“You just left a very confused man inside that lab.”
Confused himself, Henry looked up into his rearview mirror.
He could see the corner of Edward’s malformed face—and it wasn’t happy.
“That’s no man!” Henry’s voice shook. His eyes went toward the building. The doors flew off of their hinges and the monster emerged, his misshapen hands balled into fists. Terrified, Henry threw the car into reverse. Spinning the wheel, he swerved the car away from the creature, sending a wave of gravel outward. Then he threw the car into drive and floored it, speeding away down the narrow road.
“You’re just going to leave him to go wreak havoc?” Edward challenged. But then his laughter echoed in the car. “On second thought, drive faster.”
Henry was still trying to catch his breath. “You promised me Frankie!” he growled through his teeth. “That’s not him!”
“It is him!” Hyde insisted. “Believe me. I’d know.”
“Then what was wrong with him?!” Henry demanded. He kept glancing at the mirrors to see if there was any sign of a chase.
Edward chuckled. “Well, poor Franklin just came from an unpleasant place, you see. It should be a little understandable why he’s disgruntled.”
But Henry didn’t understand, so he just kept driving along the long country road. Before he knew it, the sky began to darken behind the storm clouds, welcoming the blackness of the evening. All the while, he felt like his brain would explode. That monster, filled with hatred and rage, couldn’t have been Frank; he wouldn’t have been upset with Henry.
But then again, Henry was the reason he had died.
Thinking about it, Henry sighed. If that really is Frank, he must hate me right now. But Henry didn’t blame him. And even though Henry wanted to run and hide from the thing, there was no way he could let the creature run amuck.
After a while of staring out into the rain, contemplating, Henry turned back around and headed for the lab, ever fearful as he was. Part of him hoped by some miraculous chance Frank had stayed put, but that was a long shot. The other part hoped the experiment had been a failure and he would come back to a shriveled corpse once more.
When he got back, he parked the car and looked around, only to find no creature in sight. He stared through the open hole where the doors should have been, fearful of walking in on a dismembered Dorian Gray. But as Henry imagined a monster hot on his heels, possibly filled with hard feelings, he hurried inside.
Dorian was still there. He seemed calm and unfazed, but for some reason his shirt was off. He turned to Henry.
Stopping dead in his tracks, Henry’s eyes fell to the upside-down star painted on Dorian’s chest with the same white paint he had used on the monster. Then Henry looked into the actor’s face, searching for a clue. “What did you do?” he asked gravely. When he looked past the movie-star, he saw the portrait lying propped up on table, the old book opened next to it. Placed on top was an empty syringe.
Dorian smiled. “I did what I set out to do, to see if the chemical worked. It was a success, Henry,” he laughed, a bit excited. “So, I had to try it for myself.”
Henry grabbed at his chest, afraid his heart might jump out of it. “What?!” he cried. “Did you even see that monster we just made?!”
“Yes,” Dorian replied matter-of-factly, throwing on his shirt. “And I was quite pleased with the results, actually.”
Henry recalled his own reaction to the chemical. What a horrible experience. The monster had it no better it seemed. Henry shuffled backward in fear and waited to see what would happen.
Dorian just stared at him.
Henry watched, only to see nothing. “How do you feel?” he asked, body tight, fists clenched.
As a response, Dorian laughed a bit. “You should see your face, Jekyll,” he teased. Then his face twitched and he grunted. He gritted his teeth together and lurched over, groaning in pain.
There it was. This is what Henry had been waiting for. This is how Dorian should have reacted sooner. And now he was going to have to experience the horrible pain of the chemical. And then what? If Henry and the monster both had explosive, volatile reactions, what chaos would Dorian cause? Henry stared, wringing his hands together, unsure of what to do. His back hit the wall and startled him. Only then did he realize he was backing away from the blast radius.
