by Richard Lee
The professor nodded. “Play,” he said and the living room lights dimmed. The holographic emitters switched on. And he was suddenly staring at his brother’s beaten and blood covered face.
“Get her out,” Kyle said urgently. “Get Penny out and hide her.” His voice was strained and with each word he spoke, droplets of blood shot from his lips. “They want to kill her,” he continued. “Get Penny out, only she knows how to stop him.”
“Stop whom?” Dale wondered out loud.
In the background, behind his brother, the professor saw two men dressed in black. Their faces were blurred, out of focus. One carried a knife. The other had a handgun. He could barely see the line of the laser sight positioned on his brother’s head. One of the men moved around the couch and out of sight.
“Get her out,” Kyle pleaded. “Only she knows how to stop the re-entry of the beast. Only she has a way...”
Suddenly, a man dressed in black stood behind his brother.
Kyle’s head was yanked back. The professor saw the flash of a blade. Briefly, light reflected off the blade, giving a glimpse of a set of blue eyes, then the transmission ended.
“Oh, my Lord.”
The professor didn’t realize he was standing until the hot cup of coffee landed on his feet.
Those men had tried to hack his computer to stop the download. His brother must have pressed the send button the exact instant the bastards knifed him.
An emptiness fell heavily to the pit of his stomach.
Chapter Thirty
Samantha awoke, her ears hurt, her brain slammed a sledgehammer against her skull and her vision was blurred. She was lying in a bed with three covers on her and the sheets were soaked with sweat. She raised her arms and they felt as heavy as cruiser tires. They landed heavily on her forehead and, with a lot of effort, she dragged them sideways to brush hair from her eyes.
At first she didn’t recognize where she was. It had been a long time since she last visited this place. That is, if she was where she thought she was. In Father Michael’s church. The room had all the markings of a twentieth century priest’s room. Father Michael liked the old stuff. Brick walls, sparsely furnished room, hard mattress on a cot with rusted squeaky springs.
She tried to push off the blankets, but it was an impossible job and only made her sweat more.
There was a clatter at the door before it slowly opened. Steve looked at her from the doorway. He wore a big smile and carried a tray with a glass of water and a steaming bowl.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Samantha replied and it was the truth. She had never felt like this before. There was a strange tingly feeling vibrating through her body. Parts of her felt on fire, while most of her body felt ice cold, and yet she was sweating like a waterfall.
“I brought you some cold water, pills for your fever and a nice hot bowl of chicken soup. Father Michael says it’s an old twentieth century flu remedy, hope it helps.” He smiled. “Note the bottle of pills,” he added in a hushed tone.
Samantha tried to laugh and failed miserably.
Steve placed the tray on the table across from the bed. He took a good long look at the table and said, “I think this is a bit heavy for me to move to you.”
Samantha nodded.
He pulled the blankets off her. She was wearing only her bra and panties. A light blue matching set with a white pattern. He quickly pulled the blankets back up. His cheeks burned red. “I’m sorry,” he said hastily. “I didn’t know you were...um, you know.” He pointed at her blanketed body.
Samantha could feel her own cheeks starting to match his. “It’s all right,” she said. “I didn’t know either.”
Steve went to the closet and opened the door. He searched for a while and found a black tee shirt. It was old and had a hole in the side but it was long enough to cover Samantha at least thigh high.
He turned to her with a smile. “Perhaps you could wear this?”
She was surprised. Steve acted mostly like a pig at the bar, taking every opportunity he could to grope her. And here he was being a bashful gentleman. She liked this Steve more than the other one. One day, she might ask him why the change in character. Maybe this wasn’t a change at all. Maybe he was the bashful guy she saw before her, but at work he had some form of power or at work it was all just an act to cover the type of guy he really was. And she couldn’t blame him. He did work in a rather dangerous place. He had to come across as a “real” man made of the old stock.
“Well?” he asked, approaching the bed.
Samantha smiled. She couldn’t help it. “You’d have to put it on me,” she said. “I don’t have any energy.”
“How bad are the after-effects?” he asked seriously.
“What after-effects?”
And then she suddenly remembered Telly injecting her with a lot of Mind-killer. She remembered Steve seemingly coming from nowhere to her rescue. He was quite a fighter, she remembered. That was a different person to the one facing her now. She recalled being teleported outside where the streetlights, dim as they were, hurt like hell. Steve was carrying her. Suddenly she was next to Father Michael and a young man she didn’t know. Father Michael was naturally over-concerned for her. And suddenly she was lying in the back seat of a cruiser van with loud music playing. A hover-board, for street surfing, bumped against her arm. Her head was on Steve’s lap and his arm was across her waist, holding her steady. And then she was here.
But there were a lot of other things happening. Things she knew to be untrue. The insane images brought on by the drug.
Swimming through an ocean of blood to reach a pool table, of all things, where someone she couldn’t quite see was waiting. He wasn’t holding a pool cue though, he held a dagger and she seemed desperate to reach him. Then everything went black and she heard voices, it sounded like a hundred people, whispering Latin phrases, over and over until all at once, they stopped. The silence hurt. It was like a huge pressure pushing against her temples.
