Hostiles

by Ethan Johnson

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Unlike previous encounters with the Masked Man, Diane felt like a piece of furniture in another of his bare rooms. Not because she was stripped to her bra and panties and bound to a cold steel table. He never acknowledged her as he gave terse orders to his staff. Diane watched fearfully as an oversized blue plastic barrel was wheeled into the room by two armored operatives. The lid was removed and set aside methodically. A container of bright green liquid was placed beside the barrel. A technician Diane hadn’t seen before donned a yellow hazmat suit and slipped on a pair of glossy black gloves. He nodded to the Masked Man, who in turn gave a quick wave to the door behind Diane.

  Diane struggled with the straps that held her firmly against the frigid table. She dared not speak, lest she incur the Masked Man’s wrath. She could tell he was through talking. Her only hope was to wriggle free of her restraints and disarm someone. Her arm felt like it might break when she applied too much force to her unyielding bonds.

  Chief Technician Zelnik, the man who performed Diane’s recent modifications, was wheeled into the room on a dolly. He was stripped to a pair of gray boxers. His skin was pale and pasty, Diane noted. The man’s jaw trembled as he tried to form a coherent sentence. He only uttered two words: “No… please.”

  Zelnik was released from the dolly. Two operatives in full body armor swept him off his feet and dropped him into the barrel. One of the operatives fed a length of rope under the technician’s knees and pulled upward until he sat down in the barrel, completely out of Diane’s sight. She saw his shadowy form pressing against the walls of the barrel, but he was just an abstract shape now. The operatives secured the lid to the barrel with a sickening snap of the latch. Diane had no idea what was in store for the disgraced chief technician, but the brutal efficiency of the operatives filled her with dread.

  The yellow-suited technician attached a length of tubing to the barrel, then to the container of green fluid. He carefully set the container into a harness of some sort, then connected it to a metal apparatus once it was brought in by the silent operatives. Once the contraption was assembled, the yellow-suited technician nodded to the Masked Man.

  The Masked Man nodded in return, and the operatives beside Diane’s slanted table. Diane looked at the men and considered bargaining with them to let her go, but she abandoned the thought. Begging didn’t save Zelnik from whatever the Masked Man was going to do to him, she thought glumly. Why would she be any different?

  The yellow-suited technician turned a crank on the side of the apparatus. A length of chain wrapped around the crankshaft, raising the container. When it reached a designated height, a mechanism caused the container to tip over. Green fluid rushed through the tubing into the barrel. Zelnik screamed in horror as the first drops reached his bare skin. Diane dug her fingernails into her palms and squeezed her eyes shut as the man issued howls she had never heard any living thing make, and hated that they were the gruesome soundtrack to her own imminent demise.

  As the container emptied into the barrel, Diane heard bubbling sounds. She opened her eyes and peeked at the stationary container. A thick dark line rose from the bottom of the barrel. A few minutes later, the screams stopped, and less of the technician was recognizable. Diane urinated uncontrollably at the realization he was being… dissolved. As deaths went, if she could choose a way to go out, firing squad was quick and painless. This was horrific beyond all comprehension. The worst part, for her, wasn’t the screams. It was the clinical way the termination was handled.

  A large white label was applied to the barrel. Diane had never seen the word before. She tried to sound it out to no avail. It read CHLORINE TRIFLUORIDE and was marked with warning signs. A black triangle against an orange background with an exclamation mark in the center told her everything she needed to know.

  The Masked Man nodded to the yellow-suited technician. The man lowered the container back to the floor and turned it right-side up. He carefully removed the tubing from the barrel and sealed the port. The tubing was coiled onto the top of the container, then the operatives loaded the barrel onto a freight dolly.

  “Put this in quarantine four,” the Masked Man said, his voice flat.

  “Right away,” said an operative. The pair hauled the barrel away without another word.

  The Masked Man turned his attention to Diane. He tipped his head and gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Prepare for disposal.” Diane knew he wasn’t speaking to her. The yellow-suited technician nodded and carried the empty container out of the room.

