by HC Hammond
He found the room empty. Vlad still hadn’t deigned to move back in. He took out a couple of trash bags and started filling them with clothes and personal stuff from the bathroom. Harold also pulled his stash out of the wall behind the radiator. Warm, and a little clotted, but still edible. He punctured a pint with his teeth and sucked it dry, tossing the empty plastic bag onto Vlad’s bed.
Harold didn’t take long clearing out the rest of his stuff. In the end he only needed one large, black trash bag for the things he’d brought to the halfway house. The room looked pretty damn unlived in, but it wasn’t his problem. He toted the bag back out of his room, continuing the search for Zork.
Harold stumbled across Zork playing an impromptu game of poker with a couple of zombies in their room, everyone also chowing down on something red and crunchy.
Zork stilled when Harold came into the room, twisting and untwisting eyestalks. “Something going on Vampy?” Zork eyed the trash bag Harold had in hand. Face growing red, he shifted the bag behind his legs.
“Ah, nothing much. I’m leaving,” Harold said.
The two card playing zombies creakily looked up at him, suddenly a lot more aware of their surroundings and him.
Zork’s eyes bulged slightly then narrowed. “Not skipping town on us are you vampy? Your hot snack back home won’t be pleased.”
Harold shrugged. The zombies leaned together in slow motion and conferred with one another, rotting eyes dilating.
“Well, maybe I’m taking her with me,” Harold said, “not like she can get enough of me.” He curled a lip in a half grin.
Zork chuckled in a weird chortling way and Harold laughed along with it, but he had the feeling the slug wasn’t quite laughing for the same reasons he did. Once Zork finished it rubbed stalks together. The slug asked him, if he was leaving town soon.
Harold nodded, “Got a few loose ends to tie up,” he said. Glancing around him, Harold took a step closer. The slug reared up on its back end, baring teeth slightly and Harold stopped. God, the slug was paranoid. He’d better say what he had to say and get the hell out of dodge before Donald decided to pop into the halfway house for a visit.
“Cool it,” Harold muttered, “I’ve got to tell you something.”
The slug closed its mouth but remained tense, regarding Harold with a suspicious ’I-don’t-know-what-you’re-thinking-but-it’d-better-not-include-an-angry-vampy-hissy-fit’ eye.
“I kind of,” Harold sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I followed Donald this morning when he came to pick up your friend.”
Silence. The slug rubbed at its radio collar with an eye. “And,” Zork inquired skeptically.
“It’s not good,” Harold said.
“Okay.”
“I mean really not good,” he repeated with emphasis.
“So spit it out vampy. I don't have a lot of free time around here,” the slug growled as it went back to its poker game.
“Donald killed your pal, Skellie,” Harold said. “I think he’s been killing all of the group members who ‘graduate’.” He mimed air quotes around that word.
There was a distinct silence again from the slug. The two zombies were also still as death, but regarded him with the same wide eyes. Harold asked Zork if it heard him, if it understood. He expected hissing, biting and perhaps a lot of blood, maybe even a declaration of vengeance or two, but got nothing. The slug adding a couple of chips to its bet was not on the list of scenarios in Harold’s mind.
“I heard.” The slug put down two cards and tapped them for new ones.
“Right,” Harold said, picking up the trash bag, “Right, well, I’m getting the hell out of dodge. I figured you might want to as well.”
Harold stepped out of the room as Zork slapped a zombie repeatedly to get its attention, but the zombies stared at Harold as he walked from the room, apparently deep in contemplative thought.
Harold didn’t pay attention to his surroundings as he walked from the house. Otherwise, he would have seen the place suddenly seemed quite empty. Cleared out even, except for the two zombies and the slug upstairs. Zork’s reaction to the information about Skellie surprised him. Guess you couldn’t count on an alien to get emotional about a human or even care about its own life. The slug could rot for all he cared about its safety.
Harold didn’t notice Donald stepping out of the bushes in front of the house with a large crossbow. He did however, feel the arrow thud into his back, knocking him to the ground, as well as the sudden blow to the back of his head, signaling lights out.
