She turned around again and walked out of the room. I didn’t follow her this time. There would be no salvaging things. I laid down on the bed and curled up, hoping the migraine would go away soon.
It was two hours later when I finally pried myself away from the bed, shivering and drenched in sweat. My mind had been a confusing miasma of Laura’s memories, strange shapes from my hallucinations, delirium and a throbbing headache. It took five minutes after waking up to fully convince myself I was no longer dreaming. Someone had set a glass of water on the floor near the bed and I slowly drank it as I stared out the tiny window at the sprawling marsh that Jacksonville Florida had become, feeling like I might puke with every sip.
After putting on my clothes, I walked out the doorway into the hall, passing by Darren’s room. He was still there, along with Pedro, both asleep. Being able to get a longer look at him, I could see the bruises and red spots on his face, one of his legs bandaged up. Sachi had interrogated him.
I didn’t find Laura in any rooms I passed, so I assumed she must have gone off with everyone else to wherever they had gone. Wanting to get away from me. I found the bottom level – the third floor sticking above the water – empty. Only a couple candles burned near the doorway for anyone who needed to come in from outside. The rest of the room stood dim, only faint light coming in the small windows from an overcast sky.
The creaking of the floor was louder than before. I couldn’t tell if it was because of the building’s quiet emptiness, the subsiding migraine, or if maybe I was still dreaming. Wind was already picking up as the hurricane approached, water lapping up against the outer walls.
I strode over to the door, opening it and taking one step outside. The difference in heat and humidity outside compared to inside was almost unnoticeable, but the salty breeze felt nice on my sweat drenched skin.
I let out a long exhale, looking across the strange scenery. Jacksonville was a ghost town. Most of the houses had only their roofs peeking out above the surface of the water, many damaged by storms. The small trees that hadn’t been torn out by flooding and winds stood bare, downed in brackish floodwaters. Most of the power lines had been stripped away by the weather, but it wouldn’t have mattered because the power-
A faint scuffling from behind startled me. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see Laura or Pedro. Instead I spotted Christina staring at me from inside the hideout, partially obscured in the dark. We exchanged glances for a moment before she raised a pistol. I ducked just as she shot, hearing wood splinter above me, rolling out the door onto the wavering platform. I jumped back to my feet and put my back to the wall just outside the door. Quiet. Only blowing wind and creaking platforms.
“Show yourself, tranny!” she shouted, her footsteps falling slowly as she approached the open door.
I bent down and pried a piece of wood off the undulating deck. She drew closer.
The footsteps halted. I looked to the entrance on my left. Her head poked out and I took my chance, swinging the plank. The hard surface smacked into her skull, sending her reeling back, crashing to the floor. I raced back in, seeing her rubbing a bloody spot just above her right eye with the free hand. I jumped on top of her, stripping the pistol from her hand.
And then I noticed my left hand holding the plank. It brought it down on Christina’s face, cocked it back and brought it down again.
Split brain…
Holding the pistol in my right, I tried climbing to my feet, but my left hand wouldn’t cooperate, bringing the board down on Christina’s face again. Blood spattered over her shirt, her moaning mouth short a couple teeth, the plank coming down again.
I was able to throw myself back off from Christina, landing next to her legs. Immediately the board in my left hand swung at me, striking me on the left side of my head.
My right hemisphere is trying to kill my left.
I tried holding my left hand away from me, grunting with effort. The left hand threw the plank, striking me on the nose. The left then grabbed for the pistol. I fought against it. Christina shouted in pain.
I looked down, seeing my left foot kicking at her in the crotch, my legs entangled in hers.
“You motherfucker,” I strained, pulling the trigger, the bullet tearing through my own left hand.
Both limbs on my left side stopped moving, appearing shocked. I cried out in pain, looking at the mangled palm on my left hand, yet it wasn’t actually pain I felt. It was more like I was supposed to feel pain.
Someone else grabbed the pistol and-
Hurry up. Please don’t make me wait. I’ve been looking forward to some more action for a long time.