  The two of them were alone. Diane knew she was meant to be humiliated before her horrific disposal. She stared intently at the Masked Man, focusing on where his eyes should have been.

  Before Diane could speak, the Masked Man turned her head from side to side with his gloved hand. “I must know: why did you betray me? I was assured in no uncertain terms your conditioning was absolute.”

  “I didn’t betray you, sir,” Diane hissed.

  The Masked Man released his grip. “And yet, you spared Officer Hathaway, contrary to your orders.” He seemed to crack a wry smile. “You were informed alternatives are always available to us, as needed. Officer Hathaway will meet his end on the operating table. I have assets in place to carry out their orders.”

  The yellow-suited technician wheeled a fresh container of green liquid into the room and set it beside the apparatus.

  Diane looked past the Masked Man and felt her heart pound. “No… no, he’s not like you said. Go ahead and kill me, but don’t kill Hathaway. Please, I’m begging you.”

  The Masked Man tipped his head. “This is not an explanation. For my own edification, I wish to know if your failure was a matter of inferior conditioning or blatant sabotage. Tell me, why did you disobey your orders?”

  “I didn’t. I… he’s not a bad guy. You said you wanted to stop the bad guys. Hathaway is on our side. Don’t kill him. We need people like him on the force. He gives a damn. He doesn’t just think about himself.”

  “Interesting. Compassion won out over compliance. Future protocols will take this into account. Your honest feedback is most appreciated.” The Masked Man turned and nodded to the operatives who brought in a new plastic barrel and removed the lid. They proceeded to Diane’s side and began to release the straps that held her against the table. Diane shrieked and tried to wriggle free.

  As the operatives released the last strap, Diane stared directly at the Masked Man. “There’s another way. Please. I know a better way.”

  The Masked Man raised his hand. “This disposal method has been deemed effective. Continue.”

  Diane shook her head. “No, Hathaway. There’s another way. Use him. He’ll fight for what he believes in. Give him something to believe in. Something to fight for. Make him fight for you.”

  The Masked Man rubbed his chin. “His proficiency with firearms is formidable. He would be a significant asset.”

  “Almost as good as me. I’ll fight for you too. Just like always. Please. You don’t have to go around killing everybody to get your way.”

  “Articulate your proposal. You have my interest.” The Masked Man gestured to the barrel. “Do not fail to convince me of its efficacy.”

  Diane took a hard swallow and nodded gravely.

  Diane cradled her scorched left arm as steaming hot water rained down upon it from her oversized showerhead. Tears blended into the rivulets that trickled down her naked body. She sobbed and scrubbed frantically, desperate to cleanse herself of the ordeal she suffered at the gloved hands of the Masked Man. She squeezed her eyes shut and saw Chief Technician Zelnik stuffed into a plastic barrel. She opened them in hopes of being spared the replay of his horrific death, only to hear his sickening screams filling her ears. She turned on the massage jets on her shower column and shook her head.

  Diane slid onto the floor of her cavernous shower stall. Water pooled and swirled down the drain beyond her glistening toes. She pulled her knees up close to he
r chest and rocked back and forth, weeping. Try as she might, she could not escape the memory of what she had witnessed and nearly experienced firsthand.

  It took about thirty minutes for her dedicated water heater to run cold. A burst of frigid water sent Diane scrambling for the controls on the shower column. After urgently turning off the water, Diane pressed her forehead against a bare section of the gleaming chrome column and cried, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.

  Diane pushed the shower stall door open and snatched a fluffy towel from a nearby ring. She buried her face into it in hopes of blocking out… everything. The terror. The screams. Her doom.

  A short time later, Diane sprawled out on her sofa wearing only her bathrobe and her pendant. Her fingers fondled the silver horse head as she stared at her blank monitor. She didn’t want to watch anything. She figured she had seen enough today. Diane threw her head back and tried to think of something more pleasant. She tried to imagine the room where she met Lady Diamond and later, Alexa Charlevoix. Lady Diamond raised a wine glass and gave Diane a seductive smile. As Diane drew near to her, the wine turned green. Lady Diamond splashed it in Diane’s face.

