Red Widow (Vivian Xu, Book 1)

by Nathan Wilson

  A cold draft wafted up from the bottom of the stairs and whispered through her shirt.

  Hands suddenly latched onto her body like parasites, and she could feel him behind her. Vivian’s shriek was stifled by hands. She could smell latex as his fingers groped for her throat. She tried to scream as one of his arms hooked around with a syringe. She managed to seize his wrist as the needle arched toward the carotid artery pulsing in her neck. His trembling hand struggled to plant a deadly kiss with the salivating needle.

  How many arms does he have? her mind screamed. His hot breath vented on her neck with feverish heat. Vivian’s world was spiraling into chaos and she couldn’t comprehend what was happening. A sudden blow sent her spinning and she plunged down the stairs. Her world completely blacked out before she tumbled into the first circle of hell.

  NINE

  Vivian’s eyes weakly opened. Her limbs refused to respond even as her vision blurred into clarity. Her head lolled at a painful angle and brilliant lights scorched her retinas.

  A familiar sensation stung her wrists. Panic electrocuted her in an explosion of neurons. She gawked at the handcuffs sinking their teeth into her wrists. No. Leather restraints.

  She was strapped to a medical gurney in what could only be the basement. A dental operatory loomed above her, but it was unlike any she had ever seen before. Eight metallic limbs outstretched above with needles poised to rend.

  YOU CANNOT HURT ME ANYMORE. Those words glared in front of her, bleeding. And only then did she realize those words were carved into pale flesh. His flesh. His

  His chest inflated, distorting the words.

  “Oh God,” she cried.

  A gas mask encased his head and several rubber tubes arched from the mouth. A single breath retched from the foul device. Vivian couldn’t see his eyes through the foggy lenses, but she didn’t need to see them to know he was peeling her apart with his gaze. Pale latex gloves stretched across his arms, gleaming slickly in the light. A white trench coat draped across his shoulders, pooling on the floor. If that wasn’t strange enough, a back brace constricted his torso like a plastic cocoon. Latex leggings and knee high leather boots contoured to his stilt-like legs.

  The echo of water pipes broke the silence every now and again. The only light emanated from a faint light bulb swaying in the obscurity.

  “How are you feeling?” he crooned. Vivian could only whimper in reply, rendered speechless by this bizarre creature.

  “I am so glad you could attend our appointment today. During our last session you indicated that you would like to try something… new. Psychoanalysis did not work well so I have been developing an alternative approach.”

  What is this? Does he honestly think I’m a patient?

  “Recent studies indicate that a mind-altering drug can coax the patient to dive into their subconscious. In essence, the patient can discover and eventually confront what torments them. Despite repeated sessions, something lies at the core of your conflict, something that has eluded the two of us. Perhaps tonight we will break through. I think it would be valuable if we tried this, but only with your consent.”

  No. This is some kind of twisted role-playing. Is this what he did to all his victims? Possess them and play doctor? He paced around the gurney, meticulously rubbing his hands together like one of those flies that feasted on decay. He breathed harshly.

  “Do you consent?” he uttered.

  “Fuck,” she whimpered. “Fuck… Oh, fuck…”

  He gently took hold of her left arm and a gleaming syringe poked its head between his fingers.

  “You should relax the muscle,” he whispered. She barely even felt the needle puncture her radial vein. She feared to struggle and wreak permanent damage. She only whimpered in defeat, wondering when this wretch would begin to exact torture.

  Her eyes danced across the scalpels, surgical scissors, and needles strewn on a metal tray. Orange bottles of pills were arranged ceremoniously on shelves.

  “Let us begin…” he said. “Close your eyes. Disconnect.” Left with no other choice, Vivian shut her eyes and retreated to a safe, warm place in her memories. She breathed deeply, trying not to imagine the figure in white. Instead, she pictured her family celebrating her graduation from high school. They were so proud of her as she sauntered across the stage and received her diploma. Distant relatives had arrived for the festivities and brought all manner of gifts and delights. She could still taste the graduation cake and its lacy frosting.

