Night Whispers: The Complex

by Calinda B

  The clang of pipes rings out.

  “Oh, dear. That’s the…Fresh Smoker. And I can’t…can’t move.” I’m gasping for breath.

  “Easy, girl. I’ve got you.”

  Back in his arms again, I’m ushered through a warm, manly room, filled with heavy, over-sized furniture. The colors are rich—russet, golds, and deep greens line the walls. A sofa and several large arm chairs are scattered throughout the room. He places me on the sofa with the reverence of placing something at the altar.

  “We’ve got to restore you,” he says.

  “Where…are we?” I wheeze.

  He smiles, his face transforming into a virtual sunrise. “You’re in my dream, girl. My fantasy.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Want to know what kind of fantasies I have about you?”

  I manage a smile. “Love…to.”

  Clang, clang, clang. The jarring sound of wrenches striking Smuntine metal blasts through the air.

  “I’ve got to…wake up,” I say, closing my eyes. The only thing I really want is to stay in Thras’ dream.

  A rustling catches my ears. I force my eyelids open.

  Thras rubs his palms together. Next, he blows in his hands. Then, he passes them along me, a millimeter from my body.

  A shiver courses through me. “What are…you doing?”

  “Shhh,” he soothes. “Hopefully helping you restore with a little psionic vampire magic. My mother was part witch.”

  Sure enough, I sense a stirring inside, like a tiny trickle of electricity flowing through my veins. Exhausted, I let my eyes close.

  “Paki’s setting…a bomb.” The words come out in a whisper. “Underneath Reve’s apartment. Thousands of…Humans…dead.” I take a deep breath. “Your fault.”

  “He’s going to blame me?” Thras says. “Figures.” His face furrows. The warmth streaming from his hands increases.

  Another clang and a high pitched hiss bellows into Thras’ dream-space.

  “Crap…I’ve got to…” The words fall back in my throat.

  “Hush,” Thras soothes.

  “I’ve got to…tell you…there’s more…” I swallow, suddenly parched. “He’s draining…Talon…into…submission. It’s a sex act…for him. He said he’s been training. And with Talon…promising…whores and…money.”

  “Shhh, baby. Let me heal you,” Thras says. Even his voice seems to restore me.

  “We’ve got to…do…something,” I say. I can’t even lift my eyelids.

  Bang, bang, bang. Someone hammers on the door to Thras’ dream.

  “I know you’re in there,” Paki yells. “You think mere psionic wards can keep me out?”

  Bang, bang, bang.

  A loud crash sounds. I can’t tell if the door just exploded into splinters or the pipes in Negative-One burst but suddenly I’m falling through space. I land, with a heavy thud, into my body.

  With just enough energy to move my arms, I wiggle farther into the crack, letting Thras’ loving energy restore me for the few seconds I have left. I hope I have enough energy to juice me for what’s ahead. If I don’t, it could mean death to many.

  Chapter 29

  Inside my dank hiding spot in the bleakness of Negative-One, I’m starving and somewhat restored. And, I know what I’ve got to do--I’m turning myself in. I’ve got to suss out info from the inside…find a way to stop the explosion before it’s too late.

  I pull out every scrap of food and nourishment I have left. It’s not much, but hopefully I’ll get rations in prison. I slam down the Uni-nourish, fighting back the urge to vomit it back up. I eat the sorry remains of leftovers, trying hard not to look at or taste what I’m chewing, especially when I detect mold in my mouth. Finally, when I feel kind of full, I peer out of my hiding hole.

  Workmen wearing lighted helmets scurry about near the pipes. The lights lend a macabre aura to the pipes, concrete, and gloom of level Negative-One.

  “We’ve got a leak here,” a dark-faced middle-aged man says, tapping a tool against metal.

  “So fix it,” another gripes.

  “You fucking fix it,” the first one says.

  “I don’t fucking feel like it,” the second one says.

  The first one shoves the second and a fight ensues. I bet it happens all the time down here.

  I use the opportunity to scramble up the ladder. Pushing open the manhole cover, I crawl out into the well-lit street, blinking as my eyes adjust to light.