  Diane waved her arms around and sent a throw pillow flying across the room. She sat bolt upright, clutching her chest. Her heart pounded steadily as she fought to breathe. She focused on regaining control. It was just a dream, she told herself. You’re safe here.

  Diane settled back onto the sofa. She considered finding something to watch on the monitor, but nothing came to mind. The InTelNet tended to show graphic violence, especially at night. Diane figured she got enough of that at work. The Style Network was just going to make her worry about her appearance. She was in no mood for gowns and heels. Definitely not hairstyles and makeup. She ran her fingers over her hair and frowned. She forgot to do the hair care regimen Morgyn recommended. Diane huffed. Morgyn can bite me, she thought bitterly.

  Tears welled up in her eyes. If Morgyn were here, at least she could touch another person without fear of being dissolved in a barrel. She tried to remember the shape of her body, the feel of her lips, the chemical scent of her hair. Her nose crinkled up at the memory of the clinical aroma of the Masked Man’s interrogation chamber. Diane wiped her eye with her knuckle and threw her hands up in the air in disgust.

  “Everything is garbage,” she said.

  Diane rolled onto her left side and stared at her drawn curtains. They blocked out the city, which she appreciated in her desire to be left alone, but loathed in her desire to be loved. Diane huffed at the thought. Love. I had that once. Look where it got me, she fumed.

  Diane’s bathrobe fell open as her sash came undone. She pulled the top flap of her robe aside to reveal her hip, buttock, and right leg. She ran her fingers down her bare skin. She felt goosebumps form on her arm as she felt the thrill of contact. It wasn’t the same as being with somebody, like Lyssa, for instance. Not even Morgyn, despite her disinterest in ever seeing her again. Touch was essential, she mused.

  Her monitor buzzed and a red light flashed in the lower right-hand corner of its casing. Diane looked around for her remote and rolled onto her back. “I had it right here. Where the hell did I—”

  Diane felt something hard press against her calf, then the monitor glowed and Bertram’s wide face filled the screen. “Whoa. Awesome.”

  Diane looked down at her exposed crotch and pulled her robe flap over herself. Despite her longing for physical contact and affection, she determined she wasn’t desperate enough to seduce Bertram. She glowered at the screen. “Can I help you with something?”

  Bertram stammered and coughed. “I, uh… you have a visitor.”

  “I’m not expecting any visitors. Plus, it’s late and I’m going to bed. Take a message.”

  “She says it’s urgent. She said you’d let me send her up.”

  Diane sat upright and pulled her robe flaps across her chest. Bertram had seen enough, she thought. She gave him a concerned look. “Who is it?”

  “Lisa.” A female voice was muffled by the directional microphone. “Oh, Lyssa. Want to see her or not?”

  Diane felt her stomach flutter. She certainly wasn’t expecting Lyssa now, if ever. She wasn’t in the mood for more accusations and arguing. On the other hand, she considered, Lyssa never smelled like chemicals. “Okay, send her up.”

  “Here she comes.” The screen went black and the red light turned off. Diane threw a pillow at the monitor and found her remote. She groaned and hurried to the bathroom. She applied a quick layer of makeup. Come what may, Diane had no interest in looking washed out and pathetic when she greeted Lyssa.

  A soft rapping sounded at her front door. Diane ran a brush through her hair and tried to tame it as best as she could, then stowed the brush in a drawer and slammed it shut. She adjusted her robe and re-tied the sash, then she lifted her chin and took a deep breath. Making an entrance was important, Lady Diamond had said. Well, Diane reasoned, making an impression was too. She refused to appear weak.

  Diane pulled her door open and smiled thinly at Lyssa, who wore a pink t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Her pink toes were clad in cheap plastic flip-flops from the five-dollar store. Lyssa’s wild hair had not been tamed in Diane’s absence. If anything, she noted, it was crazier than ever. She hoped that wasn’t a sign of Lyssa’s mood.

  “You look well,” Diane said stiffly.

  Lyssa wiped tears from her nose. “You look awesome and incredible.” She seemed unsure of what to do with her hands. “Can I come in?”

