Certain Danger

by F. R. Jameson

  “Tell me what it feels like!” Doctor Penhaligan cried, his voice so excited it distorted slightly. “Tell me what it feels like to be opened up to it!”

  A subtle smile twitched the corners of her lips. These walls were thick, good Victorian workmanship. She could intuit the craftsmen who built them, the simmering resentments that were erected at the same time as these walls. They were well made, but right then – to her and the thing which filled her mind – they seemed flimsy. She blinked as she stared at them. Part of her – the old her – still claimed they were solid. Insurmountable. But really, she was coming to appreciate how pathetic they were; to her they were barriers made to be torn away.

  And that’s before one considered the weak wood of the doors, the locks that it would surely only take a flex of her mind to shatter.

  The doctor’s voice went on and on – giddily telling her to embrace the power and control the hate – but largely she ignored it.

  Her feet shuffled around on the spot, slowly. Again her eyes were closed, but now she could see so much. It was like she was on the world’s fastest merry-go-round. Her senses were taking in every molecule. Reality whirred by her – past, present and future – and she was absorbing all of it.

  The world was different now. There were numerous magnificent, varying aspects to it that she’d never understood. She saw them all, smelt them all, heard them all, touched them all. She even, with her mouth closed, tasted everything around her. Countless people had walked through those doors, thousands of lives had suffered and ended at this spot before The Butterfly Clinic was even constructed. Everything tasted like death and death waiting to happen. And it was all wonderful.

  All of that was there for her to revel in. First though, she had to make her exit from this contemptible trap. The smile stayed on her face as she considered which option was the best. What she could do to surprise and shock Doctor Penhaligan the most.

  But then there was a click.

  Someone turning a key the other side of Doctor Penhaligan’s office door.

  It was soft and subtle. Most people, in a heightened state of emotion, would have missed it. Alice however – now – picked up on everything.

  With great stealth, the door was opening. There was no creak and the heavy oak moved so softly and slowly, that whoever it was obviously hoped she would miss it. But she was ready.

  With the knife in her hand, she didn’t hesitate.

  It was a man coming into the darkness. Not the good doctor; bigger than him. Someone with a familiar scent, maybe one of those who kept her here when she was a child. A man, therefore, who deserved to suffer.

  Alice was across the floor so fast it was as if she flew. She slammed the full blade right into his gut. Grinning as his gasp of pain ricocheted into her; at the breathless cry she could almost taste leaving his lungs.

  With a flick of her wrist – suddenly an expert who’d done this every day of her life – she twisted the knife out and made sure the hole got nice and big.

  Buckling sharply over, the man’s strength vanished and he tumbled to the floor. His fingers tried to claw at her arm, but falling, he grasped thin air instead. The muffled thud he gave hitting the carpet was the last sound he ever made.

  There was no hesitation, only relish. Her knife sank again and again into his neck. Slashing and stabbing away with utter fury. Severing every vein and artery; almost as if his neck had been laid out for her on a chopping block.

  Her cries of sheer joy echoed back off the walls. Orgasmic pleasure as the blood splattered up and clouded her vision.

  She had never, ever felt so alive or filled with pleasure.

  It was only when a harsh white light came on – or a few seconds afterwards; as such was her passion for the task that it took a moment for the white to intrude on the red – that she took a deep breath and stopped herself

  Then the blade clattered to the floor as she realised the identity of the dead man lying nearly decapitated at her feet.

  It was Geoff.

  Chapter Seventeen

  All that power – intense, deep and rich – seemed to seep from her. She’d thought herself in control of the whole world, but now she staggered back like a small clumsy child. She might have even wet herself; right then she couldn’t be sure and didn’t care either way.

  It was Geoff!

  She’d killed him. His corpse was lying bloody and broken at her feet.

  The last few moments played out in her mind. When she concentrated, she knew that there was some part of her which had recognised him. Who’d known it was Geoff all along. However, her bloodlust was so powerful that she couldn’t stop herself. It was like she thought he deserved to die. At that instant she would have killed anyone in front of her, yet when that scream of fury faded, it turned out to be the only human being she really cared about.

  He’d had just a fraction of a second to gaze at her before she stabbed him. There’d been a curiosity in his eyes. It had soon been replaced by fear and an utter desperation. He had waved up his arms to try and stop her – yank her wrist and force her back – but such was her sudden expertise with the blade that she sucked out all his strength. When he’d tried to stop her, she had barely even registered it. Instead she’d dropped him down and set to work not just killing him, but executing him, butchering him. The war cry in her head fuelling her on, exhilarating her, crying out with sheer glee at all that gloriously spilled red.

  What the hell was this thing inside her?

  In the last few minutes it seemed to have taken control of her; to possess her and crush down all her personality. Her compassion, her caring, all her love had been snatched from her. Wiped away in a scream of brutal, endless rage. There had only been the desire to hurt; a craving to destroy. Yet whatever it was didn’t come from outside her, it wasn’t an invading presence. The Marscht was definitely part of her; it was wedded to her. This thing was her, just as she was it.