That pain was what woke her up. She rubbed her ears but they didn’t hurt now. In fact, wasn’t that the reason she had raised her arms in the first place? It wasn’t to brush hair from her eyes.
“Help me sit up,” she told Steve, who had seated himself on the edge of the cot.
Steve was silent and he looked at the floor.
“Hey,” she said in a voice she usually saved for clients, “we’re both adults here and I need your help.” She rubbed his shoulder. “And,” she added, “it’s not the first time you’ve seen a half naked lady, right?” She was smiling when she said it, but Steve swallowed hard. “No way,” she said.
“Let’s get you dressed,” he said and jerked her into a sitting position. He stared into her eyes as he pulled the shirt over her head and Samantha saw something she liked very much: compassion and decency.
“Thank you,” she said, pushing her arms through the sleeves.
Steve stood up and gave her room to adjust the shirt. He watched her struggling and decided to help out. “Here,” he said, grabbing both sides of the tee shirt. “Lift up, that’s it. Okay, just a little more.”
Samantha grunted at the effort.
“Got it,” Steve said, pulling and stretching the shirt past her waist to her thighs. His hands lingered on her slightly muscular legs a moment longer than necessary. Then he stood up. “Let’s get some food into you,” he said, taking her arm and swinging it over his shoulders. “Ready?”
Samantha nodded.
Gently he lifted her up and helped her to the table where he lowered her into the wooden chair.
“Need a cushion?” he asked.
“No, thanks.”
“Take the pills after the soup, okay?”
She nodded. “Sure will.”
She turned to watch Steve take a seat on the cot. The atmosphere had suddenly changed. It was thicker, as if suddenly everything was deadly serious. Steve’s joyful look and play-about was gone the moment his hand caressed
her thigh, of which she didn’t mind. She was starting to feel more than just friendship towards him. But it wasn’t just the touch that had chilled the conversation. There was more to it than that.
“What’s just happened?” Samantha asked, already knowing the answer.
“What do you mean?” Steve sat with a straight back.
“Just now. Everything suddenly stopped.”
Steve looked at the floor.
“Is it what Telly put in me?”
He didn’t answer.
“I know it’s addictive. And to tell you the truth, I hated everything I experience in its clutches.”
“What did you experience?” Steve asked. “Or, perhaps that’s something I don’t want to know?”
“One day I’ll tell you, when I feel stronger.”
“Do you have a craving for it now?”
“No,” she lied.
“Then you’re stronger than most people who visit Telly.”
“I’m going to kill him,” she blurted out.
Steve raised his head to meet her eyes. “I’ll help you,” he said. “Now get that soup down the hatch, like a good little girl.” He smiled.
Father Michael knocked on the open door. Samantha turned at the sound with a spoon full of soup raised to her lips.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, his eyes showing his concern. He approached her and placed his hand on her forehead.
Samantha closed her eyes against his gentle touch.
“You still have a bit of a fever,” he said, picking up the box of pills and shaking his head at Steve. “The last thing she needs is more drugs.”
Steven nodded. “Sorry, Father, just trying to help.”
“Well, yes,” Father Michael said, a little surprised. “That’s more than most people your age try to do.” He turned his attention back to Samantha, who was drinking the soup very fast. “After that I want you to go back to bed. Get some more rest, okay?”
“I feel better already, Father,” she protested. “And besides, you need my help. I don’t like lying around, it’s a waste of time.”
“Yes, but it can wait until you’re better.”
“But it sounded urgent,” she said, wanting to get to work.
Father Michael frowned. “Yes, yes it is,” he said. He waited silently while she spooned the final mouthful. “Right, ready, are we?”
Samantha thought Father Michael had given in. She wanted to get to her home computer as soon as possible. She wondered if the young man in the parking lot with the cruiser van was still around.
Father Michael slipped his hands under her arms and helped her to her feet. “There we go,” he said, leading her to the cot with the damp sheets and heavy blankets.
“Hey, I thought...” She let the sentence die. Father Michael could be very stubborn when it suited him.
Samantha let him tuck her in but she didn’t want to sleep, afraid of what she might dream. The Mind-killer was still strong in her body and she did want another hit. Deep down, she knew she was damn lucky to still be alive. And very glad that damn headache was gone.
“Steve,” she said. “Could you keep me company till I fall asleep?”
“I don’t think that will take very long.”
“Could you?” she asked in her softest, sweetest voice.
“Sure thing,” Steve said. He got the chair from the table and carried it to the bed. He sat down and looked at her.
Samantha kept her eyes open as long as she could, but they were just too heavy. “Damn it,” she said.
“Damn what?”
Samantha didn’t answer.
Yellow, blue, green, red, orange and pink swirled around her head. They shot forward and danced in front of her, forming a brilliant circle of beautiful colors. Samantha had never seen anything like it before.
She was standing on a street, unable to move. But that didn’t worry her. The colors were beautiful, amazing even. They formed a wide vertical line reaching high into the sky. She followed its rise with her eyes...
