John looked over at the bloody pile in the corner of the room but didn’t answer. Angela took a deep breath and held it for a moment.
“He’s our baby, John,” she said and then released the breath. “We can’t let him die.”
John didn’t know how to tell her that Alex was already dead. He really didn’t know how to tell himself. His mind couldn’t piece together how his son died and then came back. Whatever it was that brought him back scared the hell out of John. He knew he wasn’t thinking clearly, but he considered his options. He’d been pulled into Angela’s world of madness, and although he knew this world was a debilitating place to be absorbed in, it was easy to focus on his son and nothing else.
“Meat,” he said.
Angela looked at him with a terrified expression.
John couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Meat,” he repeated. He looked at the remains of the dog and then over at his wife. “He wants meat.”
♦
They tried everything. Angela brought the meat from the kitchen while John waited in Alex’s room. It was plain to see that whatever it was that kept Alex moving was fading fast. He placed in front of the boy’s face everything Angela found. She brought the ground beef first. It seemed like the logical choice. He’d heard her banging around in the kitchen as she tried to get out the frying pan.
“Don’t bother cooking it,” he’d said.
She didn’t question him. A moment later, a full pound of ground beef lay in front of Alex’s face. He moved slightly, only once, as the smell of the beef hit him and then lay still. Angela cleaned the refrigerator out. She brought in everything from hot dogs to boloney. Alex reacted twice more, both times trying to nip at John’s hands when he got too close. The mountain of meat stacked on the floor reeked.
John got back to his feet, out of ideas. He staggered around to the end of the bed, crouched down, and located Alex’s legs. Cautiously, he reached in between the rails of the footboard. His hands wrapped around the exposed skin on Alex’s leg, and he wanted to pull back. The skin was as rough as sandpaper and cold to the touch. The repulsion of his son was a difficult emotion to swallow. He tried not to think about anything more than the task at hand. John took a firm hold of the legs and then pulled as far as he could.
After a few attempts, he got Alex out from under the bed. He managed to stay away from the boy’s face at all costs. He loved his son without question, but he feared him enough to keep his distance as best he could. When it was done, Alex lay sprawled out in the center of the bedroom floor on his stomach, his arms and legs spread away from his body. Throughout it all, he never moved.
The smell of the warming meat mixing with the funk of the dog’s remains made the room unbearable. The stench stung John’s eyes as he stepped over Alex. He considered trying to put what was left of Rex in a bag, but he didn’t want to leave Angela alone in the room for any amount of time if he could help it. She had moved closer to the doorway and from time to time, John heard her gagging. He worried that whatever was in her stomach might soon add to the mess on the floor.
“I want to get him up on the bed,” he said.
Angela looked at him.
“Stay where you are,” he said.
He studied the situation for a minute and then set his mind on what he would do. Alex was nearly in line with the bed the way he was lying. He moved in close to the boy, in one quick motion pushed his hands underneath Alex’s chest and stomach, and lifted him. He stood up and flung the boy toward the bed, spinning him in the process. Alex landed awkwardly but stayed atop the mattress. His limbs flung around as if they were no longer attached underneath the skin. His neck snapped hard as his head moved toward the window and then back toward John. When he stopped, the boy’s eyes were open, staring at his father.
Angela gasped from the door. John waited for movement and was rewarded with a spasm. Alex’s arm shook and moved down by his side. His mouth opened and his tongue flopped out like a dog. A gurgling sound rose from his lungs as if he was trying to speak in some language his parent’s didn’t understand. The stench from the boy’s lungs filled the room, saturating John like a burst of flames, and he was forced to turn away as his eyes watered.
John turned back to find Angela crying again. He crossed the room and grabbed her. She buried her face in his shirt and cried louder. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed with all her might. John struggled to take a breath.
“It’s not fair,” she said.
He could barely make out what she was saying.
“We can’t lose him twice.”
