Death's Dominion

by Simon Clark

  Caitlin lay on the bed held by the one called Johnnie but she could speak, ‘Mel. Leave her alone. She hasn’t done anything to you.’

  ‘Shut up, Caitlin.’

  ‘Please, sir,’ Elsa began. ‘If you let us go, we’ll leave right away for—’

  ‘Who asked you to talk? You’re a fucking corpse!’

  In a rage that made his face burn even redder he lashed out with the knife. Instead of stabbing her he cut straight down the centre of her uniform top then ripped it open to expose her breasts.

  ‘I order you to stand still,’ he told her. ‘God Scarers must obey their human betters. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Elsa spoke in a whisper.

  ‘You’re my property now, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Elsa’s mind whirled. He held her by the hair. If she hurt him by breaking his grip then it would contravene the monster law. Elsa couldn’t bring herself to break that taboo. Do no harm to humanity.

  Mel grinned, the stench of raw spirit flooded her face. ‘Let’s see how she responds to a bit of surgery.’ He laughed, then touched her nipple with the point of his knife. ‘A bit of beauty treatment will do her – IT – a power of good.’

  Karl became agitated. ‘Mel. This isn’t funny; leave her.’

  ‘No, she’s an it – aren’t you an it?’

  Elsa was powerless. ‘Yes, sir.’

  Her eyes were drawn from the drink-sodden face to the glittering point of the diver’s knife that lightly pressed against her dark nipple with just enough force to depress the flesh.

  This was arousing Mel now. ‘I’ve gutted thousands of fish with this blade. Do you want to see how good I am with it.’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘I’m a fucking expert with it. Swish – slice open the fish’s belly. Ffft – out with its guts. All in a stinking pile on the floor. Now what’s inside you monster whores?’

  He pushed the point of the blade against her nipple. She gasped at the pricking sensation. The tip of the blade slipped through her skin. Mel toyed with the blade. He moved it slightly so her breast moved with it.

  ‘That doesn’t hurt, does it?’

  Johnnie stared in fascination at the bare breast. ‘A little bit of pain never hurt anyone.’

  Both Mel and Johnnie barked out harsh laughter.

  Only Karl balked. ‘Stop it. You’re hurting her.’

  ‘Shove it, Karl.’

  ‘Mel!’ Caitlin screamed. ‘You’ll pay for this.’

  ‘Ha, in your dreams. Wait a minute. I’ve got an idea now we’re starting to get all scientific.’ Mel thoughtfully patted the knife blade against his cheek. It transferred a spot of Elsa’s blood to his skin just below his right eye.

  ‘This is going to be good, Mel.’ Johnnie chuckled. ‘You’ve got something planned, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, call it a dilemma. A dilemma for this monster.’

  ‘Her name’s Elsa,’ Caitlin snapped.

  ‘This monster can’t attack us. And it can’t stand back and do nothing if a human is being hurt. So what happens if I cut off one of Caitlin’s ears?’

  ‘The monster can’t do nothing to you,’ Johnnie grinned.

  ‘But then it can’t stand there and not help a human. Interesting idea, huh?’

  Johnnie licked his lips as images that were pleasing to him ran through his mind. ‘Have a go, Mel.’ He pulled Caitlin’s dark hair aside to reveal her ear.

  ‘In the interests of science, Johnnie boy, I will. See if little Miss Monster here blows a fuse over the dilemma. Can’t hurt me. Can’t save Caitlin. What does she do?’

  Karl stepped forward with his fists bunched. ‘I’m not letting you hurt either of them anymore.’

  ‘You know you’re really vexing me, Karl? What’s got into you?’

  ‘Karl loves Caitlin.’ Johnnie tugged Caitlin’s hair to the rhythm of his chant. ‘Karl’s going to marry the bitch … marry the bitch.’

  Caitlin groaned with pain.

  ‘You two are off your heads.’ Karl took a step toward Johnnie.

  Mel brandished the knife. ‘Maybe we should start with your ears, Karl?’

  Karl suddenly put his finger to his lips.

  ‘Hey! Who do—’

  ‘Listen,’ Karl hissed.