  How could she possibly describe it, even to herself?

  It was like she had a pair of angel’s wings; they grew out of the full length of her spine and were an integral part of her. They weren’t the size of angel’s wings though, instead they were gigantic – covering the whole world. They were everywhere and, in reality, could do anything they wanted. But they were always going to come back to her, they were always going to be joined to her.

  Maybe wings was the wrong image. It was like she had a thousand serpents sewn onto her spine. They were all about ten thousand miles long and had more than one head: each of them with a dozen sets of fangs. These snakes spread out to every conceivable corner of the world and, when they could, caused the maximum amount of chaos and hurt.

  This thing was huge, but it was also small enough to fit inside her – for her to feel nearly every movement it made. It covered the whole world, but it was only she it spoke to. There were a million violent acts on the planet every single day – they were beautiful and wonderful. All that bloodshed was amazing. But only she understood the providence of it. Only she, anywhere right now, could appreciate the true screaming anger which existed underlying everything.

  The feeling it engendered was one of such power, of such phenomenal rage. She knew – realised in a few heartbeats as she calmed – that with enough concentration, she could turn it to her will. That she alone – if she made herself commanding enough – could be something other than its mindless slave. The thought of that nearly made her smile, but the reality of now – of Geoff’s blood staining the carpet – brought puke to her throat. This thing had smeared blood on her hands. Blood which belonged to someone she’d actually liked and cared about, and there was nothing she was going to be able to do to wash it off.

  Still unsteady on her feet, she returned to the desk and held onto it for support. She thought of trying to do something to help Geoff. It was impossible, of course. She had all this power unexpectedly at her disposal, but healing was not what The Marscht power was about.

  It was the antithesis of healing.<
br />
  Geoff was dead.

  He had been her friend and her lover. Her boyfriend maybe. As she stared down at him on the floor, tears filled her eyes. She’d never lost anyone she cared for her so much. Even her mother had never made her feel as happy. As wanted.

  But even as she tried not to sob, there was an unspeakable urge pulsing through her – a desire to destroy. It didn’t matter if Geoff was clearly dead. There was part of her that just wanted to pick up the knife and continue stabbing and stabbing. Annihilate him, make sure he was nothing resembling a man anymore. Keep wielding the blade – claw and pull his flesh apart with her fingernails – until he was just blood and gristle on the floor.

  There was an urge within her to destroy fucking everything, to take the bastard-ridden world apart.

  Shaking with grief as she was, she was utterly determined in her strength. She managed to hold herself back. There were a few seconds when Alice Whitstable managed to keep herself calm. She wrestled with and pushed against the million demons fighting furiously inside her.

  Then Doctor Penhaligan spoke again. And ruined any illusion of peace.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Poor Geoffrey.” Penhaligan choked slightly on the name. “Poor Geoffrey. He was a good man. You liked him, didn’t you? I know that because – and I’m afraid this might hurt you, but please try to accept it in the context of our work – he was my man. One of my most promising recruits, a true believer who I sent to inveigle his way into your life. I simply needed to monitor you. We all wanted to keep tabs on you. Geoffrey eagerly volunteered for the mission as you fascinated him, Alice, and he wanted to know you. He wanted to know the real you.”

  Crocodile tears! That’s all she heard. This man on the floor may have been his prize pupil, he may have been the man the doctor trusted most, but all she heard – under his bastard’s sorrow – was glee at her bloodlust. Doctor Penhaligan had wanted to awaken this thing in her and that meant he’d wanted her to kill. He wasn’t really shocked or grieving; he was delighted to see that she’d done what he wanted her to do.

  What he’d almost bred her to do.

  “Don’t you worry, my dear,” the doctor told her. “Geoffrey liked you too. He really did. He thought you were a wonderful woman. We spoke to each other on the phone this very morning, working out the logistics of him bringing you here, and he said then that I had to be gentle with you. I laughed when he said those words – as if I would ever do anything other. But then he told me he was genuinely falling for you. He really did care for you and like you and maybe even love you. What I absolutely know is that he was a true believer in you and a true believer in our cause. He was a man who grasped the potential of what you could do for us, of what it would mean to have you in touch with The Marscht and ready to wield it on our side. He dedicated his life to you and our work, Alice.

  “Mourn him, yes. It’s a shame what happened to him. He volunteered though. We had to know who had the dominant hand, you or The Marscht. Right then, unfortunately, it was The Marscht, wasn’t it?” He paused, swallowed. “Yet I think this has been good for you. It’s given you the shock you needed to reassert yourself. Geoffrey would have been pleased with that. It’s tragic what has happened to him, but if it allowed you to gain some control then he would have understood. I know he would, I know it without doubt.”

  Carefully, almost robotically, she bent down and picked up the bloody knife.

  Every word Doctor Penhaligan uttered she knew to be true. She could almost see the two of them together, plotting.

  Teeth gritted, she told herself she wasn’t going to mourn Geoff. It was all she could do to hold herself back from stabbing him again. All those men who had used her – to simply get into her knickers, or because they saw she was vulnerable and they wanted to feel strong. She’d thought Geoff was different. He was the worst, as it turned out, the very worst.