Chapter Fifteen
Many things flitter through the mind on reaching consciousness. Sensations from the body start rushing up the nervous system to the brain. It’s time to eat. It’s time to pee. That sort of thing. The alarm may be a screeching banshee to the ears or a soothing Muzak, depending on your preference. The mind questions where it is and even who it is, an experience more and more common for Harold as he got older. It always took a moment to orient himself to the modern world. Often, he still woke up expecting to see sunlight bursting forth through long gone crystal panes to hit the wall of a long deserted bedroom. His nose even perked up, seeking out the familiar scent of pancakes and sweet syrup. Harold hasn’t craved pancakes in seventy years. He hasn’t gotten up with the morning sun in eighty, but still his mind orients itself to this first identity every time. And, seeing no sun and smelling no pancakes, he remembers.
This time he didn’t have long to orient before the pain in his head jerked him forcefully from his waking slumber. His next initial thought was hangover, but he found he couldn’t move. His hands and feet were bound in irons and heavy chains and his third thought was kinky sex with hangover, but that theory went out the window when he made the mistake of attempting to sit up with an arrow in his back.
“Careful there Harold,” Donald said lightly from somewhere behind him, “It’s a nasty wound.”
Harold panted to the sharp, rhythmic throbbing in his chest, so close to his heart, burning his insides with a silver point. He tried to pass out again, but unconsciousness refused him.
“What are you doing?” Harold asked between painful throbs. “Why are you doing this?”
“Oh now, Harold,” Donald walked into his peripheral vision, “don’t play dumb. I know you were here.” He clucked softly.
The room’s blazing bright, lights blinded Harold initially to anything outside his body. He focused on his surroundings and came to a horrifying realization, he was back inside the PhenoChem building in one of the white cells along the far wall of the laboratory.
He wasn’t in the chamber where Skellie died, but he could see its burnished steel hull across the lab. Close enough to concern him.
“I have never been here before,” he whispered, eyes locked on the chamber.
Donald stepped closer, still in Harold’s peripheral vision, but only a scant few feet away.
“You can’t come in here, tear up the walls and expect me not to check the building’s cameras.” Donald said. He bent forward. “You crushed part of the wall with your hands yesterday while spying on me.”
Harold closed his eyes. He remembered the rush of fear and adrenaline flooding him on seeing the skeleton’s horrible death. He dug his fingers into the soft drywall during and only wanted to get out of there afterwards.
Donald smiled, leaning forward to whisper in Harold’s ear, “I guess you were just a little scared.”
Harold lunged at Donald, baring fangs and anger, but the therapist danced out of his way.
“I’ve dealt with faster than your like,” Donald said, “and always got away.” He walked around Harold, giving him a wider berth. The vampire tried to follow his movements with his gaze, but had to stop when his back protested with a flaming sear of pain.
“Sorry Harold,” Donald came up behind him, “I suppose I’ve left it in long enough.” He grabbed the arrow and pulled it out with a surprisingly strong arm. Harold screamed. It felt much worse coming out than going in.
; “Did that hurt?”
Donald giggled, tossing the arrow to the sidewall of the cell. He walked back around towards Harold’s front. “I’m going to put you down eventually Harold,” Donald said, “right now though, I’ve got another errant group member to deal with before he causes more trouble.” The last word was said on a lilting high note, like a child taunting his sibling saying, ‘I know something you don’t.’ Harold didn’t know what to make of Donald’s words, but was too focused on searing pain to worry about it.
He looked down his nose at Harold. “I know you regenerate during the day so don’t think about feigning prolonged injury with me. Otherwise, I’ll just have to put another arrow in you.”
He left the cell through a metal sliding door to tend to some equipment in the lab. Harold scooted closer to the cell window. It was painful work and slow going with his back oozing his life’s blood. Right now, he’d be weak as a kitten if he actually managed to get his hands on good old Donald.
