Lies of the Prophet

Home > Horror > Lies of the Prophet > Page 21
Lies of the Prophet Page 21

by Ike Hamill


  “You could do a lot of damage without meaning to,” said Gregory.

  “But how?” asked Lynne. “I get it, but you’ve got to help me understand how. If I know what the problem is, then trust me, I just wont do it. All they’ve asked me to do so far was to look at some dead people and see if I thought they were The Passage. Before I took the job, I thought about it from every angle, and I just couldn’t see who that would hurt. If you help me understand what the harm is, then I’ll be more than happy to stop. I hate the idea of unintentional evil as much as you. So just help me recognize it.”

  “Okay,” said Gregory. He stood and walked over to the corner window. “Come over here and I’ll show you.”

  Lynne stood and joined him.

  “You see that boat on the Charles?”

  “Which one,” asked Lynne. It was a bright, clear afternoon and the river was busy.

  “The red one, right there. Just passing under that bridge,” said Gregory.

  It took her a minute, but she followed Gregory’s finger and caught on to where he was pointing.

  “That boat is going to take you away. I know you don’t understand why and you think you’ll never try to do anything to harm me, but I happen to know a little more about this than you,” said Gregory.

  “I won’t go,” said Lynne.

  “I know you don’t want to,” said Gregory. “But you’ll go. You don’t really have a choice. That nice lady you met earlier is going to come back in here with a nice shot for you, and then you’ll agree with whatever I ask. They brought you here drugged, I’m sure they can get you out the same way.”

  “I’ll scream,” said Lynne.

  “This is the top floor, you know, and I’m renting this floor and the two floors below. Even if the sound of your screams carry beyond these walls, there’s nobody to hear them." He looked over to Andrew.

  Andrew returned his gaze and raised his eyebrows with an “Are you sure?” expression. Gregory nodded. Andrew knocked on the door and the tall man and Gray came back from beyond the kitchen. Gray held a vial and a syringe. She prepped it while the tall man moved around her and headed towards Lynne.

  Lynne broke for the kitchen. She stayed low and darted over the table. Her balance was thrown off by the arm wrapped to her side, and the tall man was fast. He got a hand on her shoulder and pushed. Lynne went down in a heap and he was on her at once. He flipped Lynne over on the carpet. She kicked upward at his crotch, but he was too tall for her to strike anything sensitive, and besides, he squeezed his legs together so all she connected with was boney knees.

  Tall man grabbed her foot and hoisted Lynne up so only her shoulders were on the floor. She was helpless.

  “I need an arm,” said Gray.

  Lynne grabbed the leg of the table and flipped it towards Gray. The Gray lady stopped and sighed as the table landed in front of her. She stepped around it and continued towards Lynne.

  “Can you pin down her arm?” asked Gray.

  The tall man tucked Lynne’s legs under his armpit and arranged Lynne upside down. He grabbed her wrist and held the arm out to Gray. Lynne fought and twisted every time Gray got close to her with the syringe.

  “Andrew?” Gregory asked. “Can you help them out?”

  “I’ve told you—I won’t,” said Andrew.

  Gregory frowned and tented his fingers beneath his chin and puffed his cheeks out—“Julius?” he asked.

  The tall man turned towards him and raised his eyebrows.

  “One thing I’ve noted,” said Gregory, “is that the body disproportionately protects injury.”

  “How do you mean, sir?” asked Julius.

  “You’re going after her good arm. Give the injection in her bad arm. She’ll be so protective of that arm that you’ll be able to easily control her. It’s amazing really, like watching someone favor a bad ankle, there’s an involuntary instinct to take care of an injury.”

  “But we’ll have to unwrap it,” said Julius.

  “So be it,” said Gregory.

  Gray took up the cause. She had Lynne’s top shirt off and the bandage securing Lynne’s arm pulled off in seconds.

  Lynne had no intention of favoring her bad arm—she planned to fight even harder once she had both arms free. The tall man waited for Gray to free up Lynne’s arm and then he moved in a flash. Lynne was jerked upwards, flipped around, and found her back to the tall man before her head even cleared; it swam once she was flipped. Julius gripped her tight in a half nelson while his other arm pulled Lynne’s sweaty bad arm off to the side.