  “I’ve had a rough day, and I have to go out on patrol tomorrow. If you’re here to rip into me, I’m going to pass.”

  Lyssa sniffled and nodded. Her head jittered and her chin quivered. “I… I need you, Diane. Please don’t shut me out.”

  “You left me. I think we’re done here.” Diane reached up to close the door. “Your parents must be worried sick, you being out this late.”

  Lyssa clasped her hands together and shook them imploringly. “Please, Diane, please don’t turn me away. Please let me in.” She dropped to her knees. “I need you.”

  Diane looked around and gave Lyssa a sharp tug on her shirt sleeve. “Get in here before somebody sees you making a fool of yourself. Now.” Lyssa stumbled into Diane’s apartment and Diane closed the door quickly behind her. Diane put one hand on her hip and lifted her chin haughtily. “Okay, you’re in my house. Now what?”

  Lyssa did not speak. She looked up at Diane with bleary eyes and broke down in tears. She bawled like an infant. Words didn’t seem possible, and as Diane allowed Lyssa to wrap her arms around her waist, she felt their renewed connection. Diane rested her chin on the top of Lyssa’s head and took in the bubblegum scent of her hair. She reached down and slid her arms through Lyssa’s shirt sleeves and pressed her palms against Lyssa’s bare back. Lyssa sobbed mightily into Diane’s chest, and Diane, in turn, allowed tears to slide down her nose and drip on Lyssa’s scalp.

  This is what, and who I want, Diane told herself. Everything is going to be okay.

  Lyssa’s sobs drowned out the last screams of Chief Technician Zelnik as he disintegrated in a plastic barrel. For that, above all else, Diane was grateful.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Diane spooned Lyssa and stroked her hair. Diane crinkled her nose as a clump of frizz tickled her nostrils. She smiled as she soaked in the comfortable sensation of having Lyssa back in her arms. She ran her fingers over Lyssa’s bare buttock and gave it a squeeze. Lyssa had lost weight since the night she was poisoned. Diane wondered if Lyssa was on a diet now, or if it was a side-effect of the poisoning. She didn’t care. Lyssa was back where she belonged, and the Delaneys couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

  “Is my hair bothering you? I can tie it back, if you have a bandie.” Lyssa’s voice was a soothing balm to Diane.

  “No, it’s fine,” Diane said. “It is what it is.”

  Lyssa rolled onto her back and looked up at Diane. “I missed you.”

  “I mis
sed you too,” Diane lied. Well, she corrected herself, it wasn’t a total lie. She had given up on Lyssa, truth be told, but not without good reason. Being accused of poisoning her didn’t sit well with Diane, either. She understood Lyssa was upset, but their reunion was not going to last if they didn’t clear the air. Diane tipped her head. “How are you feeling?”

  Lyssa reached up and picked at Diane’s hair. “Your hair is nice. You’ve never worn it like that before.”

  “Can I get you anything? Something to drink? A snack?”

  “No, I’m not hungry, unless you want something. I’ve used up my points for today.”

  Diane shook her head. “Your points?”

  “Yeah, I’m on the program. I’m down twelve pounds so far. If I can stick with it, I should be down seventy before New Year’s.”

  “I like you just fine,” Diane said, and kissed the tip of Lyssa’s nose.

  “I like you too. But I need to feel good about myself, baby. I figured out some stuff while we were… uh, while I was back at home.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, for starters, I need to trust my instincts and not listen to everyone else. I let my parents decide who and what is right for me. I didn’t want to make any waves and get kicked out, so I went along with everything they said. They told me you poisoned me, Diane. They told me if you didn’t mean to do it, you wouldn’t have had poisoned candy laying around. But I remembered what happened when I bit into them. You freaked out and called the ambulance. If you wanted me dead, you wouldn’t have done that. I’ve watched enough true crime to know how people act when they mean to kill somebody.”

  “I would never poison you,” Diane said firmly.

  “I know, baby, and I’m sorry I lashed out at you. I was just so… angry, you know?”