When Donald picked the crossbow up from the table to reload it, Harold’s tiny vampy heart thumped extra hard, but the man only slung it across his shoulder along with a real old fashioned, before even his time quiver of arrows with a variety of points for killing a variety of creatures. He also loaded a gun and slung it into a shoulder holster under his light tan windbreaker. Donald loaded on other items Harold had trouble identifying beyond a cross on a necklace and small palm bible.
The necklace had to be more for spiritual assistance or use on other types of non-normies, because Harold could attest to the fact crosses did diddly squat to vamps. They were perfectly nice symbols and all, but a cross wasn’t going to burn him unless it just happened to be made of silver, fire or sunlight.
Donald gave him a wave and suck-my-ass kind of smile before leaving with his equipment. This is it, Harold decided as he sat miserable and bleeding on the titanium white floor in a titanium white cell of a fucking titanium white death lab, he really didn’t like Donald. At this point, he couldn’t do anything about it. He opted to take stock of the situation. First, Harold was to put it mildly, in a bad way until he could sleep and regenerate and looking at all the blood he lost when Donald pulled out the arrow even that might be questionable. He was already getting kind of hungry and even his own blood on the floor looked kind of good. Harold put aside the worry of food and healing. Maybe there was a way to get out of the room.
He got up on his feet and hobbled around the cell in a hunched over manner. Practically seamless from top to bottom except at the door and window featuring six inch thick glass. He might break through if he were in completely perfect health and felt up to ramming into the glass like a cannon ball.
When he reached the arrow Donald had thrown so carelessly against the wall, Harold almost kicked it away. On second thought he stooped slowly to pick it up by the shaft, holding the silver point away from his body. On completing his circuit Harold eased down to the floor. He ripped some fabric from the bottom of his shirt and carefully wrapped it around the silver tip, making absolutely certain it was completely covered by fabric before tucking the arrow into his coat sleeve. Momentous task completed, Harold scooted towards a wall and curled onto his side
to sleep.
Harold woke hours later to the distant sounds of Donald dragging a body down the laboratory stairs. His head roared and he felt a shaky all over. He got into an upright position and realized his back felt better. It was a crappy heal leaving him sore and tight, but still a lot better.
On the other hand, his stomach was practically eating itself. He had no idea how someone like Skellie could have endured the pain of starving himself into near oblivion to get out of the program. Well, maybe getting out of the program was a strong enough motivator for the skeleton. Harold had no idea of the creature’s situation prior to coming into FEBs. Skellie did get his wish but not the way he intended.
Harold shook his head to try and clear the rushing sound of his blood in his ears. He needed to focus on the sound of Donald coming closer. From the thumping, Donald was definitely dragging something down the stairwell. Something wrapped in chains. He got an involuntary shudder through his bones. He was trapped in a horror film with nowhere to go.
The laboratory doors opened. Donald bent through them with a heavy and hairy burden. It was Rufus. Now drugged and chained. Harold saw red blood trickling down the werewolf’s arm and knew he’d put up a fight. It was enough for Harold to feel a moment of shame for how easily he’d been caught by Donald. Harold pressed his forehead against the cell window.
An inert Rufus appeared to be a heavy burden for Donald. At least the man wasn’t superhuman in strength, only stronger than he let on. The two of them made slow progress across the lab. Rufus slung over the man’s shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Donald panting and straining under all that weight. It would be a lark if Donald threw out his back now. Most of all Harold found his gaze drawn to the trail of blood in their wake. He’d never tried werewolf blood.
At first Harold thought Donald intended Rufus for the chamber, but his tortuous walk across the lab brought him toward the cells, towards Harold’s cell. He dropped the werewolf to the floor in front of the cell door. Its eyes were open, but drugged and glossy. Its thin, pink lips drew up around an open, drooling mouth with several long, pearly-white canines, courtesy of regular dental checkups. A great pink tongue lolled from his mouth and stuck to the tile like a damp sponge. Matted fur bunched out from under a torn button up shirt collar in great curling sprigs and swirled along the rest of the body, only to be interrupted with matted cowlicks, ripped clothing and twigs and leaves from his wild run. To Harold he looked kinda’ crappy.