But Dorian’s reaction was different. While he was hunched over, Henry saw something crawling through Dorian’s hair. As it made its way along, he saw that it was the color of thin copper wires. It crept up through until Dorian’s dark hair was completely replaced by an orangey-red. The ends of each lock seemed to suck into themselves, shortening all around his head.
Henry, unable to help his fascination, hurried over to him. “Are you okay?” he mumbled, still cautious.
Dorian was quiet for a moment, breathing heavily, his body trembling from effort. Henry’s own voice answered, “I’m fine.” Then the actor slowly lifted his eyes.
Confusion swept over Henry. Was he looking into a mirror? No, he hadn’t been able to look at himself in a mirror since the accident—all he could see was Edward when he did. But standing before him were his own blue eyes, pale face, and red hair. And not a reflection but a human replica. Henry stared the clone up and down and the only difference he could finally spot was that the duplicate wore Dorian’s clothes. To make sure, Henry looked down at himself and back up; yes, definitely not his.
A curious look in his eye, the clone felt his face. “Can you see it now?” he asked, wearing a crooked smile that didn’t suit Henry’s features very well.
Speechless, Henry took a few staggering steps backward only to find that the reflection did not follow. “H-how did you—?” He tried to finish, but nothing came.
“Your chemical,” the duplicate explained as if to a simpleton. “I’m an actor. What more suitable power than this?” Then he turned and caressed his original face on the painting. At the touch, he winced again and Dorian’s face contorted until it was back to normal. “Unfortunately, I had to make a little deal with someone in order for it to function the way I wanted it to.”
Henry opened his mouth, astonished as he watched Dorian morph back to normal. Once he had regained his thoughts, Henry looked around the empty room and back to the actor. “A deal with whom? Hyde?” How was Edward communicating so effortlessly without his knowledge?
“No.” Dorian only smiled in a sadistic way. “But you’ll meet him one day, Henry,” he whispered mysteriously.
What on earth did he mean by that? Henry felt overwhelmed by how fast everything had happened. His mind wandered from one event to the next. Overwhelmed, he held his head and stared at the ground.
“We should probably go retrieve your friend,” Dorian hinted.
Henry looked up at Dorian and froze, letting his mind draw back to the monster—the escaped monster. “Yes, you’re right,” he mumbled, waiting for Dorian to lead the way out.
But Dorian turned to the table and picked up his portrait, staring intently at it, a look of pride in his features. Then his eyes paused on one spot, his grin drooping. He took in a sharp breath and held the painting closer for more serious inspection.
Henry walked up to him and glanced at the painting from over his shoulder.
Dorian’s fingers traced a faint wrinkle on the canvas that marred his forehead. Then he moved his hand up to his face.
“What’s wrong?” Henry asked.
Dorian whirled around and brought his hand down from his wrinkle-less brow. “Start the car!” he snapped.
Henry wanted to tell the self-indulged movie star to be more concerned about the monster than his piece of art. Dorian shouldn’t have brought it anyway if he didn’t want it to get ruined. But Henry turned and paused at the door, glancing out into the pitch-black woods around them, looking for a beast with glowing, blue eyes. When he saw no sign of it, he made his way out to the car as quick as he could and got in, starting the engine. It wasn’t long until Dori
an followed, placing all of his stuff in the back before he got into the passenger seat.
“What if we can’t find him?” Henry wondered. He opened the visor and went to the mirror to see if he looked as frazzled and unkempt as Dorian’s impersonation led on. But all he saw was Edward, smiling wickedly at him. Of course. Henry had forgotten, perhaps too excited to see himself for once. He let out a sigh.
“Who cares? I’m just satisfied with the way this experiment went.” Dorian mused for a moment. “Let’s get some more test subjects on the way, shall we?” he sneered.
Henry knew the celebrity had been willing—Dorian had proven how deranged he was. But how odd would these other volunteers be? “You know willing test subjects?” he asked.
Dorian laughed. “Willing? No, of course not.”
Henry frowned at the idea, mulling it over. When it finally hit him, he couldn’t believe what he just heard. “You want to kidnap people?” he demanded, feeling his anger rising.
