does work, and all of you are becoming productive members of society. That is the point! We don’t win the humans over through violence. We win them over by showing them what you’re all capable of.”

  Damiana looked up, pain etched in her eyes.

  “Still feel the hunger though, doc,” she confessed. “The undertow is strong.”

  “I know it is, but you have to show them that not all monsters are the same. I believe that, I really do, in no small part because of all of you here. There’s nothing to be gained through violence,” Jer stated.

  Damiana nodded and glared daggers in Paul’s direction.

  “Next time, don’t invite any Synths,” she demanded.

  “How’d you know?” Jer asked.

  Damiana sashayed over to Paul and blotted a rivulet of white liquid that dripped from a scratch on Paul’s forehead, the spot where Damiana caught him with the end of the bat.

  “GenAdvance can retool ‘em all they want, but the eyes’ll always give ‘em away,” Damiana grumbled.

  Paul looked up at Jer and Damiana. The nearly imperceptible dead spots in his pupils betrayed the fact that he was a synthetic human, a copy.

  “Okay, fair point,” Jer said. “Let’s reconvene in a few days, and we’ll pick up where we left off.”

  Everyone left except for Isis. She smiled wickedly at Jer. “I think I’m in need of my annual checkup.”

  Jer suppressed a smile. “You say that every time.”

  She sidled up to Jer, her tail curled up over one shoulder. “Why do you fight it?”

  “I don’t
know what you mean...”

  She grinned and her long, golden tongue flicked at Jer. “I’ve lived long enough to have learned that it’s impossible to suppress your urges all the time, Doctor Bennington. We do what we do mainly because it’s in our nature. We’re born this way, baby.”

  “That goes against everything I believe.”

  “What about Damiana? Hmm?”

  “That’s different,” Jer replied. “We were involved long before she became a client.”

  “Subtle distinction without significant difference.”

  “That’s just a matter of opinion.”

  “Just saying,” she replied with a grin. “Maybe another time.” She kissed Jer on the cheek and slunk off. Jer watched her go.

  Jer exited the therapy room and strolled down a cluttered corridor, weaving around unpacked boxes. He nearly collided with a young woman. “Doctor Bennington!” she gasped.

  Jer’s head swiveled, noticing her form-fitting dress. He hurriedly continued making progress forward through the gauntlet of neglected boxes.

  “I apologize for anything I might have said last night,” Jer called back with a slight smile. “I had one too many.”

  “No, I’m–what?” the woman stuttered.

  “Who are you?” Jer asked as he nudged a box to the side with his foot.

  “Your new intern.”

  “I had an old one?” He blinked a couple of times. Now that he was paying attention, he noticed how lovely she was.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jer scratched his head and the young woman smiled. “I’m Sara. Sara Dakota. From Yale.”

  “Dakota, like the states?” Jer asked.

  “Not exactly,” she answered, hustling after Jer as he turned into a side hallway.

  The two of them passed by other rooms full of second-hand lab equipment.

  “I didn’t know Yale had any reciprocity with us,” Jer said.

  She shook her head. “They don’t, but I’ve always wanted to study and work with trans-humanoids.”

  “Whoa, trans-humanoids?” Jer replied, stopping and staring at Dakota. “They’ve got fangs, tails, and horns. They put the fear of God into just about everyone, Dakota. Drop the ‘politically-correct’ B.S. They’re monsters.”

  “But ever since the United Nations declaration on trans-humanoid rights and—”

  “Say it,” Jer interrupted. “C’mon. Just say it once…for me. Monsters.”

  “Monsters,” Dakota replied.

  Jer smirked. “See how easy that was?”

  A loud, grating voice boomed from down the hallway.

  “Jer! Hey, Jer! Jer, I need to talk to you! Wait!”

  Jer turned to see one of his colleagues. The twitchy little man was adjusting his glasses and lab coat as he shuffled toward them.

  “I have something to tell you,” the newcomer said, clutching himself as if he was trying to hold his body together.

  “Guy, meet Dakota. Dakota, meet Guy Randolph,” Jer said, introducing them.

  Dakota smiled. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Jer’s new intern.”

  Guy squinted. “Dakota? Like the states?”

  Dakota pursed her lips and groaned. “Mm-hmm.”

  “Charmed,” Guy said. “Who are you again?”

  “She’s the new intern,” Jer answered. “She already told you.”

  “Right.”

  “We need to work on your memory recall, buddy,” Jer said with kindness in his voice.

  “Dakota,” Guy said. “Your name is Dakota. I remembered that. I’ve got something to tell Hieronymus, and if you’re the new intern, I might as well share it with you too,” Guy said. He paused and looked at them with wide eyes as if he was about to announce a huge discovery. “Prepare yourselves, because I’ve finally determined that humankind is a flawed creation.”

  Jer opened his mouth to respond, but Guy continued talking. “Hamstrung by congenital deficiencies…”

  “Guy!” Jer said, interrupting him.

  “Which is why God kicked us out of the bloody Garden!” Guy declared.

  “GUY!”

  Guy flinched and fixed his crooked glasses. Again.

  “Are you off decaf again?” Jer asked.

  “It’s not the caffeine, Hieronymus,” Guy answered.