Donald, equally matted and foliage strewn, grinned down at Harold. He tapped the glass and signaled for the vampire to move back away from the door. Harold responded with a growl, slamming his fist against the glass. Donald laughed, wearily shaking his head.
He tapped a control panel outside and the lighting directly above flickered off, then on again in a stronger, painful full spectrum lighting. It seared his eyes, even as he closed them, and stung his skin, instantly making it red and swollen where exposed. Harold danced backwards into the darkened corners of the cell, where the lights remained off. The door opened and Donald dragged Rufus in.
“Harold, please understand,” Donald grunted as he pulled on the werewolf, “this will go much more smoothly if you just do as I tell you.”
Still in the area of full spectrum lighting, he bent over Rufus and began undoing chains with practiced ease, completely unfettered by the fact that he was in the same room with a werewolf and a vampire. Chains off, Donald rolled Rufus onto his side.
“So he doesn’t choke on his own tongue,” Donald quipped, “I’ve lost a few of them by accident that way.”
“I don’t see why you’re keeping us alive,” Harold whispered. He cradled his stinging hands in his lap. At least these lights weren’t as strong as the sun.
“This one, the troublemaker he is, tried so hard in group,” Donald sighed, a look of disappointment on his face. “PhenoChem’s still working on a cure for the infection in wolves. I thought he’d be better served in a secure facility.”
“Secure facility,” Harold said, looking anew at the drugged man. It made sense, if Harold could believe anything Donald said at this point, which he couldn’t. “You mean he serves you better in here for testing.”
Donald smiled, but didn’t answer the taunt. “You on the other hand,” he said, stepping forward, right to the edge of the light. “I’m going to have to find out just how many people you told about all this.” Donald gestured around the cell and surrounding lab with open palms. “I’m sorry, but unless you tell me everything now, I will resort to torture.”
Harold stared at Donald. He was dizzy and hungry and miserable. His hands, head and face burned with the irritation of a severe sunburn. He was pretty sure he would be here for a long time, and suffer a lot more pain and indignity before this was over, but he did not want
this to be game over just yet. His life still meant something and small sliver of hope that is was, he might find a way out of here alive and with hide intact. The minute Donald got what he wanted, he’d chop Harold into tiny vampy steaks and toss them into that glorified electric chamber for fun.
“Okay then,” Donald rubbed his hands together. “I’ll leave you two to think it over for a while.” On his way out of the cell Donald looked over his shoulder, “Don’t worry about Rufus, he’ll be fresh as a daisy when he wakes up.”
Donald left them alone. The lights blinked off and back on in their previous florescent glow. The therapist didn’t linger. He went through the main doors and out of sight. Leaving Harold nothing to do except watch the werewolf breathe.
It could have been any time of day. Harold wondered if there were a chance of someone noticing he’d gone missing. Unlikely. He’d told Zork he was clearing out. He did have a meeting with Mephisto and his people. Maybe they’d notice something was wrong and pick up the scent trail. Right, what a laugh, him hoping to be rescued by Mephisto and his witch, Orlen. Harold groaned.
Rufus stirred slightly, stretching arms, legs, neck and back in one great, cracking yawn. He shook, ruffling fur and torn clothing. The wolf’s feet had burst through his wingtips in a rapid growth spurt and the toes arched up in a wave. Suddenly remembering his quandary, the wolf jumped into pouncing position, growling and swiping at the air.
“Wolfie,” Harold said drawing the werewolf’s attention, “No need for the show, Donald’s long gone.”
For a werewolf transformed, Rufus seemed to understand Harold, because he sat back on his haunches. Rufus didn’t appear all bothered by Harold’s presence. He looked too fucked up to really be much of a threat. Both regarded each other, then the wolf began licking his bloodied hands, err, paws, or whatever they called them these days.
After a few failed attempts at starting a conversation with the self-cleaning wolf, Harold gave up. The creature probably didn’t have the vocal cords for it at the moment.