by R. R. Virdi
“What?”
“There was discoloration around the heart. I passed it off as nothing, but it wasn’t right.”
“Wasn’t right?” I blinked, lost with what she was getting at.
My eyes felt as if they had been jabbed. Something flashed through my mind. My nose felt like I had gone ten rounds with a professional boxer with my hands tied behind my back. I shut my eyes and shook off the rather powerful vision from Charles. It was what I needed though.
Ortiz pressed the scalpel to Andre’s heart. The surgical blade pierced the muscle with ease. Blood didn’t spurt out. That’s always the first thought when it comes to hearts. This heart wasn’t pumping any longer. The blood pooled out in a dribble, like an overripe fruit being punctured.
Only, dead man’s blood didn’t seep out, not alone at least. A purple fluid, the color and consistency of children’s cough syrup, oozed out. The smell that came with it was the sort reserved for vinegar factories. It was an overwhelming sourness to the point of being sickening.
I fought the urge to retch. Ortiz’s body shook for a moment. “Check his nose.” I gagged, resisting the smell as best I could.
“What?” She eyed me like I was crazy. “You want me to puke?”
“I thought you were a med student.” I eyed her back. “Step up.”
She shot me a glare and made no move to do as I asked.
“I’m serious. Check his nose.”
She breathed in exasperation but relented. Ortiz picked up an obscenely long swab and stared at me. “I hate you.”
I smiled the best I could, trying not to retch as my mouth opened.
The cotton-tipped stick slid into Andre’s nose. Ortiz paused before jostling it a bit. She moved it toward the outer side of his nostril, and Andre’s nose deformed.
“Um, that doesn’t seem normal,” I said.
“It’s not,” she frowned.
“Aren’t there supposed to be bones preventing that sort of thing?”
“They’re…broken?” She blinked several times.
“Pull it out, check his ears.” I wanted to be wrong, I had to be wrong.
“Why? Do you know what did this?”
“Just do it!”
Her eyes widened, first in surprise, then with a dangerous light flickering through them.
“Please.” I held up a calming hand and gave her a weak smile.
The cotton swab slipped out of his nose. A trail of syrup followed it out.
“His ears,” I croaked. I was going to be wrong. As soon as she checked his ears...I was going to be proven wrong.
She inserted another swab into his ear canal, removing it seconds later. I wasn’t wrong.
God, I wasn’t wrong.
Purple ichor coated the cotton tipped tool.
My face must have betrayed my thoughts because, when Ortiz saw it, her features mimicked how I felt. “Charles?” Uncertainty rang in her voice. “What did this?”
My spine was thin ice, ready to be shatter with a simple tap. “A phage,” I whispered. “A Babylonian phage.”
Chapter Nineteen
“That’s not a good thing, is it?”
“No,” I breathed. “No, it’s not.”
“How bad is it?” She inhaled sharply as she waited for my answer.
I swore.
“That bad?”
I swore again.
“What are they?”
I swore again, completing the charm.
Ortiz’s forehead creased. Her jaw tightened and her arms folded beneath her chest. She gave me an impatient look.
“They’re... Ah hell, I don’t even know where to start. They’re bad, so frickin’ bad. They’re a type of phage.”
“And phages are...?”
“You know how vampires feed on blood?”
“They’re vampires? Wait, vampires are real?” Her posture loosened and her eyes grew several sizes.
I shook my hand. “In a way. Remember vampires are creatures that feed.” I placed emphasis on feed. “They are too many types of vampires to count if you look at it that way. That’s what phages are, a type of creature that feeds and lives off a certain essence. For the traditional and well-known vamps, that’s blood. These things though—they feed on fear.” I let the revelation sit with her.
“Which explains what it’s doing here.”
I nodded in agreement. “This place is a captive pen. It’s an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
Ortiz nodded. “Plus, who’s going to believe a patient when they scream, ‘Monster’?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me more.” Her lips folded and pressed tight. She didn’t look like she wanted to hear more.