He stroked her hair and tried to calm her, but there was little he could do. In the end, he settled for holding onto her until she got it all out. She looked up at him with swollen, red eyes. He had never seen such agony up close.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said.
He tried to think of anything to fight off the pain, but his thoughts were cut in two by the sound of the doorbell. Angela’s expression changed. She looked like they were doing something wrong and she didn’t want anyone to know. John tried to move past her, but she wouldn’t let go.
“It has to be Dr. Taylor,” he said.
“We can’t tell him, John.”
John pulled himself free and headed for the door. Angela ran after him but didn’t try to stop him. She sat down on the couch and tried to fix her hair as fast as she could. John wasn’t sure why she was trying to play it so cool. He never had time to consider her actions. He reached the front door as the bell rang for the third time. He took a deep breath, let it out, and then opened the door.
Dr. Taylor burst through the door as if he expected to find the house on fire. “Is everything all right?” He scanned the living room and what he could see of the dining room before bringing his attention to Angela. “Good heavens,” he said, “are you all right?”
Angela tried to smile and nod at the same time. Her attempt to keep herself together was fading quickly.
“You’d better sit down,” John said as he grabbed Dr. Taylor by the elbow and ushered him toward the couch. “There’s a lot we have to talk about.” He realized he’d manhandled the doctor a little more than he intended.
Dr. Taylor eyed them both suspiciously as he sat. He was waiting to hear about Alex’s condition and didn’t appear to be willing to wait much longer.
“This isn’t going to make much sense to you,” John said.
“John, maybe we should—”
John waved Angela off before she got started. “Dr. Taylor,” he said as he sat in the chair next to the couch and leaned closer to the doctor. “Just hear me out.”
♦
Dr. Taylor listened to John without saying a word. Even when the story pushed past the boundaries of modern medicine, he didn’t interrupt. John couldn’t tell what the doctor was thinking, but he guessed he was thinking of a good mental hospital to admit him to. John was having a little trouble believing the story after hearing it out loud. Once he was finished, John sat back in the chair and stared out the living room window. He’d noticed Angela’s growing agitation as the story went on. She’d leaned back on the couch before he’d finished and refused to look at him or the doctor. They waited for Dr. Taylor to gather his thoughts.
“Well,” Dr. Taylor said, “it’s important to remember that both of you are going through a very difficult time.”
“I’m not crazy, Doctor,” John said, although he wasn’t sure he believed it.
“I’m not saying that.” Dr. Taylor put up his hands in defense. “A traumatic experience can have dramatic effects on the mind. The loss of a child is—”
“Alex is not dead,” Angela said as she jumped off the couch. “He’s not dead.”
John came to his feet and grabbed her. He forced her to sit back down, taking a seat next to her and keeping one arm around her shoulders. Dr. Taylor sat frozen for a time, shocked by the sudden outburst. When he did move again, he set his satchel on the floor at his feet and began rummaging
through it.
“Hold her still.”
John couldn’t see what Dr. Taylor was doing, but he had a good idea. He grabbed one of Angela’s arms and put all his weight against her body. They fell down on the couch, and he pinned her there while keeping one arm stretched out as she screamed at him. He held her as still as he could, while the doctor leaned in and plunged a syringe into her vein. Whatever it was, it worked quickly. Angela stopped fighting after only a few minutes and fell silent. John stood up and saw she was still awake.
“Will that knock her out?” he asked.
“No.” The doctor put the syringe away. “It will make her passive.”
John sat back down in the chair.
“John, I’m not going to beat around the bush here,” Dr. Taylor said. “I believe you’re becoming wrapped up in Angela’s sickness. This is not unprecedented. There are numerous examples of perfectly sane people being drug down into a psychosis type state by simply having close contact with a troubled mind.”
“Dr. Taylor, I’m not—”
“You can’t see it,” Dr. Taylor said. “You’re just as affected by this loss. It’s only that Angela does not have the ability to come out of it by herself.”