  How she longed to surround herself with family again, sheltered by their unconditional love and protection.

  “You’re doing wonderful,” his sleek voice crooned. He glided past the operating gurney and rested a cold hand on her shoulder.

  “Now tell me… What is your name?” She cringed at his touch. She could feel it oozing through the fabric of her shirt, burning her skin like a corrosive virus.

  “Vivian,” she stammered.

  “Vivian. What a beautiful name.” He circled her from behind, where she couldn’t see him. “Tell me, Vivian. Is something bothering you?” She held her breath. How should she answer this demented fiend?

  “Nothing is bothering me,” she whispered. Sweat trickled down her neck.

  “Don’t be afraid to open yourself up to me, Vivian. I’m here to help you. You can trust me.” He scooped up a clipboard.

  Vivian’s entire body lurched with shock. Oh God. He’s going to write a diagnosis. This is how it starts, just like the other murders. The pencil touched down on the paper, grinding ominously as he carved the first words. She tugged at the restraints biting her wrists, her body squeaking in protest. He began to write furiously, wielding his instrument with surgical precision. He stared intently behind his gas mask at what could only be her death sentence that he was dictating.

  “Oh God,” she cried. The frenzy of his writing seemed to escalate if remotely possible. “Don’t come near me!” Suddenly, his body lurched forward and he became still.

  “It’s finished.” His head slowly reared up, the lenses of his gas mask yawning open like empty sockets. The pencil slipped from his hands, the tip eroded to a blunt stump from the pressure.

  Tears pooled in Vivian’s eyes. Fuck you, Nikolai, she thought. I should have never listened to you. My blood will be on your fucking hands.

  He hobbled toward her like a mannequin suspended by wires, each leg unhinging with a violent twitch, plodding his course across the damp cellar floor.

  A tear streaked down Vivian’s neck.

  “God, help me.”

  She would never reunite with her parents or graduate from college. A degree in nursing would forever elude her once his scalpel pressed against her cheek. She was damned to perish in this killer’s cellar, and her life would be dissected on the pages of a newspaper that reveled in tragic news.

  His hand came down with unrelenting speed.

  “Here. I drew you a picture.” Vivian opened her eyes. She gaped at the drawing scratched into the paper. It depicted a child sitting in the corner, drenched in shadows. “Is this how you feel?” he gently asked.

  Vivian was rendered speechless. She expected the killing blow to rain down any moment now, but mercifully it did not come.

  “Not exactly,” she whispered. “Can I draw a picture, too? Of how I feel?”

  “Of course, Vivian. That would be very helpful.” He reached for the leather restraints on her left wrist. Yes. The other restraint uncoiled from her chafed wrist.

  She looked down at the pencil in her hand and studied the blank piece of paper.

  “Aren’t you going to show me how you feel?”

  “Oh, I will.” She spun toward him and rammed the pencil through his hand. A scream exploded from his lungs like a beast vomited out of hell.

  He flung himself backward and fell over an instrument stand with a piercing crash. Vivian frantically reached for the scalpel gleaming on a tray and began to saw through the ankle restraints.

  The killer scrabbled among the
equipment scattered across the floor. He slowly extracted himself from the chaos and flowed to his feet. Vivian finally cut through the left ankle restraint. Her head swung up when she heard a moan from the killer.

  Blood caked the white glove fitted to his gnarled hand. He was shoving the pencil further through his palm like an odd appendage.

  Vivian screamed and her legs pumped to escape, but the right ankle restraint sent her crashing to the floor.

  “You hurt me,” he croaked. “Again.” His head swung toward her. “It feels so exquisite.”

  The ankle restraint snapped as Vivian’s scalpel tore through.

  “Stay away from me!” she screamed, raising the blade in her defense. The killer didn’t advance, wallowing in the darkness like an animal content in its lair. Vivian slapped for the gun at her waist, but it was predictably absent. She retreated toward the stairs, not once taking her eyes off the freakish silhouette.