  Lynne cringed and waited for the hot pain to flood up from her elbow. She gritted her teeth and remembered the awful tearing, popping sound her joint had made when they’d bent it backwards. The pain didn’t come. Apart from itching, and feeling good to be stretched, she got no reports of any discomfort from her newly freed arm.

  The tall man pulled lightly back on her arm and Lynne cringed and gasped—faking the pain she didn’t feel. She kicked back and caught the tall man in the shin. He shifted his weight and wrapped a leg around hers, pinning them together.

  Gray came in quick with the syringe. She went for the crook of Lynne’s elbow.

  Lynne waited until the syringe was almost to her skin. When the needle was about to make contact, she flexed and grabbed the syringe. The tall man pulled back as soon as he felt the resistance. It was too late—Lynne had already grabbed Gray’s wrist. When the tall man pulled back, Lynne pulled the needle right towards the tall man’s exposed thigh. She drove the needle home, into Julius’ leg, and got the plunger halfway down before she was thrown to the floor.

  “Shitbag,” yelled the Julius. “She jabbed me with that thing.”

  He backed up and nearly tripped over the overturned coffee table. He flopped down on the arm on the couch and tugged at the syringe. More of the contents shot into his leg in his attempt to remove the syringe.

  Gray made a half-hearted grab for Lynne, but she danced around the older lady ran towards the kitchen.

  “Shit,” said the tall man.

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Andrew from his post by the door. “You won’t pass out unless she happened to hit a major vein. I don’t think you’ve got any major veins below your belt, do you?”

  Lynne rounded the corner where she’d seen them disappear earlier, but she found only a locked door. She spun and ran through the kitchen towards the other hall. It ended with two locked doors on adjacent walls. Lynne ran back to the kitchen to grab a weapon and look for another exit. Andrew made no attempt to stop her.

  “Jesus,” said Gregory. “You two are idiots.”

  “It’s not my fault,” said the tall man. “They told me her arm was broken in two, but she was as strong as my sister with that arm.”

  “Really,” said Gregory. “Hey Lynne?”

  Lynne pulled out two drawers before she found what she was looking for. She grabbed the two biggest knives she could find and slammed shut the drawer. Armed in both hands, Lynne ran back in the room and darted off to the other side—towards the other exit from the suite. That door was open and she found herself in another bedroom that was the mirror of the one she’d woken up in that afternoon.

  “So you didn’t sense any injury at all?” Gregory asked the tall man. “Did you actually see her injury?”

  “No, I never saw it with my own eyes,” said the tall man.

  “I did,” said Gray. “I dressed it. Her arm was nearly snapped, pulled apart. At the very least it was completely swollen and black and blue. I don’t know why I didn’t notice that earlier when I was about to give her the shot.”

  “How long would it have taken to heal?” asked Gregory.

  “Several weeks at the least,” said Gray.

  Lynne was in the bathroom, looking for a way out of the suite. Then she turned her attention to the windows and banged the side of her fist on them fruitlessly. None of the windows opened, and they were all reinforced and unbreakable.

  “Hey Lynne
?” Gregory called from the living room. “Are you almost done in there?”

  Lynne came back to the doorway with a knife in each hand and held them out in front of her. She regarded the three: the Gray lady standing with a deep frown; the tall man sitting on the arm of the couch and smacking his numbing thigh; and Gregory, sitting in an easy chair next to the window.

  “Do you heal extra fast, Lynne?” asked Gregory.

  “You let me out or I’m going to cut one of you,” said Lynne.

  “Go ahead,” said Gregory. “These two mean nothing to me, and I’m immortal.”

  “You sure about that?” asked Lynne. “Just because you came back from the dead once, doesn’t mean you’ll be able to do it again.”

  Gregory laughed and covered his mouth. “You know how depressed I was when I died, lost all my friends, and became an unintentional celebrity?” he asked. “Let me give you hint—I was depressed enough to see exactly how far my immortality would stretch. I’ve tried to kill myself more times than you could ever imagine.”

