The soldiers extract an assortment of tools and approach the monsters. They may also be surgeons, which explains their softness. Their implements include scalpels and gauze and other medical things I've seen on television. I drag a chair over from the table and sit down to watch.
With the monsters bent down, their heads are low enough that the soldier-surgeons don’t need to reach up far as they work. They move a six inch square box, one side of which looks like a small display screen, around the monsters’ heads. Eventually satisfied with the results of whatever they're doing, they mark a spot on each skull where they shave off two-inch squares of fur, exposing the mottled skin beneath.
“What are they?” Tom asks.
“We aren’t sure, but they may have been human once,” the commander replies. “It doesn’t matter much. They’ve been this way for thousands of years.” Tom doesn’t respond.
The soldier-surgeons ignore us, intent on their work. As we watch, they use tiny circular saws to cut a small square of bone from the shaved spot of each skull. The blades smoke and need to be replaced a few times for each monster. The soldier-surgeons complete their saw work, remove the squares of bone from each skull, and flush the voids with a great deal of clear liquid.
Satisfied that they’ve washed all of the bone dust from the monsters’ brains, they reach in with tweezers and remove a tiny, round capsule from each skull. These capsules appear similar to the cyst I found in the Baptist's head, except they're slimy with brain bits where the Baptist's was covered in grey dust. After being removed, the monster's cysts start smoking and soon smolder to ash, which drifts down to the carpet.
Commander Doyla, looking displeased, thrusts a vial toward one of the soldier-surgeons. Taking the vial, he carefully extracts two new cysts from the container. The soldier-surgeons embed one of these devices a couple of inches below the wrinkled surface of each brain. They then place the skull squares back in place and secure the whole deal with tape.
The commander directs me to start time again.
“Shouldn’t we chain up the monsters, or something, first?” Tom asks.
“There’s no need’” she answers. “At best, they’ll be helpless and under our control. At worst, they’ll die immediately.”
“Then why are these guys pointing their guns at them?”
“They’re aiming at Cranston, not the creatures.”
Oh. Well, I guess I wouldn’t trust me, either.
I start time and the monsters drop like two big bags of bricks. Blood spurts from the perimeters of the skull-squares. They’ve lost a great deal of their menace, lying there dead.
Everyone stares. Then the commander sighs and sends the soldier-surgeons out of the room. They shut the door behind themselves. I’m still in my chair.
In a flurry, Commander Doyla rushes to the monster corpses, kicking one several times, swearing throughout her effort and losing all composure. Then she stops, stills, and walks over to our window, looking out at Rome. Emotions quieted, she turns back around and looks again at the wasted beasts.
“Who the fuck are you?” I ask.
The commander shrugs. “If you ever drop dead one day, it might be because you’ve gotten too close, accidentally or purposefully. Always remember, you’re as replaceable as you are valuable.”
“I can't believe the American government would let a bunch of psychopaths like you--"
Tom cuts in."Or us."
"A bunch of psychopaths like you or us run loose. Are you the illuminati? I've read about them.” Oh, shit. I just showed her how clever I am. I’m going to die now.
“Don’t try to draw conclusions based on what you think you’ve seen or what you think you know, Petty Officer Staigne. That kind of thinking may kill you.”
I remain quite, for once, and nod, unconvinced. Flames leap up around the room, consuming. They're brilliant. I can see everything I’ve ever done in them. It’s horrible. No one else notices. Tom’s bent over one of the monsters, poking around in its head wound.
There are muffled, random thumping noises coming from the hallway. A completely unexpected and improbable black hole opens up in the air. The flames retract and diminish around us.
Two new creatures, similar to the two lying dead on the floor, leap from the tear in the air. One grabs my head, twists it around, rips it off at the neck, and throws it on the floor. For a moment, my eyes are looking up at me. The beast stomps on my face with one of its hooves until it’s nothing but pulp and shards of broken skull. It doesn't occur to me to stop time until I no longer can.
With its cohort standing guard, my murderer bends over and removes a small, hard, round object from the gore. Straightening, it crushes the tiny object between its thumb and index finger.
The monsters snarl and egress through their fucking magic air hole, which snaps shut behind them. Tom's pants explode in piss and he starts crying. The flames are completely gone now. My body finally crumbles to the floor.
* * * *
I want to tell Tom that I'm fine, that it doesn't hurt. I'm floating away and can't reach him. I can't reach anyone.
Tom is surrounded by treacherous fucks and I can't protect him. I look at Commander Doyla and see the lies. If she could see me and my new understanding, she'd be terrified.
It's dark now. Nobody's here for me, not even my baby boy. I'm already lonesome. Part of me's wanted this for some time, but now I'm scared. I should have been better. No peace for monsters.
Table of Contents
Tall Tales of Felony and Failure
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Tall Tales of Felony and Failure Page 8