“Just listen to him!”
Henry glared into the visor mirror at Edward, who was glaring back.
“Well, yes,” Dorian chuckled, not hearing the third guest. “Reel ‘em in, poison ‘em, and throw ‘em back.” He smiled as if he was imagining it in his head already. “I can’t wait to see what kind of havoc they’ll wreak.”
Henry’s knuckles grew white as he gripped onto the wheel. “No,” he snapped.
“Yes! Don’t forget!” Edward snarled. “You’re doing this for fame—for power!”
“Why not?” Dorian wondered innocently.
“I didn’t agree to commit any crimes, Dorian,” Henry snarled.
“But you already did!” the actor laughed. “Grave robbing. Breaking and entering the lab to conduct illegal experiments. And…” His countenance bore a mask of curiosity that only ignited Henry’s anger. “What was that other one? Oh yeah!” He laughed and looked over at him. “Murder.”
Something inside Henry snapped and he reached over to strangle the arrogant star. But Dorian appeared to have disappeared from his side. When Henry tried to move, he couldn’t leave the seat to see where Dorian went. He looked around outside.
The headlights that had once reached far out into the woods seemed to dim and stop short, illuminating a vast nothingness. A hazy, black veil surrounded the outside of the vehicle, leaving Henry with a sense of claustrophobia. The colors inside of the car appeared faded. The interior seemed dull and blurred, almost as if there was a haze inside as well.
Confused, Henry looked into the mirror where Edward was smiling, malice embedded in his eyes. The car inside Hyde’s world was sharp and focused. Everything looked as it should. Dorian’s face came into view in the mirror.
When Henry looked to his side again, Dorian was still gone. Horror filled Henry as he sat alone in the small, colorless netherworld. “What did you do?” he demanded of the shriveled man.
“You did this to yourself, Jekyll,” Hyde laughed.
When Edward turned to his side Dorian smiled at him in astonishment. “Mr. Hyde, I presume.”
“S’right,” Hyde sniffed. The two shook hands. Then, sliding the chair up so his short legs could reach the pedal, Hyde chuckled and added, “My ways are much more to your liking. I assure you.”
“What are you doing, Hyde?” Henry asked. Edward ignored him. Dorian didn’t even seem to notice.
“I’m glad to hear it,” the actor said with a smile.
“How are we going to do this, I wonder?” Edward mused aloud, though he gave Dorian a pointed look. Edward knew all too well that the movie star had his ways—had his connections.
The all-knowing look in the small, ugly man’s face made Dorian smile. “I had my agent, Mr. Wotton, contact some people in case this chemical actually worked. Wotton has supplies waiting for us in a van parked near Henry’s manor. He has no idea what for, nor does he care.”
Henry grew antsy on the other side of the mirror. “Supplies? What does he mean? Hyde!”
“Equipment!” Edward chortled. “Know some uppity people, fancy-pants?”
Dorian’s smile grew wicked. “Oh, you should know better than anyone the kind of connections I have.”
“Edward! What is he talking about?”
Hyde chuckled throatily, enjoying poor Dr. Jekyll’s lack of inclusion on the joke. “These connections of yours… They give you the good stuff?”
At that, Dorian’s smile fell a little. “They had better ones but couldn’t issue them to me on account that I’m not a participating member of their group.”
“What group? There are more like Dorian?” Henry sounded exasperated.
Edward liked that the movie star was smarter than he seemed—and he liked playing on the secret they both knew, keeping Henry in the dark. “So, how many subjects would you like?” Edward asked.
“I think four will do,” Dorian sighed, staring out at the rainy windshield. “I have an idea for the first two. I’d like a Catholic woman”—he shared a smile with Edward, loving the thought of snatching up a poor, innocent, holy woman—“and a normal college student. You know, reckless and immature. My agent should have two files picked out for us. I told him it was a potential casting call.”