  “How long ago?” asked Lynne. “Just because you used to be immortal, doesn’t mean you are now." Lynne was thinking about Gregory and his lack of Sparkle. Had she been called in to investigate his hotel room for Sparkle, Lynne would have come away with nothing—no signs of The Passage. If he was no longer giving off the Sparkle, could he really still be immortal? Lynne puzzled through that and tried to think of her next move.

  “The question is you, Lynne,” said Gregory. “How exactly did you heal so fast?”

  “Who says it was fast?” asked Lynne.

  “Trust me, it was fast,” said Gregory.

  “Too fast,” said Gray.

  “Cut yourself,” said Gregory.

  “What? No!” said Lynne.

  “Just do it,” said Gregory. “Cut yourself with one of those knives. Let’s see how fast you heal from a little scratch."

  He strode towards Lynne.

  “Stop, back off,” said Lynne. She waved the knives at Gregory and backed up into the bedroom. “I mean it, I’ll cut you.”

  “Go ahead,” said Gregory. “You can’t hurt me.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Lynne. She was backed up to the bed. The backs of her knees hit first and she almost fell backwards onto it. Gregory was still approaching. His hands were at his sides; he wasn’t even trying to fend off a potential attack. Lynne took a half-step forward to give herself room and tried to back away to the side. She glanced back, over her shoulder, and saw that there was little room to maneuver in that direction. If she allowed Gregory to keep coming, she’d soon be pinned in the corner.

  “Just a little experiment,” said Gregory.

  “Back off!” Lynne yelled. She swiped the knife in her right hand towards Gregory. The tip caught on his shirt and cut a little furrow in his chest.

  Gregory stopped, shocked at the pain—“Hey,” he said. His face turned mean. “That hurt." Now his arms came up—he meant to grab her wrists.

  Lynne yelled and sliced with her her left hand. Less coordinated, she nicked her right arm with the attempt and missed Gregory completely. He came in fast, pushing towards her. Lynne jabbed with the knife in her right hand.

  The knife spun a little when it hit his chest. The point struck just between two ribs, and the knife realigned itself to the space it found there. She hit resistance right away, and Lynne pushed at the knife. She wasn’t trying to drive it in; she was just trying to push him away. Instead of sending him back, the push drove the knife between his ribs. Gregory gasped, and his eyes looked up and over Lynne’s head.

  Lynne let go of her knives—one clattered the ground, and the other was stuck fast in Gregory’s beating heart. She pushed him away with her empty hands and he flopped back on the bed. His breath came in gurgles and spitting chokes. She circled around the bed, headed for the door, but stared back at Gregory. Big red bubbles of blood and spit popped on his lips. Foamy red drool spilled from the corner of his mouth.

  The door was cracked open by a few inches. When Lynne threw it open, trying to flee Gregory’s watery gasping, the Gray lady filled the doorframe.

  Lynne shrieked.

  The Gray lady smacked Lynne’s face and pushed her back into the bedroom—“What did you do to him, you silly slut?” Gray yelled. The next swing wasn’t a slap—Gray connected with a savage punch to Lynne’s ear. A loud, mechanical buzz filled Lynne’s senses as her brain absorbed the trauma. She stumbled back and found herself flailing towards the bed.

  “Gack!” Gregory said as Lynne flopped down next to him on the spread.

  Lynne’s vision swam.

  Gray slammed the door shut and then drove an elbow into Lynne’s midsection, at the top of her pelvis. This was just a passing shot—Gray rushed to Gregory and investigated the knife poking from his chest.

  “Sir, you’re going to be okay,” she said. “I’m going to pull it out. You’re going to be okay.”

  Lynne clutched her knees to her chest and tried to roll away from the dying man. She heard a sucking, smacking sound and then saw the bloody knife fly over her body on its way to crash into the closet door.

  “You’ll heal now, right?” asked Gray. She sounded unsure at the sight of so much blood.

  “Ghaa,” said Gregory.

  Andrew appeared in the doorway of the room. He rushed quickly to the side of the bed and reached to take Gregory’s pulse.

  “Sir?” Gray prompted. “Are you okay, sir? I’ve never seen you like this before. Are you there? Can you hear me?”