John had heard enough. He got to his feet and was surprised to see Dr. Taylor react as if he might have to defend himself.
“Come with me,” John said. “Go see Alex for yourself.”
Dr. Taylor hesitated. He looked over at Angela for a moment. She seemed more aware than a few minutes before. “You’re going to be all right,” he said to her.
Angela smiled at him and then sat up. The doctor turned to John, and her smile changed to a scowling glare.
“Let us go then,” Dr. Taylor said.
John led him down the hall. He heard Angela get up off the couch, but she didn’t follow them. John opened the door to Alex’s room and then moved out of the way. Dr. Taylor stepped in the bedroom and slid his hand over his nose. The stench in the room had festered, and the result was nearly unbearable. Dr. Taylor put his bag on the ground and pulled out a few items. He dabbed something under his nose that resembled Vaseline, and it allowed him to breathe freely. He approached the side of Alex’s bed with cautious steps. Dr. Taylor looked silently at John, unable to describe Alex’s condition. He held the end of his stethoscope in one hand, and as he leaned toward Alex, the boy shook violently. The doctor pulled the end of Alex’s shirt up, revealing a dark blue patchwork of skin.
John saw Angela step into the room. She was trying to be quiet, but before he could figure out why, it was too late. She got directly behind the doctor and shoved him as hard as she could. He ended up sprawled on top of Alex with his hands and feet hanging off opposite sides of the bed.
“What in the hell?” Dr. Taylor said.
John nearly laughed at the sight of him. He didn’t know why Angela pushed him, but it struck his funny bone for a second. The laugh came to a terrifying stop as Alex grabbed the doctor. The boy leaned his head forward and bit into his shoulder, pulling back a chunk of bloody shirt and meat. Dreadful shock consumed John. Alex bit into the doctor again, this time reaching up to his neck. Angela grabbed John’s hand and pulled him away from the bed. They were standing at the doorway before John knew what was happening. Angela’s face was filled with glee, smiling from ear to ear. John couldn’t speak. She closed the door and Dr. Taylor’s screams came to a haunting stop.
6
John sat at the end of the hallway with his back against the wall and his head in his hands. Dr. Taylor’s screams didn’t last long. The sounds coming from Alex’s room were unbearable, and there was little John could do to escape it. He knew what his son was doing, but his mind couldn’t comprehend it.
Angela sat on the couch in silence. She appeared to be far more in control of herself than John was managing. She sat cross-legged, rocking slightly from side to side. John was surprised when she picked up the remote control and turned on the television.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. He pushed himself up and stumbled into the living room. He felt sick and thought he might throw up. “What the hell are you doing?”
Angela was ignoring him. She clicked the remote and turned the channel. John’s courage failed him and his temper faded. The last thing he wanted to do was fight with her.
“Why don’t you sit down?” she said, giving him a stern glance. He couldn’t resist once her demanding personality reappeared. “We’re going to have to hide the remains.” She said it as if she was asking him to take out the trash.
He stared at her blankly, not knowing how to reply.
“I bet we could put it under the house in the storm cellar,” she said. “We’ll have to put it in trash bags to keep the smell down.”
He wanted to scream at her. He wanted to reminder her that the it she was talking about was Dr. Taylor, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“We can’t do this,” he said.
“We can’t do what exactly?” she asked as her head snapped around. “We can’t keep our son alive?”
John tried to defend himself. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“You would rather your son die?” she asked.
“This is murder.”
John’s words stopped Angela in her tracks. She studied his face for several uncomfortable seconds. She was working through it the way she always did. He’d never had the guts to stand up for himself, and she knew it.
“That’s right, John,” she said. “It’s murder.” She leaned over toward him until their faces were only an inch apart. “Are you going to call the cops?”
John didn’t answer. He knew he should do exactly that. No matter how bad he felt about Alex, he knew this was wrong.