  ‘You lump of brown stuff. You’re nothing but—’

  Karl held up his hand to silence them. ‘Footsteps.’

  Mel’s booze-sodden face suddenly changed its expression as he listened. The sound of footfalls grew louder downstairs. Then a pause. A moment later a clump-clump as heavy feet climbed the stairs.

  Karl gasped. ‘Shit. I told you.’

  Mel’s face hardened. ‘Karl, hold onto this thing.’ He pushed Elsa toward the man. She felt Karl’s hand against her back. If anything, he wasn’t restraining her. He steadied her after Mel’s brutal shove. Johnnie still gripped Caitlin by the wrists. Only by now he had the look of a frightened sheep the way his head turned left and right as if he expected attackers to fly through the bedroom walls at him.

  Johnnie whined, ‘Mel. This isn’t looking good—’

  Mel held his finger to his lips as he concealed himself behind the open door. Quickly he changed his grip on the knife so he could stab the blade down into the neck of whoever walked through the doorway. His face blazed crimson. Ruptured veins in his cheeks showed like a child’s scribble. Elsa glanced at Caitlin. From the look in her eye Elsa knew she was going to shout a warning. Her captor anticipated her plan too. He rammed her face down against the mattress so she couldn’t cry out.

  Dominion materialized in the doorway. He slowly stepped from the gloom, allowing the grey light of that dull afternoon to reveal his huge figure that had to lower the shaved head to enter.

  Elsa glanced at Johnnie. He stared open-mouthed at the apparition that had ghosted into the doorway. Dominion appeared to move with agonizing slowness. His hand glided upward until the palm rested on one of the upper door panels. Then he pushed. One fluid movement eased the door backward. The drunk with the knife reacted with a clumsy jerk as if to retreat. Only the timber door pushed him back until he was sandwiched between the edge of the door and the corner of a closet. Even though the man was pinched between the two timber surfaces he aimed a blow at Dominion as he leaned into the room. The stab went wide. Before he could try again Dominion simply pushed the door harder. There was no exertion on Dominion’s part. Mel, however, croaked in pain. The glass door knob dug into the man’s stomach. What’s more, the force was so great it pushed the heavy closet so it tipped back a couple of inches. When the bedroom wall prevented it tipping back further, that’s when the drunk really began to feel the pressure. He tried to shout in pain but the pressure on his chest was so great all he could manage was a gurgling sound. The red face darkened to a congested purple. Saliva trickled down his chin. His bloodshot eyes bulged. The knife dropped from nerveless fingers.

  By this time Karl and Johnnie had seen enough. They scrambled through the bedroom window onto the outhouse roof. Elsa heard them land with a thump into the yard before they fled.

  Caitlin leapt up from the bed; her eyes flashed. ‘Don’t stop, Dominion. I want you to kill the bastard!’

  By this time Mel’s tongue poked out between lips that had become a swollen purple. Air spurted from his throat with a wet crackling sound.

  ‘Crush him.’ Caitlin clenched his fists. ‘He hurt me in the past.’ Her eyes locked on Mel’s bulging stare. ‘How does it feel, Mel? You’ve met your match now!’

  Mel hung limp, trapped between the door and the corner of the closet. Dominion’s face was impassive. He merely appeared to be standing with his palm resting on the door. Did he even know he was crushing the life out of the drink-sodden bully?

  Only when Mel vomited a black liquid that smelt of bile and neat alcohol did he turn the massive head to his victim. Then he released pressure on the door. Amazingly Mel didn’t fall to the floor. He stood there gasping. Strings of bl
ack fluid hung from his lips. Even though he kept his balance, just, his eyes were dim.

  ‘You should have finished him,’ Caitlin yelled. She picked up a brass plate from the bedside table and slammed it into her tormentor’s face. The blast of pain roused the man. Mel straightened, touched his nose, saw blood there from the injury Caitlin had inflicted. He moved off in a shambling run through the door, then came a clattering as he half fell, half ran down the stairs.

  ‘Dominion, why didn’t you kill him? That bastard raped me when I was fifteen. I had his child. He never even came to Chrissie’s funeral! You should have made him pay!’