  “What’d I say about the name?”

  “Right. Jer,” Guy said, correcting himself. “Sorry.”

  “Try to remember,” Jer said. “So is there more? You wanted to tell me about your theory on humankind’s place in the universe?”

  Guy cackled. “Heavens, no. That would be such a waste of interaction. Always, at least two agenda items when meeting officially.”

  “This isn’t an official meeting,” Jer replied.

  “Might as well be. I also need to tell you that they’ve been waiting.” He pointed to two stern-looking humans at the far end of the hall. Despite having jowls like pit bulls, Jer could tell that they were human. It was the way they carried themselves. Unlike monsters, humans generally carried themselves with a certain pretentiousness that was unique and different from other species, an attitude that seemed to suggest that the world belonged to them.

  The two ‘guests’ flashed corporate Pharma police badges, which were stamped with the logo of GenAdvance: the Staff of Hermes, a short staff entwined by two serpents.

  Guy leaned close to Jer and whispered, “They mentioned that it’s about Jasper.”

  With some trepidation, Jer signaled for the two Pharma cops to follow him, and they stomped forward, badges still up. The doctor noticed that one of them was named Pike, and the other was Ritter.

  He unlocked the door to his office and gestured for the two Pharma cops to go inside. Before joining them, he turned back to Dakota. “We’ll pick up the conversation later.”

  She nodded in gratitude and left. Once inside, Jer slumped into the blue wingback chair in front of his desk. Chaotic piles of papers, books, and several old, blinking tablets that were blinking somehow remained carefully balanced as the other men marched in. The windows were boarded up behind the doctor, but glimmers of light shone through. The whole room had the eerie atmosphere of an abandoned warehouse.

  Ritter began to nose through the papers without permission, rifling along as if he owned the place. Jer supposed he kind of did, since GenAdvance technically held the deed on all of North Brother Island.

  Jer held up a finger. “Can you please not violate my Constitutional rights and those of my patients?”

  Ritter looked up and yawned. “Fourth and Fifth Amendments were suspended after the first wave of monster riots. You of all people should know that, so don’t play coy. You’re not going to silver-tongue your way out of this one, doc.”

  “Just ‘Jer’ is fine,” he muttered.

  “The bottom line,” Ritter continued, “is that our authority to search and seize has been greatly expanded.”

  Jer steepled his fingers under his chin. “A famous man once said that the average man doesn’t want to be free. He simply wants to be safe.”

  “I’ve never heard that,” Pike replied.

  “Probably because they’re not teaching about H.L. Mencken in group homes anymore,” Jer smiled.

  Pike did not.

  “What’s with the stethoscope?” Ritter asked derisively as he pointed at the device dangling around Jer’s neck. “Aren’t you just a head shrink?”

  Jer’s eyes glanced down at it, and back up. “Psychiatrist,” Jer corrected as he tapped a finger to the metal diaphragm and bell chestpiece. “The stethoscope is for personal reasons that I’d rather not share with you. It’s none of your business.”

  The truth was that the stethoscope was the only keepsake he had left from his father, the late Doctor William Bennington. He also kept a little something special hidden inside in case of an emergency.

  “Psychiatrist,” Ritter echoed, but with condescension in his voice. “Same thing. Either way, this whole place doesn’t sit right with me. Therapy for monsters?
Bullshit. I get the feeling this is some kind of front for a criminal enterprise. What are you selling to the ugly fuckers? Drugs? Weapons? False hope?” He snorted.

  “I beg to differ,” Jer said after several seconds of uncomfortable silence, “Look, I’m pretty busy, so what’s this all about? Is it Jasper? Did some myopic rookie accuse him of violating his passport privileges again? Did he accidentally think a Pharma dick was a monster because he was ugly or something? I’ll pay his bail. Just tell me what he’s gotten into.”

  “There’s no bail to be paid,” Pike said. “At least not for Jasper.”

  “Pharma Brass wants you across the bridge,” Ritter added.

  Jer arched an eyebrow. “On what grounds? All I do is provide therapy and emotional support. This is bullshit!”

  Pike grinned, cleared her throat, and answered, “Crazy little thing called murder.”

  3

  Prime Suspect

  Herons flew overhead as a hydra law enforcement vehicle sliced through the North Brother Island monster borough. Jer sat in the back, along with Dakota as a witness in case of a frame job.

  Collapsed bricks lined the streets, old shingles and broken furniture littered the yards, and nature had increasingly taken over the landscape. Vines, shrubs, and even trees spread unabated. Poison ivy covered the ground, making roads and sidewalks difficult to navigate.

  The hydra swerved and turned at an intersection passing a yield sign that claws had slashed across the center.

  Ritter sat in the driver’s seat despite the vehicle being automated. Pike was in the shotgun seat. Dakota watched the cop stare outside, seething as her eyes raked the area’s inhabitants. Many of the monsters congregated on street corners or in the shadows of neglected buildings.

  Jer pointed outside. “Did you know that in its heyday, North Brother Island housed many quarantined patients with communicable diseases? One of them was the infamous Typhoid Mary.”

  “You don’t say,” Pike said as she glanced back over her shoulder at the doctor.