  Looking up, straight into that blasted eye in the sky, I say, “I’m here, assholes. I’m the one you want.” I raise my arms high and turn in a slow circle. “Come and get me. I’m here for the taking.”

  Humans and Metas stop and stare:

  “It’s her.”

  “That’s the girl who helped Blüthe.”

  “She’s turning herself in?”

  “Good riddance.”

  Sirens wail. Bright, thousand-lumen lights focus on me, making it too bright to see. In seconds, I’m surrounded by the red-clad Climintra.

  “Hands behind your back,” one of them commands.

  I comply without resistance. A sharp sting of some sort of electronic laser stabs me. I arch away from it, wincing. I’m yanked backwards and handcuffs are snapped around my wrists, tightened to the point of numb.

  “Ouch,” I cry. “I’m not resisting at all!”

  “Get moving. Stop talking. You can only speak when spoken to.” Strong hands shove me forward.

  What a show of ‘who’s the boss.’ I stumble forward to the jeers and chants of people—my people: the Humans.

  “Get her! She’s one of them, now!” someone shouts.

  “Let me fuck her then burn her at the stake! She’ll go out in a blaze!”

  A few people laugh, caught up in the frenzy of crowd-mind and the overwhelming need to escape the boredom of their existence.

  I boldly hold my head high, feigning a defiance toward my detractors I don’t feel. Inwardly, I want to slink away and cry. But then I think of Thras and the potency of our love. I lift my chin in true defiance.

  I’m roughly thrust toward a glistening black Flyer Uni-motorcycle, and told to sit behind the Intra clutching the handlebars. I swing my leg over the seat.

  Another Intra climbs behind me, pressing his sweaty bulk against me.

  The growing throng of onlookers continue to shout and stare.

  I’m dying inside, unable to block the energies coming at me from every direction.

  The motorcycle engine revs. We proceed down the street, slowly, like a funeral, so everyone can see and point at the prisoner—me.

  By the time we arrive at the tall, white prison gates, I’m exhausted again. I can barely move. I guess my restoration was short-lived.

  The inside of the jail doesn’t look much different than anywhere else. Same white walls. Same concrete floor. Same Uni-desks, same bored staff. Exact same monotony everywhere. The only difference is the overwhelming smell of piss, like the guys miss the WD urinals on purpose. And I’m the only female around.

  Catcalls, whistles, taunts, and naughty offers assault my ears as I’m hurried down a hall to community ward thirteen.

  As he walks me down the hallway, Ghary the vampire guard tells me it’s the busiest ward.

  “We’re going to place you in the most visible section here,” he says in a raspy voice. “The place where all the action is.” He grins at me, letting his fangs show. “We could use a little stimulation around here. It gets boring with a bunch of males as company.” He smirks and “escorts” me to my cell. The escorting consists of me squirming away from his groping hands. By the time I’m ready to headbutt him, he stops with the feeling me up business, puts his palms over my eyes, and continues propelling me forward.

  There’s nothing I can do because my wrists are still handcuffed behind my back. I start to wonder if he’s being kind, by shielding me from some gruesome sight.

  Then he stops and says “Surprise!”

  When he pulls his hands away, I see Th
ras through a long narrow slit in the metal door to his unit. He’s beat to a bloody, raw mess, barely conscious, spread on a rigid Smuntine palette.

  “Thras!” I say.

  One of Thras’ eyes is swollen shut. He slowly lifts the other eyelid, sees me, and starts to jerk upright. His eyebrows lift.

  “Sakhi,” he says. “How did you…?” His face contorts and he falls back on the hard palette. He moans.

  “What happened to him?” I ask.

  “Woke up that way.” Ghary grins, like he’s delighted seeing Thras in misery. “Guess he drained the wrong human. Someone must have a Meta friend or two who took care of him in the night.”

  Oh, no. It had to be Paki.

  Unable to do anything except stare, I’m beside myself with grief and concern.

  Thras manages a small smile. He turns his head and says, “Yeah but he’s in worse shape than me.” He laughs until it turns into a pain-racked cough.

