Morbius

by Brendan Deneen

  Nausea rose up from her stomach, but Amanda managed to swallow it down. She walked down the aisle and then up the several steps that led to the altar, and placed her hand gently on the nearest woman’s arm. Warm. A slight pulse beneath her fingers. These women were alive. Being bled out for… something. Something awful.

  She looked at the tube that came out of the woman’s arm. She had spent enough time at St. Gabriel’s to at least know how to remove it without killing the woman, or causing unnecessary damage. Which is what she did.

  Once the tube and stent were out, Amanda held her hand over the hole in her arm, hoping to stop the bleeding. As she stood there, hand pressed against the puncture, Amanda looked around. She didn’t hear anything, but she quietly berated herself.

  What was she doing? She should be focused on escaping, not helping these women. But she couldn’t. Couldn’t just leave them here to die. Even if she saved just one, even if she herself had to die to save even one of these women, it would be worth it. It was the least she could do. It was what Morbius would have done for her. What he had done.

  Morbius.

  As her mind cycled through Catherine’s words, she didn’t know what to believe. Had he really killed her mother? Had he really left town, abandoned her? Or was he wondering what had happened to her, regardless of where he was?

  “Whuhh…?”

  The woman on the cross began to stir, and Amanda pushed these thoughts out of her mind.

  “What…?” the woman asked as if she was talking through a mouth full of cotton. She opened her eyes, then blinked rapidly, her head swiveling, trying to make sense of where she was.

  “It’s okay,” Amanda said. “You—”

  Suddenly the woman inhaled with a gasp, her eyes going wide as she seemed to realize where she was and the fact that she was tied up, that a strange woman was holding a hand against a bloody wound in her arm.

  She’s gonna scream, Amanda’s brain informed her.

  She reached up as far as she could and clamped her free hand over the woman’s mouth. This would be quite a tableau if anyone entered the room. Her arms outstretched, covering a mouth and a hole in an arm, standing by the altar of an abandoned church. Like some kind of bizarre painting that had been lost to time.

  “Hlpff…”

  “Don’t. Scream,” Amanda said, quietly but firmly, attempting to make eye contact. The woman’s breathing increased, but then slowed down as she looked into Amanda’s eyes.

  “I’m here to help you,” Amanda said, forcing a grim closed-mouth smile for a moment. “You’ve been kidnapped, and so have I, but I’m in the middle of escaping. I need your help untying the rest of these women. Will you help me?” The woman blinked several times, rapidly, and then nodded. “And will you stay quiet?” Amanda asked. The woman nodded again, more forcefully.

  Amanda slowly removed her hand from the woman’s mouth, waiting for the scream, but it didn’t come. The woman just nodded again, and then the two of them worked together to free her from the cross.

  As the woman put her feet on the ground—with Amanda’s help—she looked up at the other twelve women who were still strapped to crosses, the red tubes stretching out from them like nightmarish umbilical cords.

  “What is this?” the woman whispered.

  “It’s…” Amanda started, trying to figure out how to explain everything she’d gone through during the last several weeks in as few words as possible. “It’s complicated, and I promise I’ll explain everything to you, once we get out of here and get you… get all of you to a hospital.” She paused and added, “What’s your name?”

  “Brianna,” the woman said, “but everyone just calls me Brie.” She was staring at the partly filled vat of blood now and her face had gone pale. Or paler than it already had been. She looked as if she was going to be sick.

  “Nice to meet you, Brie,” Amanda said quickly. “Now, look at me, okay?”

  Brie looked over, her eyes filling with tears. “I was walking home from a date with my boyfriend. I don’t even remember them… taking me. Oh my god, we need to get out of here.”

  “I know, I know we do, and we will, but we need to help these other women first. We can’t just leave them here.”

  Brie nodded again, a huge tear rolling down her cheek.