  With a cry, she tripped over cables in the dark. She thrashed as they twined around her ankles like slippery, black serpents. Finally, she scrambled on her hands and knees up the staircase.

  Her shoulder rammed against the front door, plowing through the wooden barrier into the street. She was instantly shocked by the tingling air. Dilapidated houses leered back at her as the sunset burned through the broken windows. She looked down at the needle mark on her body, and she felt a cry of anguish welling up in her throat. The vein jutted prominently. She clutched it tight, trying to bury the affronting object under her skin.

  I need to get out of here, her mind roared. She bolted before the kidnapper could come prancing up the stairs.

  Apartments and alleys faded out of existence before her eyes. She blinked and vistas of bleakness replaced the outskirts. She clutched her head as the wind buzzed, blazing a trail of agony into her skull.

  The world around her was fast morphing into something unrecognizable, donning the façade of an industrial complex furnished in rust. The city was a vacant steel prison, a distant shell of society with a population barely host to souls. Her throat closed down as the metallic taste of vomit surged forth.

  The downtown landscape bobbed up and down, and the outskirts receded in a tide of decay. She barely felt her toes touch the streets as she ran.

  Suddenly, she keeled over. The gasp that blew out of her lungs didn’t even sound like her. The next few moments were punctuated by bright lights and strange sounds.

  God, help me.

  Scarlet lights swayed around her. Alarmed voices cried out from above and she could smell the sweet tang of sterilized equipment. Vivian struggled to peer through her heavy eyelids as her body floated down the hall on a gurney.

  A medical gurney. She cried out and swiped at one of the blurred figures. Those figures immediately seized her flailing arms and pinned them against the bedspread.

  Not even her most potent LSD high could compare to this terror. Voices echoed in and out of her consciousness, trickling across her brain.

  “Patient exhibits puncture in radial vein, unidentified substance…”

  “…high levels of activity detected in the right hemisphere of the cerebral cortex.”

  “Restrain her hands, she’s clawing at her—”

  * * *

  Vivian could see clearly again.

  She staggered away from the body curled up on the pavement. She instantly tumbled over several trash cans, slipping and sliding before ultimately banging her head on the ground.

  A man was lying motionless in the streets, unfazed by the mayhem. At first, she thought he might be asleep, but the scent of freshly spilt blood told her otherwise.

  What was she doing here? The last thing she remembered was plunging toward the pavement in a cyclone of berserk visions. Something about this situation seemed all too familiar, though it was removed from context.

  She inched closer, trying to view the victim’s face. Someone viciously wrenched her away and slammed her against a dumpster.

  “What the hell have you done?” a voice barked in her ear. She couldn’t answer him, her tongue rendered limp from shock.

  Gravity seemed to pull her attention toward the body again. The man showed no evident signs of life, his face sinking into a pool of rainwater.

  Blood lit up the pavement like a neon splatter show. She blinked and, at once, she realized the victim was crawling toward her on calloused hands and knees.

  Vivian swooned as an unseen figure patted her down for a weapon.

  She was drawn to the victim again. Had she traced those intricate scars and markings on his flesh? She couldn’t remember what had transpired only seconds ago. No, she couldn’t be responsible for this grotesque display… She couldn’t be.

  “You hurt me…” he whimpered. He lifted his bloodshot eyes to hers and she could see his face. “It feels so exquisite.”

  * * *

  Vivian lurched forward with a start. She almost tumbled out of the hospital bed had dozens of tubes not restrained her.

  Muffled voices resounded beyond the walls of her dorm. Shadows fluttered near the bottom of the door, betraying the presence of nurses roaming the hospital corridors. The hazy dawn peeped through the window, glossing over an EKG monitor. A line skipped along in jagged green strokes as it traced the contractions of her young heart.

  “How did I end up here?” she asked, balling the edges of her hospital gown in her fists. At once, she regarded the tangled mess of tubes innervating her arm. The sight of the IV bandaged to her skin was too much to bear. She took hold of the catheter and yanked it out.