  Dominion said nothing. He stared straight into the bedroom wall as he took three steps, then stumbled forward onto the bed. He rolled onto his back; his chest rose as if he’d been running. With an effort he lifted his arms so he could examine his hands.

  ‘What’s happening to me?’ he grunted.

  Elsa and Caitlin rushed to him as West entered the room.

  Caitlin held her cut uniform over her naked body as she called back, ‘West, what’s wrong with him?’

  ‘I don’t know. We went to the church—’

  ‘He’s been shot?’

  ‘No … nothing. He became anxious about his hands.’

  ‘Did he say if they were hurting? Does he have cramps, or tingling in his fingers?’

  ‘Check them yourself.’ West approached the bed. ‘See? The skin of his arms is dark, but the hands have turned white.’

  ‘It could be a circulation problem.’ Elsa touched Dominion’s forehead. ‘Temperature’s normal as far as I can tell.’

  ‘Take a look at his chest,’ West told her. ‘His hands are white but the torso’s darker than his face and arms.’

  ‘And what are these marks on his skin?’ Caitlin asked pointing at pale lines that looked as if they’d been chalked there.

  ‘They appear to be old scars,’ Elsa replied. ‘They weren’t there before.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ Caitlin put her hand over her mouth. ‘Is he dying?’

  ‘I sincerely hope not,’ Elsa declared as she examined his arms, then his head and neck. Thick white lines encircled the wrists where the shirt cuffs would be. Another white line circumnavigated his neck in the same position as a collar.

  Elsa studied the stark, white hands. ‘Any diagnosis, West?’

  ‘Don’t think I’m being flippant, but I’d say Dominion is coming apart at the seams.’

  As West finished speaking Dominion lay down his head with a sigh. A moment later his eyes closed.

  20

  A Blood Red Tide

  Luna’s cries brought Dr Paul Marais back to the castle crypt. Beech went with him. As they descended into the crypt they heard thunderous pounding – a fist striking the inside of the marble tomb.

  Saiban came part way down the steps into the shadow-filled void where a copse of stone pillars supported the vaulted ceiling. The man screamed, ‘Marais. For God’s sake, you told us she was dead!’

  Groans boomed through the stonework. A deep sound that throbbed with immeasurable pain. Paul approached the tomb in which Dominion had placed the corpse just hours ago. He could see that the statue carved in veined marble vibrated from the onslaught from beneath the slab. Saiban clamped his hands over his ears.

  Paul caught Beech’s eye. ‘Will you help me move the lid?’

  ‘NO!’ Saiban’s howl merged with the groans pulsing through the crypt. ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t let her out!’

  Paul moved to the head of the stone tomb, Beech to the carved feet.

  Saiban howled, ‘Leave her. Don’t open it!’

  ‘Saiban!’ Paul had to shout above the groans that created a deep booming sound. ‘Saiban, this happens sometimes. Even though a transient might be brain-dead, physical signs of life continue …’

  ‘Leave her, then. Don’t open the grave!’

  ‘I’ve got to check. I might have been wrong.’

  Beech added, ‘We haven’t any instruments. There’s a chance she might be alive.’

  Saiban’s long, mournful face became a deathly white. ‘You saw her neck. She must be dead. For pity’s sake, leave her alone.’

  Paul snapped back, ‘Saiban, you don’t have to stay.’

  Saiban clutched at the wall. His eyes bled sheer terror.

  ‘OK, Beech. On the count of three. One, two, three …’

  Together, they slid aside the stone.

  Beech gasped. The flood of cries erupted from the open tomb. At that moment Paul Marais believed that heartrending voice would resonate through the surrounding tombs to shake the dust from the bones before echoing down into the bedrock on which the castle had stood for a thousand years. Like ripples spreading out in a pool, the woman’s death call would spread out through the earth to reach into graves both ancient and modern to ring the cold hearts of the dead like a bell.

  WAKE UP … WAKE UP …

  What he saw in the open tomb filled him with terror. Even the shadows of the tomb appeared to flow out onto his bare hands to infect him.

  ‘Oh, God.’ He flexed his fingers, as he murmured to himself, ‘OK. Steady. Keep calm. You’ve got to do this.’ Then he reached both hands down toward the occupant of the casket.