  “Okay,” Amanda continued, stepping toward the next cross, “I think we can—”

  A noise from the vestibule stopped her. She looked up, as did Brie. The front door had opened and a dozen or so cult members entered, wearing their red robes with the hoods pulled up. In the darkness of the church, it was impossible to see their faces, other than the occasional flash from their hate-filled eyes. Amanda could hear Brie starting to hyperventilate.

  “It’s okay, we’re not—”

  Brie screamed and ran past Amanda, down the few steps of the altar, and toward the closest door.

  “Wait!” Amanda yelled after her, but the terrified woman didn’t hear her or simply didn’t care. For a moment, Amanda wondered if Brie had made the right decision. Maybe she would find a way out through the back and make her way to safety. Maybe they both should have escaped while they had the chance—but no, Amanda couldn’t leave these other women here to die. No matter what ultimately happened, she just couldn’t do it.

  Brie sprinted toward a door that led to the back of the church and promptly ran into the blade of a particularly sharp knife. A surprised look crossed the young woman’s face and she found herself staring into the eyes of a woman whose face was mostly covered by a veil. Terrifying eyes.

  Brie glanced down at her stomach, where the blade had entered her body, and touched it, looking surprised. Then she looked back up and touched her attacker’s forehead, gently, as if in some kind of deranged benediction.

  Catherine shoved the knife in deeper and Brie gasped, then collapsed to the floor, blood gushing out of her stomach and pooling beneath her. Amanda’s sister wiped the knife on her sleeve and stepped over the dying woman on the floor.

  Amanda hadn’t seen her sister wearing the veil since their encounter in the catacombs beneath Ravenwood Cemetery. With the blood streaked across her forehead, Catherine looked more terrifying than ever. Amanda didn’t recognize her sister at all.

  The cult members moved closer, and Amanda looked around. With the crosses behind her, she was completely boxed in. There was no way she could fight this many people, and she was exhausted.

  That’s it, she told herself. I’ve lost.

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” Catherine said as if reading her sister’s thoughts, stepping up to her, flanked by her acolytes. “I’m actually impressed that you got this far. You are so strong now, Amanda. Which is why I had genuinely hoped that you would join me. We could have done so much together.

  “But I see now that I was being foolish. You’ve been infected by Morbius’ perverted sense of right and wrong. Such a shame, but since you cost me my thirteenth victim… I guess your newfound strength will do some good after all.”

  She nodded at the closest cult member, a huge man whose face Amanda could barely see in the shadows of the pulpit. He and the others closed in on her. She promised herself she wouldn’t scream.

  As the hands grabbed at her, as they roughly tied her up on the cross and shoved a needle into her arm and attached a tube to it, and began draining the life from her, it was a promise she was unable to keep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  FRANKLIN LATTIMER sipped at his green tea as Mozart played quietly in the background.

  It had been a hell of a day. He had barely escaped the underground facility where he worked most days, while Michael Morbius, the “living vampire,” had wreaked absolute havoc.

  Franklin worked with blood every day, had never had an issue with it, but he had never seen so much freshly spilled gore in his entire life. The sheer volume of blood, ruptured flesh, pierced necks, and spilled intestines had caused him to vomit multiple times during his ascent from his place of employment.

 
It was highly undignified for an intellectual such as himself. Then again, he had chosen, after all, to work for a cult. He had never fully bought into their ethos, of course. At least, that’s what he told himself now. Though the world was full of supernatural creatures and men who claimed to be gods, it still seemed far-fetched, the idea that Demon-Fire was literally serving the Devil. Nevertheless, they had paid well and provided him with all the supplies he requested, no matter how ethically questionable.

  Franklin took another sip of tea. This was the sort of life he deserved. He had taken a hot bath as soon as he reached home, what with the blood and who knew what else splattered across his clothing and skin. No telling what horrible diseases it carried. The cab driver had at least been courteous enough not to mention anything about the state of Franklin’s wardrobe.

  He’s probably seen worse.