“These things are old—biblical old. I mean, they hail from Babylon. The Babylon. You know the stories about the Tower of Babel? Babylon’s collapse and the speaking in tongues bit?”
“Yeah?”
“It wasn’t the wrath of God that did that. It was these freaks. Lore goes that they drove the populace mad. It’s one of the things they can do. They foul the air around them. They don’t just make it smell like a vinaigrette fest; they taint it. Breathing in the same air space as them can cause hallucinations, drive people insane and cause paranoia. In this place—amplify that. The patients here are already on edge. This thing can and will push them over. Back in Babylon, mythology suggests these monsters corrupted the water supply…” I trailed off as Charles’ cryptic warning began to make sense.
“What?” Ortiz stared at me as if she knew I was onto something.
“The water, damnit,” I growled. “They’ve tainted the water supply!”
“You’re not making any sense, Charles.”
“Every time I’ve freaked out and had a hallucination, it’s been right after having a drink of water.”
“That’s insane. If that were the case, how come everyone else isn’t having hallucinations?”
“I think they are, to some extent at least. It might not be the same for every person. It’s not always about causing mass hysteria. Think about it. If this place collapsed into sudden pandemonium, what happens to your food source? Most of the patients would be hurt, killed, or the asylum would shut down. End result; no smorgasbord. The water may be corrupted, but the creature is only reaching out to a select few at a time. Easier to control, manipulate, and make it look like accidental deaths.”
“They’re that intelligent?” She repressed a small shiver.
“They brought about the collapse of one of the most prominent empires in history,” I said.
“Dangerously intelligent,” whispered Ortiz.
“Yeah,” I mumbled as my thoughts drifted. Why were they affecting me so greatly? It clicked. Charles had died under their influence. That also explained why I had felt so bad waking up in his body. The vertigo, nausea and the frickin’ heart attack. Residual effects of being fed upon by a nasty phage. They pumped their victims full of whatever cocktail they created during feedings.
Charles died struggling, most likely alone, frightened, trapped in a room with a nightmare. It could’ve been nightmares in fact. Babylonian phages were notorious for plaguing a victim’s mind with every horror imaginable, right up to the moment the person died.
None of that explained how Charles had known about the water, why he attacked the doctor, or scrawled over the walls. There was no way of knowing what Charles’ hallucinations had been. I recalled a bit of lore that could let me turn the tables in a way.
And it wasn’t a great way.
“You’ve got a plan,” Ortiz said. It wasn’t a question. She knew me well, which was saying something considering that she didn’t know the truth.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“What is it?”
Seeing how I couldn’t lie to Ortiz—well, not without her knowing it was a lie—I told her. “Story goes that a person hallucinating under the influence of a Babylonian phage can give themselves wholly to the taint and—”
“That’s a stupid idea. I’m not su
rprised you came up with it!” she snapped.
I sniffed in defense. “It’s not stupid, and let me finish. If I drink enough tainted water, I might be able to see the creature if I pass by it. Not only that, but I might be able to find it.”
“How?”
“The taint works two ways. It makes it easier for the phage to find its prey. It’s like a marker, a scent trail. It also means the victim can see the monster, among whatever other monsters their mind makes them see.”
“Like I said, stupid idea.” If Ortiz’s tone were any more scathing, it would’ve stripped my skin.
I scowled. “You have better ones?”
She shook her head. “That doesn’t mean you get a pass to be a dumb ass. Tell me more about this thing.”
“’Kay, well.” I tried to remember whatever else I could. “These things don’t just feed off fear. Phages like these feed off the person’s bodily fluids, fluids flushed with hormones secreted when they’re afraid. They pump a slew of toxic garbage into the victim’s bloodstream as they feed. To them, nothing’s better than feeding off a person who’s losing their mind. They want their victim to suffer, to undergo all manner of horrors while they suck ‘em dry. They’ve got a sweet tooth for brain juice.”
“Cerebral spinal fluid,” Ortiz said.