  Even though cloud prevented any sight of the sun, Dr Paul Marais judged it to be low in the sky. Dusk crept into the town below. A mean beggarly light that barely revealed the tangled alleyways running between the cottages. The harbour resembled a lake of oil rather than sea water, black and viscous. He stood in the highest tower of the Pharos. It still housed the lamp that had signalled to mariners the presence of Scaur Ness, although the mass of cobwebs revealed it hadn’t been lit in years. Even from this highpoint – as far from the castle crypt as he could get without actually leaving the building – he could still hear Luna’s after-death groans. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. He’d come up here with the intention of waiting for the return of Dominion, Caitlin, Elsa and West – especially Caitlin. They were overdue; they might have been captured … only the single thing that made demands on his attention was Luna. Textbooks on transient biology warned this could happen. In his years at the transit station he’d witnessed similar conditions after the death of one of his kind. But nothing as extreme as this.

  So what’s all this telling you? You saw the evidence, what does it all mean? I moved away the stone lid. Luna is in there. Only she’s not still. She’s writhing as if she’s in agony. She’s beating the sides of the coffin with her hands. Wounds have opened up in her fists. Blood gushes from them. It’s three inches deep in the bottom. It’s like she’s writhing in a bathtub of blood. Even though Luna is dead her nervous system still causes the spasms. These affect her diaphragm and vocal chords. Luna is groaning; sometimes it’s a shout. Then there’s Saiban. He’s terrified. He’s asking, ‘What’s she saying?’ And I reply: ‘She’s brain dead. It’s a post-mortem effect, that’s all.’

  Then I examine the body – it’s hot to the touch. And, dear God, that smell? The neck’s broken. The face is expressionless, yet she’s moaning, she’s squirming, her bare arms slap the side of the tomb. The lips move as if she’s kissing the air; her groans become a cry as her back arches. Saiban is begging me: ‘What’s she saying? I know she’s talking? For heaven’s sake man, tell me?’

  ‘She’s dead, Saiban.’ I kept repeating that like it was the chorus of a fucking song. ‘She’s dead … she’s dead … she’s not articulating words. She’s dead.’

  Then Beech and I hoist the stone slab back onto the tomb to seal Luna in even though she’s croaking syllables like she’s reciting the book of the fucking dead. And the stone lid tips because it’s so damn heavy, and Beech sees what’s on the underside of it.

  She shakes her head as if she can’t believe what’s on the coffin lid. ‘Paul. Have you seen that? Those aren’t just smears. Luna’s written a word in her own blood.’

  A breath of cold air came from the ocean as if that salt-water body had just exhale
d. Paul shivered. It tingled down his scalp to shiver to the bottom of his spine.

  ‘Luna’s brain-dead,’ he murmured as he gazed over the town. ‘Her movements are after-death spasms. Purely involuntary.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Then why did she write on the inside of her tomb?’

  In the castle courtyard that was enclosed by forty-foot high walls the darkness was almost complete. After descending the tower Paul paused at the portcullis. Xaiyad, one of the guys from pathology, sat there on a crate.

  Paul asked, ‘Any sign of Dominion?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It’s been six hours. They should be back by now.’

  Xaiyad nodded at the gate. ‘All I can say is it’s been quiet down there. There’ve been no gunshots.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I’m uneasy about the delay. Will you call me as soon as you see anything?’

  ‘Sure.’ Xaiyad nodded. ‘I heard about Luna. After all that’s happened to her it’s bad news that she can’t even rest in peace.’

  Paul grimaced. ‘I wish there was some way of incinerating the body, but short of building a fire in the courtyard …’ He shrugged.

  ‘It’ll pass eventually. Her nervous system will fail as the cells begin to corrupt. Sorry, Paul. That’s what passes for small-talk amongst pathologists.’

  Paul moved on. As he crossed the yard to the cafeteria entrance Beech caught him up.

  ‘Paul.’

  He gave a sympathetic smile. ‘It was rough back there with Luna. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m a nurse. You take the good with the bad. And you?’

  ‘Fine.’ He was anything but – then as a droctor he swallowed good and bad, too. ‘I’m going to open one of those cans that we looted from the store last night. I haven’t eaten in days.’