  Now, as he sat in his living room, staring out at the New York City skyline, he wondered what life had in store for him next. He suspected that this particular coven of Demon-Fire had probably reached its violent conclusion thanks to Morbius. There had been talk during his months working down there that other factions of the cult operated within the city, but they all operated independently of one another, in order to keep each chapter intact should one fall.

  Still, Franklin couldn’t help but contemplate the idea of finding another Demon-Fire headquarters to approach them, explain who he was, what he had been doing for Thaddeus and Poison-Lark.

  Ah, Poison-Lark. He had only seen her real face once, glimpsed when he was summoned to her quarters to discuss her master plan. And what a face it was! He’d been imagining what she might look like since the day she had recruited him in that old, abandoned church. She was beautiful… stunning, really. He fell even deeper in love with her in that instant—at least, that’s the way it felt.

  And the more time he spent in her service, the more Franklin convinced himself that she could love him, too. She respected his intelligence, valued it even, and pushed him to work harder, to perfect his formula in time for the “Sacrifice of the Thirteen,” as she called it.

  That hadn’t been a simple task—not like the monsters. The photocopies she brought him, taken from some antique writings, were almost impossible to decipher. Or they would have been, for anyone of a lesser intellect. Franklin had broken the code, though, and recreated the formula she desired. After that, he was given even greater resources, and left to his own devices.

  The day he realized the truth about her and Thaddeus, his heart had been broken. He had even considered quitting. How could a woman like that be romantically involved with such a brute? Yes, he was handsome and tall, but he was so old, and nowhere near as intelligent as Franklin.

  As soon as he started to piece together that they were a secret couple, Franklin made every effort to find proof. Some may have called it stalking, but Franklin considered it smart business sense. Insurance, even. If his two employers were having some kind of affair, it was important that he know about it. It was possible their relationship was affecting their decisions, and Franklin could adjust as needed.

  Still, he pined for her. Fantasized about a day when she would realize just how useless Thaddeus was, and how much Franklin could offer her. As he sat in his penthouse apartment contemplating a future with Poison-Lark that was never going to happen, Franklin suddenly heard a noise from across the room.

  “Who’s there?” he shouted, sitting up, spilling the tea across his patent leather couch. As he stared into the looming darkness of his own apartment, he slowly came to realize that a pair of bloodshot eyes was staring back at him. He scrambled to his feet as best he could.

  “Don’t come any closer! I have a gun over here!”

  “We both know you’re lying,” a voice rumbled from the darkness, sounding as if it had just clawed its way out of the grave. Which Franklin supposed it had, in a manner of speaking. He recognized that voice.

  “Morbius,” he hissed.

  “You got out.” The eyes narrowed. “I’m impressed.”

  “No thanks to you. How many did you kill?”

  “Not enough.”

  “I’m not one of them,” Franklin said, his voice pitched too high. He looked around, trying to remain as casual as possible, calculating how quickly he could make it to the front door, the bedroom, or even the balcony. But he had seen Morbius in action. His speed was superhuman. There was no way he could outrun the vampire. Why had he mentioned where he lived when first confronted by Morbius?

  Because you were desperate, his mind told him.

  “I’m not part of that cult,” he protested. “I just used them, to further my research. I was going to use my findings to help the world. I was planning on quitting soon, I swear.” Then he remembered. “And I have more of that blood. The blood that gives you that… that high. You like it, don’t you? I have some here in the apartment. Locked away. I can… I can give it to you. We can make a deal.”

  Morbius’ eyes narrowed.

  “I’m a scientist, too,” the voice said in a tone that was surprising. Earnest. Maybe even… proud?

  “You are?” Franklin responded. He had not expected the monster to say that.

  “Before I became… this, I received a Nobel Prize. Studied blood, as have you. You and I are not so different. Let me guess, you had a… difficult childhood.”

  Franklin’s eyes went wide and he sat back down on the couch. His mind raced. How did the vampire know that? Franklin had been careful to keep the public’s knowledge about him to an absolute minimum. It was too dangerous otherwise. Perhaps his time working for the cult had made him paranoid, though he would call it cautious.