Peekaboo bitch! Just like fucking wack-a-mole.
Oh God, that sound. That feeling. The resistance her skull causes in my arm. Like smashing infants against a wall. Better than an orgasm.
Even better, I’ll get to see her brain ejaculate from her skull!
Goddamit…split brain. I need to get that pistol. If you’re not going to let me enjoy the sight of brains jizzing out the back of her dreadlocks, I’ll just keep pounding that cunt she calls a face until I see them leak onto the floor.
This is fucking infuriating…
Not going to happen, you useless fucking dead weight. Just go back to feeling sorry about yourself for being such a fuckup and let me run the show.
Ah, it’s so beautiful. A work of art, really. I need to do this to someone on a canvas sometime. I’ll line my walls with the viscera of my victims and-
Oh, you piece of shit. Maybe it’s time we finally went our separate ways. Or at least maybe I can put you out while I finish this religious shit-dick nutter off. Do you not remember how she just tried to kill you a minute ago?
This is why everyone hates you. You’re useless. You’re soft. I hope Sachi kills us herself, setting me free. I bet she would prefer me over you.
It’s time you put me in the driver’s seat again. I’m the one that got us through every successful mission we’ve ever done. It’s always been when you let me take over and stop struggling to-
Jesus Christ, you shit munching motherfucker! Goddamit! I fucking swear to God I’m going to fucking kill you!
I can’t believe you did that, you soft brained piece of shit. I hope we get gangrene from this fucking thing and you have to die in extreme agony you fucking fuck.
You’re literally only hurting yourself here. Quit fighting and let me in. Let me do what needs to be-
“Ah, shit!” I shouted, grabbing my head with both hands, the pain in my left raging up my arm.
I turned over on my side, retching and vomiting as the confused stew of thoughts crashed into one another. Someone shouted, a hand on my shoulder shaking me. I rocked back and forth, trying to get my bearings back.
“Eshe!” the voice said, “its Darren, Eshe. Getta hold’uh yerself.”
Finally, some kind of clarity emerged through the fog in my mind. Events started aligning themselves into the two competing narratives, both having been my own thoughts and actions, yet both seeming as if someone else had done them. The image of Darren and Pedro came into view, both standing over me.
And then the pain in my hand hit again.
“Goddammit,” I mumbled, holding my bleeding appendage in my other hand, “make sure she doesn’t run off.”
Pedro helped me to my feet, reaching into one of the pockets on his fatigues and pulling out a small first aid kit. Darren limped over and knelt down, inspecting Christina, moving her head around to look at the damage.
“She’s hurt purdy bad,” Darren said, “don’t reckon she’ll be goin’ nowhere anytime soon.”
“Here,” Pedro said, ripping off a piece of tape and tossing the roll to him, “just tape her hands up.”
Pedro used the strip of tape to apply gauze to my wounded hand. It quickly became soaked through with blood as he wrapped it around tightly. Darren was gentle with Christina, putting tape around wrists hanging limply over her lifeless body.
“Who is s
he?” Pedro asked.
“Christina,” I said, wincing.
A look of recognition came over Pedro’s face as he nodded slowly. Darren looked uncomfortable.
“Might needa doctor,” Darren said.
“Well, you got me,” Pedro replied, “the others are on their way back.”
Darren looked worried by this, “they’re gonna interrogate ‘er.”
“Yeah,” Pedro said, “she’s the fucking one that fucked everything all up for us. Maybe someone she knows can un-fuck it for us.”
Pedro and I lifted Christina up and dragged her between us, taking her upstairs, Darren following. My hand throbbed as I helped carry her, but I was in better shape to help than Darren, whose foot was crippled. If he had wanted to escape, this would have been his opportunity – the door stood open, Pedro occupied, and no one else around. But I knew that Darren was still looking for some kind of redemption.
By the time we got Christina onto the bed I had been sleeping on, she was starting to come to, muttering words I couldn’t understand. Pedro and Darren started tending to some of the cuts on Christina’s face. It was only another five minutes before voices could be heard, footsteps coming up from the lower floor.