...And she was on a rowboat in the middle of the ocean. The boat had only one oar. She was trying to escape from something. She looked behind her, but couldn’t see anything. That increased her fear and she started working on the oar with all her strength. She didn’t realize she was turning the boat in circles...
...The ride in the airplane was bumpy. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot’s voice sounded worried through the plane’s small hidden speakers, which she could now suddenly see. When he spoke, the cloth cover expanded until it tore open and blood flowed down and dripped on passenger’s heads. But they didn’t notice. “We’re experiencing some heavy turbulence. Please fasten your seat belts.”
The plane ditched.
People screamed.
The plane righted.
Samantha had a window seat over the wing. The plane tilted suddenly. Something fell onto the wing. It had short thick legs, and long skinny arms were attached to a shallow chest above a perfect circle stomach. It had an oval head with a long chin. Its lips were pulled back in a type of grin. Long white pointed teeth exposed themselves and two tiny black eyeballs stared at her. The thing was hairless.
The plane dipped the other way and the thing slid along the wing. Its face smashed through the window. Oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling.
She reached for the small plastic cup dangling in front of her. The thing was trying to push itself through the small window. It was smacking its jaws together. A loud growl erupted, high pitched like it was screaming in frustration...
...Samantha smiled. She was in her house. Rain was falling on her. It was coming from a black cloud on the ceiling. Green lightning shot from it, thundering into the front door, smashing it into oblivion. She saw all the pieces form into an arrow. A black hole opened before the pieces and they flew forward into it. Her name was called from the deepest, darkest centre. She resisted its allure.
Two men walked past her. They wore black clothes. One carried a handgun and the other a knife; a hunting knife with a big blade. The edge shone bright in the house lights. They walked right past her as if she wasn’t there. The rain fell on them, but they didn’t get wet.
She followed them around her house. They were looking for her.
“It’s clear,” one said.
“Good,” number two said, “we need to get into the mainframe.”
Number one said, “Give me your knife.” He held out his hand and when he received it, he clutched the handle tightly. “There’s a crack in the wall there.” He went to it. The other man followed him. Number two pushed the knife blade in the gap and twisted it. The panel broke away, exposing a wall of electronic circuitry. “This is the fastest way,” Number one said. He shoved the knife into the circuits. Sparks flew everywhere, showering the two men. Number one was shaking wildly. He was holding the knife in the circuit board of the house computer.
The lights exploded. The roof split open.
Number two jumped back from the shower of glass. He tripped over his own two feet and hit the floor hard. He was staring at the ceiling and screamed.
Samantha looked up. She was outside, looking through the kitchen window. The rain had stopped inside. She was again dry.
She saw her solar reflector fall through the gap in the roof. She didn’t want to look but did.
Its metal wing slammed into the man’s midsection. He folded up, screaming and clutching at the cylinder centre. The solar reflector tilted and twisted on its weight. The opposite wing swung down and through the man’s neck. It was a beautiful and clean angular slice. The head rolled towards her... And she was inside the kitchen, puddles of water at her feet. She moved forward and slipped in the ankle high cold water, landing on her rump with her legs spread wide. She was naked. No, she realized she wasn’t completely naked. She wore a pink bra with a skull pattern printed along the straps. There were hundreds of small skulls smiling at her.
The head rolled between her legs. It came to a rest on its ear, looking at h
er. It smiled. It licked its lips. “Yummy,” it said...
...Samantha was on a roller coaster. She wore a pink jumper and heavy jeans. She shivered from the cold wind. The coaster reached the top. Only she was on board. It started the trip down. But there were no tracks and it fell freely, turning slightly until she was looking at...
...A beautiful meadow of flowers. Daisies, tulips and many other beautiful and exotic flowers she didn’t know were growing wild in small patches everywhere. Small grass hugged the stalks of the flowers. This place was wonderful.
“Mind-killer gives the best and worst of things,” the voice came from behind her.
She turned to face a handsome black man wearing a white three-piece suit. He carried in his hand a dark brown cowboy hat. He fiddled with the rim as he watched her.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I can give you many wonderful things,” he said in a deep voice, which Samantha found seductive.
“Like what?”
“Ask and it shall be yours.”
“When?”
“Each time you ask.” He moved close to her and placed his hands lightly on her neck. His thumbs massaged her under the jaw.
“What must I do in return?” Samantha was feeling highly aroused. The black man’s hands were so strong, yet he touched her gently. She found herself picturing Steve, although he was as white as rice compared to this guy.
“It’s easy,” he answered. His large hands slid to her breasts. He rubbed them through the jumper she wore. He smiled and playfully tweaked and pulled at the hardening nipples.
Samantha’s eyes closed with pleasure. No man had ever made her feel like this before. No man had been so gentle yet brimming with such confidence and it made her knees weak. She wanted him here and now. The heat between her legs was near boiling.
“How easy?” she asked, knowing the sentence had two meanings. She was leaning against him, her head on his muscular shoulder.
He took hold of her head and tilted it. Slowly he lowered his until his lips lightly brushed hers. Suddenly, he kissed her hard. His lips pushed hers open and his tongue briefly rolled inside her mouth.