“Yeah, that stuff.” I waved my hand nonchalantly. “The myths also say”—I hesitated to tell her the next bit—“that children have been known to be able to see them. These things can’t look like humans, but they can make us see them that way. It’s not real though. With them, it’s a hallucination. They can make us see them as anyone.” I didn’t mention the doc because Ortiz didn’t seem to want the doctor to be guilty. I couldn’t blame her.
But Charles’ attack of Doctor Cartwright never left my mind. It could’ve been the doctor was the monster. It could’ve just as easily have been that it was part of Charles’ hallucinations. From the monster’s point of view, it was a masterstroke. Cast doubt on the person trying to help the patients.
“You said a child can see it?” Ortiz’s tone was carefully neutral.
“No!” I knew where she was going with this.
“She could help, Charles.”
“She’s just a kid.”
“A kid who can see and talk to ghosts. Hell, she can order them around! She’s a kid who just walked through a world of shadow monsters, ghosts and fire. She’s not the sort of kid you’re thinking of.” Ortiz kept pushing. Even as she said it, I could see her lack of conviction.
“She’s just a kid,” I repeated, my tone weak—tired.
“I know,” Ortiz relented. I knew she wouldn’t push it. She wasn’t that sort of person. “I just... I don’t know, Charles. I can’t see this place lose another person.”
“It won’t.” I made my voice as hard as stone. “We won’t let it.”
Her lower lip folded back and she bit it before nodding. “No, we won’t.” Iron resolution filled her voice. “So, let me see if I’ve got this right. This creature can cause people to hallucinate, drive them mad—madder in this case. Can stalk them. Is able to commit genocide if given the chance. Can taint the air and water. It’s ridiculously old and intelligent. And it seems to be gunning for you, if your hallucinations are as bad as you say they are. It must be marking you, right?”
“Seems like,” I agreed.
“How does it kill?”
“They’re roughly humanoid, agile, strong, and have tentacle-like appendages.”
Ortiz’s neck and shoulders went visibly tense. There’s something about tentacles that bothers people down to the core. They’re odd, move in a freaky manner, and have always been associated with frightening things of the deep.
“They use these”—I wriggled my fingers as if they were squid-like limbs—“to feed. It’s how I knew about the nose and ears. They force them into any orifice that leads to the brain. Jam ‘em up, scramble and feast.”
“Okay, apart from that disturbing piece atop the laundry list of things they can do, anything else I should know?”
“Yeah, I have no idea how to kill it.…”
Silence. As if a morgue wasn’t quiet enough.
“So,” Ortiz said after a minute, “we’ve got work to do.”
I nodded.
The door shuddered. A bang echoed through the room. Lizzie’s voice filtered through. “Someone’s coming!”
Waving my hands, I shouted, “Cover him up or something!”
Ortiz shoved the cart to the side. It crashed into the wall with a clang and I flinched. Grabbing the sheet, she threw it over Andre’s body, muttering under her breath as she did.
In the quiet of the morgue, the doorknob turning might as well have been a resounding click. The sort to make your blood freeze and your joints turn to cement. The door opened. Ortiz and I tensed.
A woman in her late twenties with the figure of a gymnast stood there. Someone must’ve filled her body with the same concrete that held us in place. We gawked for a moment in silence before she spoke. “What are you two doing here?”
I threw my hands up in the air and shouted, “Captain Crunch!”
I panicked. Can you blame me?
Ortiz followed my lead, albeit with less enthusiasm. “Oh captain, my captain,” she said in a voice that could’ve been used as a sleeping aid.
The nurse’s head swiveled from me to Ortiz before she shook it, letting her posture sink as she did. She sighed. “I’m too tired for this shit. Come on.” She beckoned us with a wave of her hand. “Let’s go.”
I shot Ortiz a triumphant look. “Maybe I should’ve dropped my pants and shouted pudding?”
Ortiz snorted. “Yeah, that would have worked great.”
I scowled. True genius is never appreciated.