  Still, the tears in her eyes were sad as well as angry.

  Alice took a deliberate step back, not wanting to feel his blood on her toes any longer.

  “Take a moment and think of the future, Alice.” Doctor Penhaligan droned on like a holy man. The sound echoed around the room, impossible to ignore even though her mind was now in a thousand different places. “As things stand now, we have the Soviets on one side and the Americans on the other. All those missiles. All those eager sweaty fingers resting on the big red buttons. Well, imagine if Britain had control of a force – a primal force – which could make that arsenal seem like pea-shooters wielded by a couple of toddlers. It would make Britain more powerful than any other country. It would sit Britain once again in its proper God-given place.

  “Obviously, I know how dangerous it is. We are dabbling with a destructive power almost beyond imagination here, but we have you, Alice. We have you and me. You’ve seen with your own eyes what can happen with this force if you can’t control it. If it’s allowed to control you. In her final letter, your mother told me that she was ending her short tragic life because she couldn’t bear the thought of The Marscht doing anything to harm you or Paul. She was all alone, without my support, and it scared her. But I can help you. I know so much about it, Most of it I’m sure you can intuit for yourself, but I can explain what’s happening and put it into a context. I can help you control it.

  “You are so like your mother. Like her you are beautiful, like her you possess your own elemental force, and like her you know right from wrong. But unlike your mother, who never held down a job, or had a steady place to live – you understand the value of seeing things through to their conclusion.

  “So, what do you say, Alice? Your whole life has been leading to this moment. What do you say, as a patriotic British girl? Will you help us reclaim our place at the top table? Will you? Please, Alice. We can work together and you can have whatever you want. You, me and The Marscht joining as one to make this country great again. Please, Alice, look inside yourself – this is your destiny!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  This astonishing, unfathomable rage had been hidden inside her for her entire life. Hidden so well even she was blind to it, but she could feel it now.

  Her fingers pulsed with the sensation.

  All her life, she’d felt swept along. It was as if she was a leaf on the breeze, never really in control of her own destiny. It turned out that feeling wasn’t paranoia; it was genuinely the case.

  Doctor Penhaligan: a man with certificates on his wall, but nothing where his heart should be.

  This man had ruined her mother’s life before Alice was even born. Then, when tragedy caused by his experiments had overtaken her little family, he’d kidnapped her and – when he couldn’t get the results he wanted – set her into conflict with her brother.

  Her mother had died, her twin brother had died, and Doctor Penhaligan had his fingers on both. Following his noble cause and not caring what – or who – he destroyed in the process.

  Such was the trauma of it all, that it was no wonder she’d shut down and forgotten it – wiped it out as a dreadful nightmare. Excised her own brother from her mind, as it was easier than coping with the dreadful reality.

  Penhaligan had arranged her foster care according to his whims; no doubt he had had his say in which jobs she actually got. Then he had sent a man to gain her trust, who became more than her lover, he became her best friend. All of it dictated by the crazy plan of this doctor, her entire existence just a plaything for him.

  And the worst thing about it right then? That he just wouldn’t shut up about it.

  Still his purr of a voice crackled over that speaker. He kept talking to her, using wheedling words, trying to somehow win her confidence after all he’d done. Alice did her best to ignore it, but still the words – his justifications – kept pounding into her skull. She couldn’t shut him out completely and he just wouldn’t stop talking.

  Well, she might not be able to shut him out, but maybe she could shut him up.

  Alice’s eyes squeezed tight shut, not lookin
g at whichever photo he might or might not be projecting, no longer needing to see the room to appreciate its contours.

  If he wanted her to talk to this Marscht thing, then she was going to communicate with this Marscht thing.

  Her fist tightened and she felt the dark wings flutter across her back, relished the serpent heads that spread out from her. The noise she made was dark and guttural, but to her it felt like a squeal of pleasure.

  A locked door meant nothing anymore. The walls between them were zero. There was no safe barrier as far as she was concerned. Nothing and no one she couldn’t reach.

  She squeezed her eyes and absorbed the world. It only took half a heartbeat, but she found him.

  The good Doctor Penhaligan was in a little room two doors away from her; he sat in what had once been a broom closet. Now it was kitted out with audio equipment: a microphone; a wireless set; a number of clunky black and white monitors he was watching her on. It was like an out-of-body experience, seeing herself on those screens. He was still talking, a smile on his face. His trousers were undone at the belt for some reason, maybe for comfort’s sake, or perhaps because he was enjoying himself so much.

  Well, he wasn’t going to enjoy himself much longer.

  Finally she moved. It was slow to her mind, but in reality it was like a burst of lightning. She pointed her hand through the walls, directly at him.

  Immediately he knew something was wrong. Those words – all those dreadful, wheedling words – stuttered to death on his lips. A bead of sweat appeared on his forehead.

  He might not have understood immediately what she was doing, but it seemed like she had got his attention.