“Go ahead.” She leaned back against the couch. “But don’t forget you’re just as much to blame. You didn’t do anything to stop it.”
He could have pulled Dr. Taylor off the bed. He could have done something, but he didn’t. John didn’t do anything to save him. Angela didn’t look back at him. She continued through the channels until she found the show she was looking for.
John sat in silence as long as he could; he got up and went to the kitchen without saying another word. He leaned against the counter, staring at the phone. His mind filled with terrible scenes. He could see Alex grab the doctor. Visions of what happened once the door closed were too terrible to think about, but he couldn’t force them away.
John couldn’t pick up the phone. He knew he should call the police, but Angela’s warning haunted him. The guilt of what he’d done tore at his stomach as the fear of what would happen to him and Angela tormented his mind. He could feel Angela’s eyes on him. She knew she was in control, but he could sense her fear. Angela had things the way she wanted them, and she didn’t want him messing it up. He thought about what she was truly capable of for a second.
“John.”
Angela’s voice cut through his thoughts like a dull knife. He ran into the living room expecting the worse. He found her standing at the entrance to the hall. She wasn’t moving and had her hand up to stop him. It took him a moment to hear the noise. He recognized the scratching at once. It was coming from Alex’s room. Angela’s eyes were impossibly wide as she turned to look at him.
“We have to go in there,” she said.
“I’m not going in there,” John said without thinking.
“It’s your son, John, and he needs you.”
She moved out of the way. It was apparent she meant for him to go alone. John rubbed his hand across his face and sweat dripped to the floor as he tried to gather the courage to move. He stepped past his wife and into the darkness of the hall. The scratching sounds were constant, and for a second, he was hopeful there was some normal explanation. His stomach sank when he studied the light under the door. He could see clearly the shadow of two feet standing behind it.
“Hurry up,” Angela said.
“I’m going.”
John waved his hand behind h
im to brush her off. He stood outside the door listening. The scratching never stopped. Under the door, he saw wood shavings gathering. The shavings moved slightly with each scratch as the pieces fell to the floor. Panic crept into the back of his mind as he reached for the knob. He knew he had to be quick. Alex couldn’t run as far as he could tell, and John figured if he could get away from the door, he should be able to keep him at bay.
The sequence of events that followed came from some disturbing comedy. John turned the knob and pushed the door open as hard as he could. He heard the sound of something collapsing on the floor. John stepped inside, shut the door behind him, and ran for the bed. He wasn’t prepared for the sight of Dr. Taylor’s body. At first glance, it was difficult to tell what he was looking at. The blood was overwhelming, covering every inch of the bed. The comforter lay on the floor soaked through with a deep red.
John saw a hand and then a foot. The two were close together at the end of the bed, neither connected to the rest of the body. The exposed bones were pushed through the skin in places and picked clean of muscle. The horror of the sight didn’t register until he realized the doctor’s body was facing up.
Dr. Taylor’s face was immortalized in a vicious yell, his mouth still wide open. Lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling as blood drained from bites along the side of his face. John reached the edge of the bed when he saw the worst of it. One side of the doctor’s neck was missing; the exposed esophagus looked like plastic lying beneath the torn skin.
John moved around the bed near the lone window before looking back toward the door. Alex was already on his feet. John saw his wretched son lumbering toward him. The boy’s remaining clothes were soaked through with blood. His mouth hung open, revealing pieces of flesh. John didn’t have time to think. He leaned down and pushed with both hands at the other side of the bed. His finger dug into something soft and warm, but he didn’t want to look. The bed gave way and slid across the floor with ease.
Alex didn’t react to the bed, even as it slammed into his thighs. John pinned the boy against the far wall and stepped away. Alex reached out for him, and a low moan erupted from his mouth as the bits of soft tissue fell. His fingers dug into the doctor’s remains still spread out on the bed as he tried to get a hand on his father.
The Decaying World Saga Box Set [Prequel #1-#2 & Books #1-#2] Page 4
