by Jacob Spadt
He was gone.
A realization came to me suddenly...the priests eyes looked like that. A look of shock came over me. I knew that somehow he had come down here looking for me or he knew where to find me. This discovery rocked me to the core as I glance back to Eryn.
“Eryn.”
She held up a hand with one finger up, meaning wait a minute. Walking over to the wall, she looked all around the area. She hesitated and put her hand out and against the wall section that had been a door only minutes before. It looked like tile that had been there for years and was filthy. She put her hand up against it and, to both our surprise, it went into the wall as if it was some sort of illusion. She turned her head back to me in amazement at what she was doing and then suddenly got a panicked look on her face. She was trying to pull her hand free and it was not budging. Something had a hold of it.
I was just clearing the doorway when I heard her make a strange noise and her hand popped free of the wall. She stumbled away, not looking where she was going. Running right into my arms, she cried and buried her face in my chest. Her sobs came more violently. I stood there trying to wrap my mind around what had just happened. I had no answers. Standing there in the morgue, I held her for the first time.
I found myself smiling for the first time in a long time.
XXVI
Visits
Boredom.
I sat in my cell for the better part of three days falling into my own mind. There were windows in this room that had a chain link mesh on the outside, unlike the previous room, to keep the nut bars from getting out. At least there was a view if you climbed up on a chair to look. So it must have been a minor “nut bar room” or a holding cell. Being so tall, I did not have that issue and could see outside easily. The room was sparse, but it had a partition to the toilet offering a little privacy. A chair and bed completed the ambiance. I had to laugh about the bed. It was too small of course, again, so the mattress was on the floor. Sleep did not find me often.
Three days earlier, Eryn took me back up to the ward via the stairs so we would not scare the employees or patients. She readmitted me to the hospital for testing. There were hardly any employees on shift at the time, but knowing the word would spread soon and the ward would be buzzing of my return made me laugh. I had allowed them to poke and prod me once again at their whim. This did not make me happy because I was starting to black out a lot when they took blood. It was hard not to feel like a pansy who could not handle the sight of his own blood.
The days were boring at best. The hospital staff took more and more blood as new reasons arose. A theory was forming they were trying to bleed me dry somehow so they could dissect me when fighting back was impossible. I dubbed it “Death by blood draw” and tried to get used to it. Granted, I think we were only on number seventeen.
The orderlies looked terrified. This was funny. I kind of liked not being a wimpy little kid anymore. They visibly sweat when walking in the room now. My height dwarfed them all by over a foot. A hundred pounds of muscle easily separated them from me. They had also heard the rumors that took down six policemen, when in truth it was six swat officers, without breaking a stride or a sweat for that matter. I could smell them before they even opened the door for some reason and could hear them approach twenty feet before they arrived. Discussions through the door were just as easily identifiable. Nobody has any clue how I got to be this size. I think it was my body reacting to all the attacks and growing its own defensive measures. That is the only idea that comes to mind. And even that sounds insane.
Many of their conversations took place down the hall, away from my ears. Fear of my rage seemed to be the top of the list. They said multiple times they did not want to go in the room if it was not safe. I found that ironic considering my hands never touched any of them since returning. They feared me now because they knew I was stronger and could fight. Their demeanor was wrong for the job in my eyes and that left a bad taste. Why do this job if you are not willing to deal with the patients, no matter how big they are? I had to admit, that made me smile just a bit.
The day I submitted myself for re-evaluation, Eryn told hospital staff to leave me out of the papers. They agreed to keep my presence quite, and the employees had to sign something that would keep them from talking. I was in a section all to myself. Just a handful of people worked in my area. It was a fair request in my mind. They honored my request after all I had been through and did not tell anyone what had happened to me. The police strangely had some influence and leaned on Doctor Price to keep this quiet. This surprised me greatly, especially after all those years of studying me. Would the science community forget about the scrawny boy in a coma? Could the church let it go?
I looked different enough that the police agreed that for safety reasons, a name change would be appropriate. Eryn filed her report and told them that my disappearance was not only against my wishes but against the wishes of my Doctor too. They needed to forget who Dieter was. I chose to be called a name that came to me one day while scribbling on some paper looking out the out the window. I missed the good old days of running around at night fighting pretend monsters with Jason. Life seemed so easy then. My parents rarely came to mind. A barrier in my mind kept that feeling on the edges of my reality.
When I came back to reality that day, the name “Tathlyn” appeared on the notepad bolded many times over then circled and underlined. I took this to be a sign of what to call myself. The police were to come to process my request for a name change soon.
So here I waited. It was ironic to get a visit from the sergeant that hit me in the face. I sat listening to some music when a knock on my cell echoed before it opened. A nurse named Meagan poked her head in. The staff assigned her to me about a week before my disappearance. Behind her, I could see the detail of two officers in plain clothes that were outside my door at all times for obvious reasons.