  Lynne pulled herself towards the edge of the bed. She couldn’t beat Gray to the door, but she might be able to grab the bloody knife from the floor.

  “Get back here,” yelled Gray. She grabbed Lynne’s ankle and tugged her across the bed. She pulled Lynne until her legs were draped across Gregory’s legs. Lynne kicked out, but couldn’t connect. “When he comes back, you’ll be sorry.”

  Gray had a vice grip on Lynne’s ankle.

  “He’s dying,” said Lynne. “You better get him some help while you still can.”

  “Don’t you say a thing, bitch. Gregory’s been through way worse than this,” said Gray. “He cut out his own heart with a bowie knife. There’s nothing you can do to hurt him.”

  “Just look,” said Lynne. She clawed her way up and propped herself up on an elbow. “Look—the light’s leaving his eyes. He’s done, and you know it.”

  Gray responded by taking Lynne’s foot between her meaty hands and twisting. Lynne had to roll over on her stomach to alleviate the pain and popping from her ankle. A fire and numbness ran up to her knee.

  “Now shut the fuck up,” Gray said to Lynne.

  “I’ll get the doc,” said Andrew. “Get some pressure on his chest.” He sidestepped by Gray and bolted from the room.

  Still holding Lynne’s foot in one hand, Gray sat on the edge of the bed and picked up one of Gregory’s hands. Gray brought the hand to her lowered face and pressed her lips to his palm. Lynne pulled at her leg, but Gray pinched either side of her achilles tendon and Lynne had to hold still or else suffer excruciating pain.

  Gray whispered her love to Gregory as his last breath rattled out. She searched for a pulse and then dropped his hand in her lap. Gregory’s fingers landed on Lynne’s ankle.

  Lynne had been preparing, gathering her strength for another escape attempt while Gray was distracted, when Gregory’s fingers hit her skin. His touch felt cold—freezing cold. Lynne sucked in a breath as the cold spread up her calf and into her thigh. She shivered for a split second and then even that amount of movement was gone. Lynne felt her body crystallizing. She froze from the leg up.

  Gregory gasped and then sat up. He spat at the window.

  “Oh thank heavens,” said Gray. “You looked so dead.”

  Gregory took his hand from Lynne’s leg. The numbness was replaced by a fire, and Lynne passed out as she was consumed by the pain of returning sensation. Her eyes fluttered shut as she lost consciousness.


  The last thing she saw was a wave of Sparkle, pouring out from Gregory and cascading over the edges of the bed. The last thing she heard was Gray’s disgusted voice—“Ugh, would you look at that—she’s soiled herself. Stupid bitch.”

  Chapter 13

  Marta’s Emancipation

  MARTA REALIZED THAT SHE COULDN’T LIVE with Daryl anymore. Whenever he was near, she felt nothing but loss and sorrow. It was impossible to live her life and move forward with him acting as a constant reminder of everything that had gone wrong. This revelation came on a Tuesday when she heard him pull into the driveway. She had been in Gregory’s study—that’s what she called the room where Gregory had written his book—lost in thought. Outside the engine shut off and the truck door slammed. She jumped up, put away her scrapbook, and turned off the light.

  When Daryl came in through the front door, Marta was retreating to the kitchen.

  “Hey babe,” he said.

  She lowered her head and propped her hands on the edge of the sink.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” he followed her.

  “Nothing,” she said. Marta looked out the window, trying to buy time so she could figure a way to avoid this conversation. She had been tired for months, fed up for months, pretending for months, but she still feared the confrontation that was on its way.

  “What happened?” asked Daryl.

  “Nothing,” she said a little more forcefully. She didn’t enjoy being prodded.

  “Don’t tell me ‘nothing,’” said Daryl. “Just tell me what’s bothering you." He was accustomed to getting an answer. If there was a scab, he would pick it.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” said Marta. “I don’t have the energy.”

  “Then just tell me fast—get it over with,” said Daryl. “I don’t like coming home to a problem that I didn’t know about.”

  She took in a deep breath and prepared to finally say the words. When her chest started to fall, and her breath leaked out into a long sigh, she thought the moment had passed—she’d avoided the confrontation and could skate through another awkward evening.

 

‹ Prev