  Morbius stepped forward, his face appearing in a crisscross of light and shadow. It was like every nightmare Franklin had ever experienced, coming to life in his own apartment. He swallowed nervously.

  “I did,” he answered, deciding it was best to cooperate. Perhaps it was still possible that he could talk his way out of this. “I’m not exactly a perfect physical specimen.”

  “Nor was I,” Morbius replied. “And I suffered for it. Greatly.”

  Franklin nodded and even smiled slightly. “So, we’re not so different… you and I.”

  “Perhaps not. You’ve done evil things. Things for which you deserve to die.”

  A long silence passed. Franklin’s mouth had gone completely dry. He couldn’t swallow, let alone speak.

  “Then again,” Morbius continued, “so have I.”

  The creature stepped farther into the light, and Franklin got a good look at him. He was covered almost entirely in dried blood. The calm expression on his pale, deformed face was more terrifying than if he’d been enraged. Franklin was shocked to see what looked like kindness in the monster’s eyes. Yes, he realized, there really was still some hope.

  “Tell me more,” Franklin said, forcing his smile to grow. He knew it probably looked unnatural, fake, but he had to take that chance. “About your work. Scientist to scientist. I’ve been surrounded by simple-minded fools for as long as I can remember. For my entire life, I suppose you could say.”

  “I haven’t always been like this,” Morbius answered, taking another step forward. He glanced around the apartment as if looking for something.

  The blood, Franklin realized. He’s trying to figure out where the blood is.

  “No?” Franklin said. Got to keep him talking.

  “I was sick… working on a cure. Trying to save a life that I wasn’t meant to have, and I paid for it. As have so many others.”

  He took another step forward, and Franklin realized the vampire was shivering. Withdrawal symptoms, Franklin noted. It has to be. Morbius was vulnerable. Franklin looked around and noticed the heavy, metal candleholder on the table next to him. He placed his hand on the armrest as casually as possible.

  Keep him talking.

  “I understand, Michael,” he said. “I’ve hurt so many people, and I regret it. I have nightmares… the most horrible nightmares. Do you?�
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  The vampire’s eyebrows arched, and a deep sorrow came over his face. It was almost heartbreaking. Almost.

  “Yes,” he answered, the word barely audible. His face looked almost green and his blood-caked hands were trembling.

  “I honestly thought I was helping people,” Franklin continued. “I still feel that way. My work… our work can still benefit humanity. The people we’ve hurt, the ones we’ve killed, who were they really? Nobodies. Nothing they did or could ever do would help the world, not without us.” Franklin sat forward slightly, really selling his proposal, and moved his hand even closer to the candle. “I remember the first man I experimented on. At first I felt guilty, but then I realized that my work was more important than his life. How many people would benefit from his sacrifice? He and his wife should have thanked me…”

  “His… wife?” Morbius said.

  “Yes,” Franklin scoffed, confused but determined to continue. “He kept babbling on and on about his wife, how she would worry about him, how she would—”

  Morbius lunged forward, catching Franklin off guard, but the smaller man managed to grab the candleholder and swing it in a fluid motion, probably the fastest he had ever moved in his entire life. As Morbius’ hand reached his neck, Franklin brought the thick metal object against the side of his attacker’s head. It snapped back, and a deep gash appeared. Dark blood oozed out and the vampire collapsed at his feet.

  Stumbling past Morbius, Franklin ran for the front door. His entire future flashed before his eyes. He would get through this door, then make it to the elevator. Leave the building and get into a cab, check into the worst motel he could find in New York City. He’d pay for it with the wad of cash he had in his pocket. The cult always paid him in cash.

  He thanked God for that fact.

  Franklin would lay low in the motel. Have food delivered. Wait for weeks if necessary, until the money began to run out. Then he would take the rest of the cash, just enough, to get a bus that would take him across the country. But he wouldn’t go all the way. He would get off in some random city… or even better, some small town. Get a job where he didn’t need to give his real name.