“Dieter...the sergeant is here.” I returned from my thoughts and caught his stare. He was a hard man in his late thirties by my guess and well-built for his frame. He had the same suit on from the previous day, so a few jokes about police salary were bound to find their way into the conversation. I guessed him to be about six foot two, black hair in a crew cut, polished of his cheap “FBI” look he was going for.
“Forgive me if I don’t stand up but all of my orifices hurt again from being poked and prodded,” I said, looking away and back outside. He walked up and handed me a file folder. I thumbed through it while he started to speak. Ignoring him came as a playful idea, but he surprised me with his tone and opening line. It would take some getting used to, seeing my last name as Thompson now.
“Tathlyn, I wanted to apologize for our behavior the other day. As far as we knew a monstrous man had broken into the morgue and was desecrating corpses. Sadly, in my line of work that is usually the case.” He held out his hand to shake mine and I was tempted to crush the other one to teach him a lesson. I refrained and took his hand gently. “We have never been officially introduced. My name is Sergeant Rick Kostas,” he said.
He continued, “Eryn told me that you had some weird things happen to the two of you after we left. Would you care to elaborate?”
I was looking at the forms that I had to sign to make my name change official. They all seemed to be in order. I was no lawyer, but it did not appear as if anything was out of order, or that my life was forfeit. It simply said I was changing my name and the official paperwork was there with an identification card. There was no driver’s license since I could not drive yet. The photo used was from the previous day. They took the picture right in my “cell” right after bringing me a five times extra-large shirt that was so tight breathing was rough.
The photo looked like a convict. Dieter was certainly gone for good. The humor of it made me smile. I had beaten up six police officers and technically gotten away with it, even though they started it. A judge would have flayed me alive.
“Define weird, Sergeant. Look at me. I am over seven and
a half feet tall. They think I am still growing, based on the muscle and bone density. My strength is more than three men of my size combined, and my weight is just over four hundred pounds.” I could not help it; I had to bring up something bad. “Not to mention those injured in that altercation were part of your SWAT team, and I did not even break a sweat taking them down. I am not proud of my actions, but it happened. What is crazy is my friend told me once, that I only have the equivalent of a green belt in Karate. So yeah, I suppose we can start with weird.”
I continued, "Not to mention being attacked by supernatural forces while in a six year coma. And, of course, there is the face that I grew this tall and strong in a total of seven weeks. You have already read my profile.” I paused to read his response. So far he was blank. “I am sure the doctor has documented my dreams of fighting daemons, and you have no doubt read my files. So what do you think I find weird Sergeant? How about if you tell me what you think is weird first. I need some damn answers.” My jaw tensed and I noticed he stepped back half a step. I breathed deeply and calmed myself. I did not need more trouble at this point.
Typical cop posture though, with his hands on his hips. One resting on his concealed piece of hardware under the cheap suit jacket he wore. I could see it printing way more now that his hand was on it. The gruffness in my voice made him uneasy. He did not answer, which surprised me. I pegged him for a show pony police officer by the way he held himself upright, chest out, and chin up. Could there be a broom stuck in there? I tried not to chuckle. He finally spoke several moments later.
“Yes, I read the reports and the doctors’ notes and am well aware of your past injuries now. I should by every account advocate for you to stay here based on the six men, all of which are in the hospital or under some care of some type. Officer Campbell has a fractured face. They say his brain might be bruised.” He paused and turned to look at me and to my surprise smiled. “Yet you did stop when commanded. Someone who is completely unstable or hates the police would have kept going. You weren’t having any trouble throwing us around, that’s for sure. I was about to come after you with the full weight of the department, but then I read your file. Yes...you were five foot whatever and one hundred and thirty or so pounds. Your upbringing was rather nerdy. You have never been in trouble before. You also did well in school. These are not the signs of a raging maniac.”
I looked at him sideways. “I fail to see the point, let alone why you are reading notes from a confidential session with a shrink. How is any of this relevant?”
He continued. “The way you fought, however, indicates you’ve had specialized training. So until there is an answer to that, I imagine you are going to be a mystery to me.” He looked me right in the eye and waited. “I cannot risk ignoring this one. Someone taught you how to fight like that.”
Laughable. I did not tell the doctor about Bigfoot. Jason did not either. Was that room bugged? They are not wondering why I had that strength when they told me my mother had died. That was adrenaline. I was scrawny, post comatose, and was not very strong to start with. Now that I have reacted and grown they are going to have some of hay day as soon as they get another scientific burr where it is uncomfortable or sensitive. I do not really know what folks say now other than he is even more of a freak.
To hear him say, “Something weird happened” made me slightly angry. Eryn had said something to him. Nobody understood this whole thing, especially not me. This was my life, and I had to accept and deal with it. To the mundanes that sit at their desks and have no grasp of reality, this was as good as it was going. The Sergeant was no exception to that. I decided to be candid.
“Well...what do you want to know? Or shall I rephrase it and say how much do you want to know?” His eyes looked rather deep into me. The coldness of his penetrating stare pushed deeper inside. He was looking for triggers to see if there was any dishonesty. With nothing to hide regarding what had happened the night of the accident, I decided to err on the side of caution and probe a bit more first. I tested his response.