“I know what she done,” Darren said, “but she don’t need ta be tortured.”
Before Pedro or I could reply, Sachi, Savita, Rocky, and Brian showed up in the door to the room. Rocky was holding onto the plank my right hemisphere had used to beat Christina.
“What the hell happened here?” Sachi asked.
“Intruder,” Pedro said, “the bitch that fucked us all over,” he signaled to Christina.
“Christ, what’d ya do to her?” Rocky asked.
“It was a split-brain thing,” I said, “my left hand pummeled her with that board,” I signaled to the bloody plank in his hand.
“You should let us have her,” Brian said, “she got some of my friends killed.”
“This isn’t about revenge,” Sachi said, “and she might know something about that can help. I want to talk with her and see what we can find out.”
“She’s a piece of shit,” Brian said, “and we want justice.”
“Justice is worthless if it doesn’t change anything,” Sachi said, “information is what’s important. That’s what’ll get this to stop.”
“If you want to interrogate her, fine,” Brian said, “but we want her when you’ve gotten what you need.”
Sachi sighed, “Fine. Whatever. It shouldn’t be long. We’re leaving before that storm hits.”
“Just don’t go taking her with you,” Brian said, turning and stomping out of the room.
“Holy shit! The hell happened to you?” Rocky asked, looking wide eyed at my hand.
“I had to shoot my own hand to stop it from attacking me,” I pointed to the bumps on my head from where my left hand had hit me.
“Is it bad?” Sachi asked, grabbing my hand to inspect it.
I stood looking at her a moment, taken aback by her sudden concern. “Went clear through the hand,” I said, “I can’t flex my middle or ring fingers.”
Christina moaned, moving her head to look at us. Everyone turned to meet her gaze. Her right eye was swollen almost completely shut.
“The hell…” she winced.
“That’s what I want to know,” Sachi said, signaling to Rocky.
Rocky picked Christina up off the bed, causing her to moan in pain, sitting her down at eye level.
“What…are you gonna do to me?” she asked in a raspy voice, wiping blood from her lip with the back of a hand.
A feeling of pity for her came over me, seeing how frightened she was. Her eyes were flitting between each of us, hands trembling. Christina’s world was computers. She wasn’t prepared for this.
“That depends on your level of cooperation,” Sachi said, letting go of my hand to approach the prisoner.
“You-you think I’m gonna tell you anything?” she said, trying to look confident, forcing a grin, the gaps in her mouth oozing blood.
“People usually do,” Sachi said, holding out a hand. As if it was choreographed, Pedro pulled a combat knife from a boot holster and laid the handle in Sachi’s hand. “Most people favor keeping themselves intact.”
Christina tried to maintain confidence as Sachi inspected the knife.
“Let’s start with your name,” she said. “Your real name.”
“Fuck you. That’s my name,” she said, lisping through a sore mouth.
Rocky grabbed her hands, taped together in front of her, and held them up. Nothing needed to be said between him and Sachi – this was all part of the well-rehearsed dance. Christina struggled, but Rocky was much too strong.
“I’m very old school when it comes to interrogation,” Sachi said, cutting the tape away from her hands and pulling it off. She then slowly brought the tip of the blade to the back of Christina’s left hand, making a small incision perpendicular to the fingers, “trust me when I say this is going to hurt worse than anything you’ve ever felt before.”
“God will spare me,” Christina said, wincing as blood trickled down the back of her hand, “She will take the pain for me.”
“You mean your internet God?” Sachi asked, bringing the point of the knife back to the incision, “right now, I’m your God. I’m the one who can make the pain stop. What’s your name?”
Christina sat a moment, the struggle between fear and faith clear in her expression. Finally, faith seemed to win out and she spat blood at Sachi, red spray hitting her in the chest. Without flinching, Sachi slid the knife blade in under the skin on the back of Christina’s hand and expertly pushed the blade past the wrist and up toward the forearm, cutting the skin along the way. A wet gashing sound slithered through the cramped room as the sharp blade cut connective tissue away from muscle and tendon beneath, blood pouring out from beneath the flap of skin.