We followed the nurse out of the morgue. I scanned the hall but couldn’t see Lizzie anywhere. She must’ve bailed. Smart kid.
“So, how about I take you two to get some cereal, and you two promise to stay away from places like that?” The nurse smiled. “Deal?” She eyed me as she added, “Captain Crunch?”
“Lucky Charms,” I demanded.
The nurse’s eyes widened and her mouth moved soundlessly for a moment. “Uh, okay, fine, Lucky Charms.”
I nodded gravely.
Three bowls of leprechaun endorsed cereal. I was either going to have one helluva lucky day or terrible indigestion.
“Charles,” hissed Ortiz. “Monster?” She arched an eyebrow.
I chanced a look at my forearm. Sixteen hours left.
“We’ll handle it,” I hissed back.
Ortiz pursed her lips, looking like she was going to counter, but she remained silent.
I was soon greeted by the familiar sight of breakfast cereals as the nurse delivered on her promise. She was even kind enough to bring me the bowl of Lucky Charms. Who says hospitals don’t have wonderful service?
Ortiz was handed a bowl of the crunchity cereal that dooms mouths. She looked at it like it was sludge.
The nurse left, giving me a weary smile and an admonishing finger wave.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” Ortiz grumbled, placing the cereal on the table as she sat across from me.
“Eat it?” I supplied through a mouthful of marshmallow goodness.
Ortiz eyed it like it was dangerous. “I think I’ll pass.” She slid the bowl to the side. A small wave of milk formed and sloshed out of the bowl. “So, what now?”
I devoured my cereal as I thought. It wasn’t an easy answer. We knew what the creature was and what it could do, but that was about it. We still had no idea where it was. Not to mention that I had no idea who it was, if it was under an illusion at all. Worse, I had no way to kill it. So even if we did come across it, the most likely deaths would be Ortiz’s and mine.
“I don’t know,” I told her. “We have some bits of the larger picture, not all of it. Not a whole lot we can do with that.”
Ortiz frowned. “No, there isn’t. Any way you—we—can fi
nd out more?”
I paused, the spoon hovered half an inch from my face. I let it sink back into the bowl. “Possibly.” I knew where I could get more information. Lyshae could’ve given me more answers. For a price, of course. I wasn’t so sure if I wanted to pay that price, much less find out what it was.
“What about Lizzie?” Ortiz suggested. “The ghosts might be able to find out something.”
“Maybe,” I said uncertainly.
“But you’re not sure?” she pressed.
“I’m not. It’s possible, but I don’t think they’ll come across much, now that I think about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because these things aren’t interested in feeding off ghosts, nor can they. They’re interested in the gooey bits up top.” I rapped a fist on my skull. “I don’t think there’s any interaction between them and the ghosts.”
“So why did the shadow monsters come here then?”
“This is a place of fear, despair, depression and more. Not all of it, of course. Some of the folk here are doing fine. But we’re talking about both sides of the veil here—mortals and ghosts. When there’s a fresh kill around, every predator notices, and there will always be scavengers waiting. The ghosts of the asylum were easy picking for the shadow beings. ‘Nuff said.”
“Not so easy.” Ortiz gave me a wolfish grin.
I mirrored her grin. “No, not so easy. But the idea’s the same: creatures that prey on fear will often end up in the same spots. This place is a beacon. We’re not playing for just one side here. It wasn’t and isn’t about the ghosts or the patients. It’s about both. If we don’t stop the phage, this place will be housing more ghosts. If we didn’t take care of the Shadowvores, those ghosts would be fed upon.”
“Again with the Shadowvores?”
“They need a name,” I said in defense. “I don’t see you coming up with one.”
She waved me off as if it wasn’t important. For the record, it was. Monsters always need names, especially those with crappy ones.
“Fine, ignoring my brilliant name—”
Ortiz snorted.
“Ignoring that,” I continued, “there’s too much going on here to be certain of anything. Half of me would like to take some time, play it quiet and smart. I’d like to find out more.”