by Timothy Boyd
“Charise!” he called out.
At the sound of his voice, Charise exhaled, “Li’l Bobby! Thank the Lord Jesus! I was just—,” but she cut herself off as she turned to face him, her eyes growing large.
Henry’s expression was unreadable to her, but next to him, Mother pulsed ever brighter and gave the chilling command with her mouthless face. “Kill… Charise…”
He looked at his portly friend, a small pang of guilt flicking in his chest, then back up at Mother for clarification.
“Kill!” she demanded.
Pushing his glasses solidly up onto the bridge of his nose, Henry faced the frightened Charise once more, sure of what must be done. He knew that Mother was right. This was the only way.
After all, Mother knows best.
In Darkness
VI
Charise stood in the hallway, the horribly painful gash in her side pushing blood from her body, her flashlight pointed ahead at Henry, who had a sickening grin on his face, ghastly and gaunt in the shadowed light from the dimly lit hall.
Tom placed a strong hand on her shoulder, knowing that her instinct would be to charge toward the young man to whom she was so emotionally attached. “Henry,” he called out, trying to sound firm yet friendly. “What’s going on?”
“I need to talk with Charise,” he replied, devoid of subtext or emotion.
“What’s wrong, Child?” she called out, trying not to sound frightened, but Tom squeezed tighter on her shoulder, silently letting her know that advancing may be unwise.
The security guard continued, “Charise has been injured. I’ll be staying with her until we can get out of here and get her some help, so… go ahead and talk.”
Charise’s gaze flicked from Henry to his right. Standing – no, hovering – next to him was something that was difficult to describe. To her, it appeared to be an essence of evil, black and ghostly, smoky and smoldering with passionate hatred, two glowing crimson spheres where eyes ought to be, assuming that what was at the top of this spectral being could be described as a face. She felt a low frequency hum pulse out from the spirit in a rhythmic fashion, and she could tell it was somehow communicating with Henry, and he understood its commands.
It was an Angel of Death.
Henry stood still, staring at his newfound foes, strategizing the best course of action in his scientific brain. He looked up at Mother on his right, her beautiful golden warmth filling him with a sense of ease. He knew as long as this Guardian Angel remained by his side, nothing would go wrong.
“Must… kill… Charise,” Mother said to him.
“Ms. Jacobs,” he said in an attempt to rile her up, knowing that she preferred to be called by her first name. “Please, come talk to me.”
Tom pulled her back when he felt her begin to advance. He spoke to her quickly and in a hushed voice. “This was not the plan!”
She looked up at her dear friend and co-worker, a great sadness in her dark eyes. “He blames me.”
“Do you know how crazy this is?!” Tom glanced down at his watch. “We’re out of here in less than an hour. Let’s just go and stay safe until then!”
She smiled at him, holding back tears from her emotional anguish. “I swore I’d help him, and this is my chance.”
Tom’s frustration with her stubbornness grew. “This isn’t a game!”
“I ain’t some naïve woman, Tom!” she snapped. “I know better’n you what’s at stake!” Her cheeks flushed as she felt a tormenting weight on her shoulders, the result of years of walking the asylum halls and being unable to help anyone.
He sighed. “I know that. I’m sorry.” She had far more invested in the London family than he did, which is how he knew she had made up her mind. All he could do was accompany her down the hall and be ready for anything.
“Ok, Henry,” Charise agreed, no longer feeling as though he were the Li’l Bobby she remembered. “Let’s talk.” She slowly made her way down the darkened hall, her flashlight making a path that she wasn’t sure she wanted to follow, Tom trailing closely behind. She had wanted so badly to help Henry tonight, ushering him into his father’s room, hoping to provide him emotional closure. She was no longer sure that that would happen.
She was frightened. But she cared more for the young man standing before her than she paid mind to her own fear. As she neared Henry, she felt the low hum from the essence growing stronger, like it was becoming excited. She silently prayed for the safety of Henry and Tom, for the expulsion of the evil in their midst, and lastly for herself.
When she was only three feet away, she stopped and looked only at him, ignoring the ghostly presence and taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. She no longer felt the pain in her side, which she knew wasn’t a good thing. “Ok, Child. I’m here.”
Henry felt the golden radiance of Mother filling the void in his dark soul as her influence pulsed through him. He looked at the battered, beaten, and broken woman in front of him, and his heart became consumed with pity. He realized that killing her would be doing her an immense favor. Judging from the wound in her side, she seemed to be on borrowed time anyway.
He looked at Charise with an unwavering eye and said, “You are not here to help me.”
Confused, she corrected him. “I am, Child. I’m helpin’ the best I can.”
“No. Charise is not here to help me.” And before she saw it coming, he raised his arm and backhanded her face with such force that she flung to the side and collapsed into the wall, her flashlight crashing to the floor, its beam pointed down the empty hall in the distance.
She cried out in shock and pushed herself back to her feet, but Henry had already grabbed the back of her head, a chunk of her hair in his hands, and he slammed her forehead into the white drywall.
Henry’s chest clenched, and a feeling of intense guilt swam through his mind. He thought about all the wonderful times Charise had taken care of him, everything she had done for his father, everything she was still doing. His conscience was resolved, however, when Mother pulsed with approval, cheering him on.