The Anonymous Knight shrieked in pain, skin dangling from her arm in an extended flap. Rocky kept his grip on her hands as she struggled. Sachi continued skillfully slicing the blade through the inner dermal layer to separate more and more skin from her forearm. Christina screamed in renewed agony as Sachi gripped the hanging skin and pulled it, a sound like crunching wet leather, opening the wound spreading from wrist to elbow.
“Pa-Patricia!” she shouted, Sachi letting go of her skin as blood dumped out onto her lap, “Oh, God…my-my real n-name is P-P-P-Patricia.”
“Okay, Patricia,” Sachi said, grinning, “now we’re getting somewhere. So why did you pin your attack on us?”
“P-please…don’t m-make me b-betray G-G-God.”
Sachi grabbed Patricia’s left hand, swiftly bringing the blade to her pinky and sawing into the bone, causing Patricia the shriek as the pinky was torn away from the hand. Sachi tossed it into her lap.
“Y-your f-f-friend,” she cried, tears streaming down her battered face, “B-Brian. He…he’s an AK. A heretical AK. He-he th-thinks he’s b-b-better than G-God.”
“Bullshit,” Sachi said, holding the knife up by Patricia’s eye, making her turn her head away.
“I s-swear!”
“Is that why he’s in Florida?” I asked.
Sachi looked at me, confused.
“Y-yes,” Patricia said, squeezing her eyes shut so as not to look at the sharp knife tip, “h-he’s tr-tracking down G-God.”
“Meaning God is a person,” I said.
She chuckled nervously. “No. God’s p-prophet is here. My leader.”
“Who?” Sachi asked, lightly touching the knife to Patricia’s cheek, “where?”
“The scrambled voice,” Patricia said, opening her eyes, looking sideways at me, “you’ve spoken with him. A h-high ranking Knight. N-near the-the airport. Huh-he has a c-compound there for huh-hurricanes.”
“Great,” Sachi said, signaling to Rocky. Rocky let go of the Anonymous Knight’s hands, allowing her to try rubbing the exposed muscle on his left arm, crying out in pain as she did. “Patch her up, if you
want,” Sachi said to Pedro as she and Rocky exited the room, “Or not. We’re heading out as soon as possible.”
“Y-you people really are m-monsters,” Patricia sobbed, “f-f-fucking monsters.”
Pedro said nothing as he callously placed the skin back over Christina’s exposed muscle, sealing it in place with gauze and tape.
Water continued to lap up against the side of the building, growing louder as the hurricane approached. Patricia, lying on her right side on the bed, breathed shallowly, left arm completely bandaged up. Her feet were taped together, but she didn’t look to be in any condition to try anything, anyway.
Darren had been brought back to his room, chained up while everyone else went to follow the lead, looking to infiltrate and kidnap the so-called high-ranking Knight. Making sure bound and incapacitated hostages didn’t escape was about the only thing I was able to be trusted with.
Laura had slunk off to another room, still avoiding me. Part of me wanted to go talk with her, but I knew the way she felt. There was no explaining away what she had seen and felt from my memories. There was no way to assure her that everything was fine. She now knew the truth. Pure and uncut.
Maybe for the best, anyway.
One thing I might be able to redeem myself with was getting more information. Playing good cop to Sachi’s bad cop. So I sat with Patricia, attempting to comfort her, if only by showing that I cared. I walked from Darren’s doorway into Patricia’s room and sat on the foot of the bed, looking at the wall, my back facing her.
“How bad is the pain?” I asked in a hushed a voice.
“What d’you care?” she said, keeping her eyes closed.
“We’re not as big of monsters as you might think,” I said, looking over my shoulder at her.
She opened her eyes, holding her bandaged arm up, “I beg to differ.”
“How do you think those ‘heretics’ felt when their homes were attacked because of what you did back in Kansas?”
Incarnate- Essence Page 74