“Tathlyn, I want the truth, you can talk to me,” he said.
I laughed. “You really have no idea what you are dealing with, do you? Look at me. From five foot six to this…in two months? I have grown in muscle mass as if bodybuilding was my whole life. If you really wanted the truth, you are looking at it. I am a freak of nature. Or something supernatural happened. I had no idea. What does it matter what I say? You aren’t going to believe me anyways.”
I stood and began to pace the room. This was getting tiresome. I felt like some lab animal that was clawing its way out of a steel cage, but all he did was wear his claws down. This cage could not hold me. He knew it, and the only thing wearing down was the little patience of mine that remained.
Regret manifested in my mind for letting Eryn talk me into letting the doctors re-examine me. I should have just walked and let them look for a scrawny kid with a man’s face.
The sergeant went to the corner and grabbed the chair. “I am not going anywhere till you give me something I can use, Tathlyn,” he said as he sat down, pulling out and note pad. Looking at me with un-patient eyes he began to tap the pen on the paper as if he were doing Morse code. The rhythmic beat was slightly annoying like water torture would be. A constant drumming would drive me crazy eventually. It was easy to imagine what would happen if my stay here became mandatory, leaving the use of force, as my only ally in leaving. How many of them could I take out? Getting shot would hurt for sure. Did I even care? The need to fight something or someone burned deep.
It was too easy for my mind to get lost on this subject, especially since it seemed to be on my mind all the time. I constantly thought about fighting and using weapons to fight daemons. It was always daemons. Since more cognizant thoughts about my dreams formed, the longing for battle became a real desire. I wanted to engage daemons in combat and have them surround me, with no hope of survival. Yet knowing full well I would survive worked my tiny ego over hard. Why were there such confident feelings on the matter? I had no idea. Why the dreams seemed so real now and I could recall them now when I was awake did not make sense.
I longed for a fight.
The Sergeant droned on as the doctor used to in my sessions. I was unaware how long I zoned out again and wondered what type of nonsense he spewed. What typical cop lingo did he throw at me? Was he going to preach to me about civic duty to try to find who did this to me? It was hard not to laugh inside while looking myself over for he was still giving me the cooperation speech. I had to admit, my body was amazing. Each day when I looked in the mirrored non-glass surface they gave me for grooming myself, I thought about what it would be like to be normal size again. It seemed rather boring to me to not be the way I was. Freak or not, it was beginning to grow on me as well.
Silence.
I looked over at the officer sitting in the chair. He was staring at me. A look of impatience crossed his face. “Well?” he said, drumming the pen a bit more furious this time.
“Fine!” I said, “Repeat the question.”
“You're kidding, right?”
“Yes, well no. You lost me at the part where I am supposed to help you with something you have no idea how to handle. Something that you think I know…which I do not. Do I need to remind you that when they took me, they doped me and tied me down? So you ask me what I saw right when I just woke up and hit my head to the point of needing stitches. I am just as lost as anyone about this,” I said. For just a moment, it almost appeared as if the Sergeant felt bad for me.
“You never actually got stitches. I checked the records. There was no wound,” he said.
“Hey, you saw the blood right before you punched me in the face. I know you saw it because I was on my knees and looked you right in the eyes. If the wound healed as you say it did, then you know that when I was in a coma, my body was healing at an insane rate.” I paused and looked at him directly...looking for some hint of him getting it. “So, Sergeant, with all due respect, I was a
bducted. Perhaps you should be asking the staff that was here that night questions.”
He glared at me for a few seconds. I could tell he was looking for any facial twitch or nervous tick that would tell him something. Having seen cops in movies before, it was obvious to me what he was looking for. A lot of Hollywood drama over did interrogation scenes, but the reality of them and the goal held true. This might have been a very loose version of it, but he was digging for anything he could use and it made me mad. Anger crept up inside me and a low guttural growl rose up in my throat. He heard it and shifted a bit uneasily in the chair a few times... then looked nervously at the door a few times before standing up. A good rule when fighting is never to be caught sitting down. Jason taught me that.
He began to pace towards the door. I did not move. My anger was apparent and the desire to smash something with my fists was obvious. Images of me pummeling him into submission began to play over and over. He had nothing that could stop me, I could get to him before is gun even cleared the holster. The urge was getting unbearable. I felt a moment of clarity open a small clearing in my head. “You had best leave Sergeant,” I growled. “You are really pissing me off, and I would rather not hurt you.”
He moved towards the door and knocked loudly. It opened and he exited at a rapid pace. For a moment I heard the buzz from the hallway while the door opened and closed. The locks fell back in place. Alone with my rage. I was growing tired of feeling this way after seeing someone who refused to see beyond the outside. My self-control was the only thing keeping him alive at times. As a child or teenager no matter how much my parents mistreated me, control was never an issue. I was having a hard time with rational thinking as the window in my mind closed and the rage began to build. My desire was to hurt something now.