Tom swung a hard punch that landed squarely on his jaw, making his vision go black, disorienting him. He would not allow that to happen again. Henry charged and barreled into Tom’s chest with his shoulder, making him stumble backward and tumble onto the floor.
Before continuing with the foolish fallen man, Henry (upon Mother’s urging) swiftly side-punched Charise. She howled in throbbing agony as fresh, warm blood oozed from her stab wound.
Tom scrambled to his feet and remained planted, at-the-ready, his senses heightened, waiting to see what would be the next affront against them. “Henry, stop!” he pleaded. “This isn’t you!”
Henry advanced, swinging a punch that Tom evaded. Mother urged him to continue as she floated over the ailing body of the woman she wanted dead, knowing that soon her wish would come true. He swung again with his other fist, but Tom sidestepped and pushed the young man’s face into the wall.
Henry flung the weight of his body backward, slamming into Tom, knocking him to the ground again. Henry was so angry at the man’s continued attempts to stop him that he didn’t notice Mother pulsing with instructions. He remained focused on the security guard lying on the ground as he repeatedly kicked and stomped, feeling bones crack and hearing gasps of aching pain.
Suddenly, Henry felt a blinding crack in the back of his skull, and he heard Mother crying out in anger as the corners of his vision slowly faded into darkness, and he fell to the ground, unconscious.
* * *
Charise pressed a hand to her side tightly, drying blood crusting between her sticky fingers. In her other hand, she clutched her nightstick, having just swung it at Henry, forcing him to the ground.
Behind them, the evil essence pulsed quickly in anger and slowly fizzled into non-existence.
Stillness encroached upon them. Tom lay on his back, clutching his ribcage, and Henry was in a heap at Charise’s feet, unconscious. She felt she had nearly overdosed on adre
naline, and her nerves trembled with aching exhaustion.
When she was finally able to speak, she called out to Tom, not daring to move for fear that her legs would give out under her heft. “Tom. Please say you’re all right.”
He groaned. “I think he broke one of my ribs.”
“Can ya stand?”
“I think so.”
She watched as he struggled to rise, knowing how much pain he was in. But she was afraid to move, imagining that if she did, something would burst from her body, and it would finally cease to function.
He limped over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“I honestly ain’t sure.” She took a deep breath, and her resolve broke, her face contorting with pain as she winced. “It hurts. Shit, it hurts, Tom.”
He looked down at the shallowly breathing mass of Henry at his feet.
“It ain’t his fault, ya know,” she said.
He noticed the emotional struggle in Charise’s face as she fought to convince herself that her own words were the truth.
“He wasn’t himself.”
“No,” Tom sighed. “He wasn’t.”
Charise held her breath and slowly removed her hand from her wounded side, expecting everything within her body to pour out. It did not, and she exhaled with relief. “Help me get him up.”
As much as he was able through the agony of his broken rib, Tom helped Charise raise the unconscious Henry from the ground. She looked into the young man’s innocent face, traces of stubble beginning to appear around his jawline.
“I always felt a great deal of compassion for you, Li’l Bobby,” she admitted to his limp body, softly placing her hand on his cheek. She suddenly slapped his unconscious face, leaving behind a red handprint. “But you actin’ like a damn fool, and I won’t stand for that!” She retrieved her flashlight from the ground and said, “Let’s go.”
Tom, holding up Henry, asked, “Where?”
“The Bahamas. But I s’pose anywhere with a couch will be just fine right now.” For the first time since Henry had arrived, the hospital seemed calm and settled once more.
* * *
Henry’s eyes fluttered open, and he slowly sat up from a couch. He looked around the employee lounge, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of the emergency lights that were now back on. He was disoriented and tried to get his bearings. A door at the far end of the room next to some vending machines. Another one behind him to the left. A unisex bathroom on his right.
He clutched the back of his skull as a wave of nausea flooded over him.
“I won’t lie and say I’m sorry ‘bout that headache,” Charise admitted.
Henry’s brain gradually caught up with what his eyes were seeing, and across the coffee table on the opposite couch was a sickly Charise with a huge bruise on her forehead, leaning over the furniture’s arm with a hand pressed tightly to her side.
Next to them in a leather chair sat Tom, trying not to breathe too deeply, eyeing him warily.
Nightmarish memories came flooding back into Henry’s mind, reminding him of the events that had so far transpired. His bottom lip quivered as he struggled to hold back his guilt, and he confessed, “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t—.”
Charise held up her hand. “I know. But if it happens again, my nightstick’s goin’ so far up your ass you’ll taste the tree it was carved from.”
Henry took a deep breath to calm his emotions, and he said, “The night crew can’t handle this. We need to get out of here and call the police.”
Charise and Tom shared a glance of concern, and she answered. “No one from that city give’s half-a-rat’s ass ‘bout what happens in this place. You know that.”
After a moment, Henry’s red, puffy eyes grew wide. “My father…”
Charise leaned forward slightly, as if suddenly interested in what he had to say. “What about him?”
“I can’t just leave him here!”