  “Why isn’t he being cared for?” I say.

  “What do you think this is? A guest lodge?” Ghary laughs.

  Come on, come on, come on, I silently plead. Use our connection. Take what little energy I have left.

  Thras inhales a long, shuddering breath as if he heard me.

  That’s it, love. Use what you can.

  He inhales deeply, and then nods slightly.

  Ghary looks between us suspiciously. “All right, all right, show and tell time is over. Get moving, bitch.”

  I’m shown to a small cell in the middle of the corridor. Cells stretch in every direction.

  Ghary looks at me, grinning. “Here we are, princess. Your room’s ready.”

  After he punches a code into the locking device, the door opens and I’m thrust inside.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” Ghary says, and then laughs.

  Right. My body is under siege by energy of every negative kind. Bombarded by violent yearnings, evil intent, fear, greed, debauchery, and more, I smash myself as far back into the farthest corner of the cell as I can get. Exhausted, I fall instantly asleep. My consciousness slips from my still form and drifts throughout the prison.

  Near Thras’ unit. a guard paces restlessly.

  I hover above him, wondering why he’s pacing.

  He jerks, his pallor grows white, and then he’s pacing again.

  Ghary appears and yells at the man. “You’re responsible for Blüthe. Why you acting so twitchy? Boss man catches you acting all jittery and you’re a dead man. Out. Finito. Left in the desert to fend for yourself.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s nothing,” the man says, gulping, visibly shaken by more than Ghary’s words.

  Ghary’s eyes narrow. “It better be nothing.”

  Odd. I cock my head and study the scaredy-cat guard. And then I spy a silvery filament dangling from inside Thras’ cell. A tiny spider is at the end, weaving its way to the floor. I want to burst out laughing. The guard’s afraid of spiders. I drift farther.

  There are two guards watching my cell. They look to be a couple of Metas, maybe werewolves. They stalk one way, pivot, and stomp the other way, in front of my cell.

  “What do you bet she snores when she sleeps?” one of them says. “Any minute she’ll be sawing logs.”

  “I hate it when they snore,” the other answers.

  “Same here. My wife—I want to put a pillow over her face when she snores. And if I happened to leave it there a little too long, and happen to apply too much force…” He shrugs.

  Guard number two looks horrified. “You’re sick, man, you know that? You’d off your wife to get her to stop snoring?”

  “No, I was only kidding,” the first guard says, but I have no doubt he is lying through his teeth. “But there is a certain redhead I’d like to bed.”

  The image of a voluptuous strawberry haired beauty floats in his mind.

  “Have an affair then. Don’t kill your wife. Just screw the redhead. Your wife’s nice,” guard number two states.

  “What, you want her? You want to fuck my wife?” guard number one says. His face starts to twist into an angry frown.

  “No, man…I only meant that…forget it. She’s nice. That’s it. I don’t want to screw her.” Guard number two shakes his head.

  Guard number one squints at guard number two as they pass one another.

  I exit and coast down the hall to the processing center.

  Three guards sit at their desks chatting. A fourth has his feet on his desk. His head is against the wall and his eyelids are growing heavy. A set of key-codes falls from his pocket onto the floor. He snorts and sits up with a jerk.

  The other guards laugh.

  “You’re going to get fired, Mayvok,” one of them says.

  “Shut up,” the tired guy says. “I’ve worked two double shifts. I’ve got two more to do. I’m beat.” He snatches the key-codes from the floor.

  I float free and roam the halls.

  Two prisoners whisper in a corner inside a cell.

  I drift closer.

  “It’s going down,” the bald guy says.

  “What is?” a toothy vampire asks.

  “The mutiny. The end to the campaign.” The bald guy palms his shiny pate.

  I shiver. They must be talking about the explosion.

  “When’s it going to happen?” the vampire says, side-eying the hallway.

  “Three days hence. At midnight,” baldy says.

  “How do you know?” the vamp asks.

  “Heard it from a friend. He knows Mink. Mink’s setting it up with his unknowing gang,” baldy says. He laughs.

  They both stiffen as a guard approaches.