  A machine screeched in retaliation as soon as the IV slid free. The door swung open and a portly nurse burst inside.

  “No, no, no! We need the IV to stay in place!”

  “What am I doing here?” Vivian said anxiously.

  “Here, let me help with that.” She averted her gaze as the nurse inserted a fresh IV in her arm. She worked diligently to replace the bag drip feeding her a stream of lactated Ringer’s solution and diuretics.

  “Why am I here? What happened to me? Please answer me!”

  The nurse tossed the old IV tubes in the biohazard waste.

  “You passed out in a downtown alley. Your cousin saw you fall and called the paramedics.”

  “The alley?” She vaguely remembered falling and running away from something, but what? It took her a moment to register the second half of the nurse’s statement.

  “My cousin?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid I didn’t catch her name. It was pure chaos when you were rushed in. You couldn’t stop screaming and lashing out at anyone who got too close.”

  If that unflattering description was supposed to make her feel ashamed, Vivian didn’t even flinch. She was far too preoccupied with the danger taking seed in her mind. Her frayed psyche was unraveling one thread at a time.

  “Where is she now? My cousin?”

  “She’s waiting for you in the visitors’ lounge.”

  Vivian’s stomach fluttered as she considered who else might be awaiting her. What if her parents were just down the hall, wringing their hands and harassing the nursing staff? Swift resentment bubbled up for her father, but at the same time, she longed to feel his sheltering arms again. Maybe her parents had been scouring the city for her ever since.

  “I want to see my cousin. Could you bring her to my room?”

  “I’ll fetch her in just a minute. Now leave the IV in. If you need anything, just push this button on the remote.” The nurse looked over her shoulder as she left, not quite trusting of Vivian. When her bulky frame disappeared, Vivian stared at the walls, anxious to see her cousin. She glanced at the IV drip, trickling incessantly as the minutes passed by. She pressed the button on the clunky remote.

  “I need to pee,” she announced, wondering if the intercom was transmitting her voice for the entire hospital to hear.

  The door yawned open, but the nurse didn’t enter. Vivian breathed a sigh of relief as Camilla wisped through the door like an apparition of au
tumn. Swaddled in her blood red scarf and silk blouse, she looked like just walked off the set of a fashion shoot. She almost pounced on top of the hospital bed in her excitement.

  “Vivian, what the hell happened?”

  “Nice to see you too, Camilla,” she smiled. “So tell me, since when did you become an Asian immigrant?”

  “Since it became convenient. Now tell me what’s going on. One minute I’m heading home, and the next thing, you stagger into view. You fell and struck your head on the concrete before I could get close. I called the ambulance when you wouldn’t wake up.”

  She looked down at the IV in Vivian’s arm as though it was secretly pumping her full of heroin instead of solution.

  “I hit my head…?” Vivian lifted her hand to the gash running down her temple. “I can only remember bits and pieces before I blacked out. My head is spinning and I can barely hold a thought together. I feel like I could pass out any moment.”

  “Do you want me to call the nurse—?”

  “No. She won’t be any help. Just pass me that blanket over there. Shit, these gowns are more revealing than anything I wore as a stripper.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head as her vision blurred. “I remember running in the streets, just trying to get away from something.”

  “You went to the outskirts, didn’t you? Did you find another victim?”

  “I don’t know. Just get me out of here, Camilla,” she pleaded. “Maybe I’ll remember everything once I’m safe.”

  “I already checked with the ER nurse. You should be discharged within twenty-four hours as long as everything checks out fine.”

  “Will you stay with me until then? I don’t want to be alone. Not now.” The QRS complex zipped along the EKG monitor, diving and hiking with every contraction of Vivian’s heart. A heart that may even now be tainted with drugs.

  Camilla watched as Vivian pulled the blanket closer to her chest.

  “Okay. I’ll stay with you.”

  The slightest smile creased Vivian’s lips, feeling blessed to have her company. They sat silently in the gray room as the morning sun wilted.