She looked at him, her eyes full of pity. “Child, we can’t risk movin’ him. He’s too sick.”
The young man’s face began to contort with painful emotion. “But… I need…”
Charise glanced over at Tom, who was also looking on with keen interest. “What do you need, Child?”
He wiped tears from his face. “I need to talk to him before…”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Charise’s lips pursed with determination, and Tom subtly nodded to her, letting her know that he agreed with her thoughts. She slapped her nightstick into the palm of her hand and said, “Then let’s get ya to your daddy.”
The door at the far end of the lounge slowly creaked open, and a petite young woman slowly shambled in, her long black hair matted to her face. She mumbled quietly to herself, incoherent to the three in the room. Her hospital robes clung awkwardly to her bony frame, and she hunched forward and shambled onward.
Henry’s eyes grew wide. “Karen?” he called to the patient, rising from the couch and heading toward her. “Karen, are you all right?”
She continued mumbling quietly.
“What are you saying?” he asked her.
Tom hesitantly rose to his feet and lent a hand to Charise, a look of growing apprehension crossing her face as Henry approached his friend.
Karen continued advancing on them, mumbling louder.
Henry leaned in. “Karen, slow down. What’s wrong?”
The woman stopped ten feet from them, her mumbling now silenced. She looked up, a wild glare in her doe-like eyes. She suddenly bellowed in a shrill voice, “You have ended me!”
Henry, Charise, and Tom didn’t really know what to think as Karen’s face split open down the center, revealing an animalistic skull with beady feline eyes underneath. Her legs both snapped backward, making her fall onto all fours, and the skin on her hands and feet tore open, giving way to three-inch blood-covered talons.
Lurking in front of them was a hideous four-legged beast with ripped, bloody skin stretched too tightly over her bony frame. The piercing eyes targeted Charise, and the beast let forth a mighty screech that chilled the blood in their veins.
In Darkness
VII
Henry Robert London stares at the bloody, skeletal, feline beast in front of them, its eyes fixated on Charise. He marvels at the taut, rippling muscles that launch the creature into the air, a predatory jungle horror leaping over the couch toward its prey. As it soars toward them, he sees it open its mouth to let out a bone-tingling shriek. He sees Charise put her arms up and let out a scream of terror, yet he hears nothing. His senses are limited.
Next to her, Tom wraps his arms around Charise and makes an effort to dive to the ground. The beast flexes its fierce claws mid-flight, nearing its mark. With one powerful swing, the beast’s arm swipes forward, lacerating Charise’s juicy, dark neck, sending blood rocketing through the air. The swipe effortlessly slices through bone. Her detached head soars across the room, the face frozen in wide-eyed terror.
Henry watches in horror as the beast casts Charise’s body to the side and begins mauling Tom, now on the floor. Tom reaches up to him, pleading to be saved as his jugular vein is torn from his throat. Henry stands, frozen, watching the gleam in Tom’s eyes slowly become dull, his hand flopping lifelessly to the ground beside him.
The beast slowly turns its head toward Henry, mandible dripping with gore. The beady eyes consider him, and then the creature turns and walks out of the door behind him.
He stares at the carnage at his feet, still unable to move, unable to act. Like always.
A man once asked, “What atonement is there for blood spilt upon the earth?” Henry had believed there was none, but not to try to achieve it implied a lack of guilt, or heartlessness. And Henry felt immensely guilty – for everything that had transpired this night – and his heart was painfully heavy. In this moment, he realized the journey toward atonement would not begin with inaction.
He shook away his mind’s vision of the slaughter of Charise and now looked
at her, standing next to him, holding her injured side and gazing at the beast in front of them. He saw Tom, trying to breathe with a broken rib, slowly backing away. He observed what used to be his friend Karen but now had morphed into the stuff of nightmares.
Henry’s clothes were still damp and uncomfortable, chilling his body. Morbid or not, he had always imagined his own death being far more comfortable than this. Perhaps while lying in a warm room on a cozy couch, like the one that used to be in his father’s den at home, a feeling of contentment enveloping his heart.
Not at all like this.
Charise shot a quick glance to Henry and noticed the way in which he was looking at her, sadness in his eyes. “What, Child?!”
He placed a hand on her arm, a bittersweet smile of acceptance crossing his lips. “I’m sorry for everything.” He noticed the beast leaning back on its haunches, preparing to pounce and make his horrible daydream come true.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she said.
Henry knew that there was no more time for words. His heart filled with regret that he would not get to see his father one more time, but this was what needed to be done. His journey toward atonement began here. He squeezed her shoulder, and then he ran – toward the beast – leaping over the couch between them, diving through the air onto the creature.
“Henry!” Charise started toward him, but Tom yanked her back.
The beast’s legs gave out from the sudden weight of the man atop it. It howled and flailed, flinging him across the room. He crashed into the wall and fell to the ground, quickly picking himself up.
The beast, now furious with the boy, had turned its attention away from the rotund woman and now was focused on the person that had ruined its kill. Henry looked up at Charise and Tom at the other end of the room, starting to regret his foolish actions. He pointed at the door behind them and yelled, “Go!”