  “Move along, move along.” He jabs baldy with a rod wielding a painful electronic discharge.

  The man shrieks as the vampire skitters away.

  Three days! What can I do? As I let my awareness coast back to Thras, a plan forms.

  Thras’ essence hovers a few inches away from his body, as if it’s unwilling to venture far away.

  “Thras,” I say, in dream-speak.

  “Sweetheart…how did you end up here?” he says. Even his spirit is fatigued.

  “Long story. I have a plan on how we can stop the explosion. We have to act fast.”

  Good thing I don’t have fingernails to chew in my dream spirit, or I’d be chewing.

  A loud buzzing alerts me that something’s happening right outside my hole-in-the-wall enclosure.

  “What is it?” Thras asks. His body groans. “Damn it, I need to feed. I’m afraid if I leave…”

  “Don’t think that way. Feed from the guards, anybody. Feed from me—I’m covered with smarmy goo. Do what you have to do,” I say.

  A male voice speaks to another in the hallway outside my hell-hole.

  My consciousness is torn between my body and my spirit.

  “Tell me—have you ever manipulated others’ dreams?” I quickly ask.

  “Not really, why?” His body groans again. “Damn. I’ve got to feed.”

  “Feed from me! No sips! Gulps!” Hearing men argue, I can feel myself fading back to the physical. I tell him my plan, rushing to get the words, thoughts, and images out, the way I do in dreams. “Quickly. Can we do it?”

  “Maybe. We can try,” Thras says. “I have to gain some strength back.”

  “Do it, do it, do it. We don’t have much time. I’m going to get us free,” I say.

  And then I’m sucked back into my exhausted body to endure who knows what.

  Chapter 30

  The atmosphere in the prison is edgy and tense. Fights have broken out all day. And now, when it’s go time, I need some sort of riot to occur. It’s rolling up toward ten pm. The bomb is supposed to detonate in a couple hours.

  As the two males who guard my pen pace back and forth, evident through the slit in the door, the one who wants to smother his wife pauses and presses his eye to the opening.

  He says, “Hey! Princess! Stop chewing your nails. I like my back to be raked when I’m between your
legs.”

  I give him a wary glance.

  His companion says, “Quit with the threats. Leave her alone.”

  The wife-smotherer whirls to face him. “You shut the fuck up. I know you want first dibs. And then you’ll be coming after my wife, won’t you?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” the nicer guy answers.

  “You know exactly what I mean. I dreamed it. You two were going at it like rabbits,” the smotherer says. “I don’t know how you do it or when but you two are having an affair!”

  “I’m so sick of you,” nice guy says.

  “Yeah? What are you going to do about it?” smotherer taunts.

  Nice guy isn’t so nice. He hauls back his arm and slugs the wife-hater.

  Here’s my chance, I think, scrambling to my feet. Only thing is, nice guy and wife-hater are grappling on the floor in front of my unit.

  “Fight, fight!” The chant spreads down the corridor.

  Climintra boots thunder through the hallway.

  I shrink into the corner.

  Blue-blazed segifs are fired, and the two guards melt into limp bags of bones and blood.

  “Get them out of here and get some replacements,” the head guys yell.

  Oh, no! I have to get out of here before the replacements arrive. I wait until they move away from in front of my cell, dragging the two unconscious bodies from what I can hear. I wiggle and twist my hand through the slit. It’s a good thing I have small hands because I barely managed to get one out the narrow opening. With my fingers, I feel my way along the smooth shiny surface until I find the key-pad. Having noted the key-codes the overworked guard let slip from his pocket, I try the first one. Nothing. I try the second one. Nothing. Anxiously, I try the third one, the last one I memorized. Nothing! I want to scream.

  Doors whoosh open and slam shut down the hall from me.

  They’re coming. My legs melt into useless quivering puddles, as I sink to the floor. Think, dummy, think! I scan the codes in my mind. And then I recall all the key-codes have a pattern, like a math problem. The last number was always twice the prior one, plus five. Idiots. That’s so not safe. I bolt to my feet, maneuver my hand to the key pad and try the next one.