Edward grew excited at this new game. “You left me the other two. How kind! I already have a very specific victim in mind.”
Curious, Dorian stared at him. “Someone you know?” he asked.
Edward couldn’t contain the amount of wicked joy he felt within. Smiling evilly, he stared up at the doctor’s trapped and terrified face in the mirror. “Someone Henry knows…”
—
Wandering—mindless wandering.
Where was he? Who was he? He couldn’t remember a thing. He barely knew how to think.
There had been a person, someone he had recognized. The sight of the person made him angry for some reason, but then he wondered if maybe the person could help him remember. But the person had gotten scared when they saw him and ran away. Well, that wasn’t too nice of the person. It had upset him greatly. He had tried to tell the person that, but the sounds coming from him didn’t make any sense. The person had gotten into a strange object that seemed to roll away really fast down the long, black thing on the ground. He’d called after it, but it had kept going.
As he tried to think, little wet things fell out of the openness and splattered on him, each one breaking his thought process. Growing angry, he swatted at them, hoping they would stop. But they kept bothering him, dripping into his eyes. It was very rude. To make it worse, the openness seemed to yell at him. First, something bright would flash, hurting his eyes, then that awful sound would rumble at him.
Furious beyond comprehension, he fell to his knees and yelled at it. Why was it being so impolite? He knew this light had something to do with this wet stuff. If he could just stop this light, he could stop whatever this nuisance was. Desperate to make it stop, he waited for the light to flash again. When it did, he charged at it, trying to catch it, but it disappeared. He paused and waited again. This time the light struck in a different spot and he shouted at it as he ran—but then it was gone. Maybe it was tricking him, but he would find it. He followed along the soft ground until the light seemed to settle; it dimmed and the sound only mumbled at him afterward.
After wandering a while, the ground became hard beneath him. He stared up at a little light hanging off the side of a stick that pushed out of the earth. A few long, skinny black rays seemed to fly off of it.
The light had come out of the sky and decided to stay. Knowing that made him feel better; he knew if he had followed the light long enough, he would’ve found it. He grabbed hold of the stick and ripped it out of the ground. As he threw it aside, the light stuttered and went out.
He stared at the dark mess. He had done something useful.
Suddenly, a light flashed again from the openness in front of him.
He roared and stomped his feet.
But when the light flashed, it revealed a large box, just li
ke the one he had walked out of. Except, the more he stared at it, the more he felt this one was familiar to him. Desperate to know something—anything—he hurried to it.
He felt the surface, looking for a way in. His fingers discovered strange textures as he walked around it. Finally, he got to a big hole in the box, big enough for him to fit through. Excited, he tried to get in, but some invisible barrier stopped him.
No.
Nothing would stop him.
He brought his fists down against it. The barrier made a loud crack at him, stabbing into his skin. He groaned but felt victorious. The barrier had been destroyed.
—
Liza sat in her room, watching television, her eyes burning with old tears. She had no interest in the show but was willing to do anything that would keep her thoughts off of the past few weeks. Plus, she had to keep it on; she couldn’t go to sleep in the dark. She felt so alone in the darkness.
Just as she had that thought, she was suddenly plunged into the blackness she feared as the TV and lamp went out. The storm must have cut out the power.
Terrified, she gripped onto the sheets of her bed. What could she do? She couldn’t stay in the dark! She would think of Frankie’s absence too much. That was something that already left her so tired—so stressed. She needed the relief of light. Liza yanked the drawer of her nightstand open and grabbed the flashlight. Her fingers mashed down the button but with no success. Sighing, she reached over to Frankie’s nightstand and took out the lighter. Then she made her way to the bathroom and grabbed the scented candle. She brought the plastic lighter close and flicked it on. But she remained in darkness. Desperate, she kept running her thumb down the flint wheel, waiting for the solace of a flame, but it never came. The gloom ate at her every moment the darkness lasted, building her anxiety.
Blind World (The Onyx Fox Saga Book 1) Page 12