by Platt, Sean
It was odd how little terror the moment had left him.
Acevedo had locked himself in the monastery for the last two years, living in fear of what was coming, and what the vials might make him do.
Something clicked inside him when Marina appeared. At first, he was frightened, dreading that the day had finally come. But then, just like that, the fear disappeared. Perhaps it was because he knew that action was his only option. Doing nothing would mean the end of everything. It was easier to be brave with nothing to lose.
That’s what Acevedo kept telling himself, standing on Beef's porch, his heart a piston as he waited for someone to open the door.
He had the gun in his right hand, but it wasn’t his only weapon. He’d taken one of the vials back when Marina was distracted. Just in case.
The alien form in the vial began whispering in his head as it had before he’d locked it under his home’s floor two years ago.
“Open me. You won’t survive unless you open and drink me.”
Acevedo ignored the whispers. He couldn’t lose himself to desire. Not now.
“Well then why did you bring me? If you’re not going to use me?”
I don’t know.
“Yes, you do.”
Get out of my head!
More than the temptation, Acevedo hated the alien peeking inside him, peering into his thoughts enough to pull his strings. It had to be worse than drug addiction. His brother, Samuel, died of a heroin overdose in 1979. During one of their many fights over his use, Samuel begged Tommy not to judge him as a sinner, but to try and understand how addiction worked. Heroin wasn’t evil. Right and wrong meant nothing when something was always in your head, ever present to claim your attention.
“No, Sammy, you’re just making a weak man’s excuses. You choose to live this lifestyle, to consume these evil drugs. I don’t want to hear your damned excuses anymore. I can’t stand them. Get clean and stay clean or steer clear of our family.”
Those had been Acevedo’s final words to his brother. The next morning, he got a call from a cop friend. Sammy’s body had been found in an alley, dead of an overdose, heroin kit beside him.
Acevedo had never understood his brother's temptation until the alien seeped inside his thoughts.
Considering what the alien had already made him do, Acevedo had no right to judge anyone, ever again. That’s why he’d buried the damned thing.
The front door opened and yanked the priest from his thoughts. He saw a dark apartment with black sheets draping the windows to banish the sun. A large, muscular-looking Hispanic man appeared behind the door. An intimidating scar scraped his left cheek above a mile-long black beard. His large hand rested on a gun holstered in his belt.
“Who are you?” he asked in a thick accent.
Acevedo was quick, his gun in the man’s face before he had a chance to draw his weapon.
“Where’s Beef?”
“It’s OK,” a man said behind him, stepping into the doorway’s light and wearing a smile. “I’ve been expecting him.”
The man was fat, at least 350 pounds, pale as a ghost, with shaggy, dark-red hair draping his eyes. He was wearing a giant black tee and matching track pants. This had to be Beef.
“You Beef?” Acevedo asked.
“Well, my given name was Eugene, but that doesn’t exactly command fear or respect from customers or coworkers, ya know what I’m sayin’? And you are … the priest?”
Acevedo wanted to ask how he knew his identity, or that he had been on his way, but then felt the answer as a splinter in his mind.
Because the vials told him.
“Then you know why I’m here?” Acevedo stood in the doorway, his gun still trained on the first man.
“Yes, please come inside, I’ll show you where the vial is.”
“First, he gives me his gun.”
The large man surrendered his gun without so much as a grunt, to Acevedo’s surprise.
“Here, Padre,” the man said, staring into Acevedo’s eyes.
This was almost too easy.
“Anyone else in here?” Acevedo asked.
“No, Father, just us two.” Beef waved Acevedo inside. “Hey, Hector, take a seat on the couch, this won’t be long.”
Hector did as instructed, again without a whiff of complaint. Acevedo had never seen a tough guy so willingly agree to surrender control to a stranger, gun in his face or not. There was something else happening here, but Acevedo had yet to figure it out.
The alien in his vial was also strangely quiet.
Acevedo followed Beef through the dark house, noticing its immaculate condition. He wondered why they were here. Were they hiding out from the rich kid, or was there something else going on?
Beef led him into a bedroom in the home’s rear.
The bedroom was lit in a soft red glow, and sex music played on a stereo. The California King was lumpy. Something lay beneath the thick, white down comforter, writhing as if anticipating the big man’s return.
Acevedo felt an uncomfortable chill and wanted to get the hell out of the house before things got any weirder.
“Just one sec, lemme see where I left it.” Beef leaned over, shuffling through the nightstand.
Acevedo watched the bed, trying to figure out how many women were under the comforter. It seemed like two, at least. He wondered how many drugs Beef needed to get them in bed. Or did guys like Beef, who presumably had money, drugs, and some amount of power, make getting women — even multiple women — easy?
“Hmm, doesn’t seem to be here,” Beef said, his back still to Acevedo, looking down into the open nightstand drawer.
The comforter started to rise as someone beneath it sat up.
Acevedo thought to warn whoever was under the sheets, but modesty probably wasn't an issue in Beef's den of depravity.
The comforter fell away revealing two gorgeous women, both nude with long dark hair falling in peek-a-boo strands over perfectly shaped breasts. Acevedo found himself unable to turn or look away.
They turned slowly and looked up at him, staring at him, or rather through him, with vacant stares.
“Do you like?” Beef asked, still facing away from Acevedo.
The priest turned to Beef to make sure the man wasn’t getting a gun.
In the second it took to turn, the woman threw themselves at Acevedo, all limbs and fingers, dragging him back into bed with the force of a horde.
Someone yanked the gun from Acevedo's hand as the nude women straddled him, holding his arms to the bed.
Acevedo tried to pull away, but they were far stronger than they appeared.
Beef finally turned around, and his smile widened, eyes now all black.
“Oh yeah, I know why I can’t find the vial. Because I drank it. Right, girls?”
The women on top of Acevedo answered as one.
“Yes, master.”
TO BE CONTINUED …
YESTERDAY’S GONE
::EPISODE 28::
(FOURTH EPISODE OF SEASON FIVE)
“Gone Baby Gone”
CHAPTER 1 — MARINA HARMON
One moment Marina was sitting in the Mustang’s driver’s seat, watching the house. The next she was staring at the business end of a pistol and the harsh-looking buzz cut behind it.
“Do as I say, and you won’t get hurt, Marina Harmon.” The man made his way into the car’s back seat from the passenger side door.
Marina froze as he entered the car’s rear and put the gun to her head. He was fit, looked to be in his early forties, wearing a black jacket over a black shirt, and looked vaguely military.
“Do you have a gun?”
“No.” The taste of metal tipped her tongue, and adrenaline surged through her body.
Who is he? What does he want? How does he know my name?
And then it hit her.
Police!
He found the bodies!
Shit.
Marina kept her mouth shut, intent to keep herself from
revealing anything the man didn’t already know.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Agent Ed Keenan. I’m with Black Island Guard.”
“What?”
“We’re a division of Homeland Security. I’m here to make sure you don’t open those vials.”
The vials!
“What vials?”
“I want you to listen very carefully, OK?”
“OK.”
“Right now there are four snipers with infrared scopes trained on you. Fail to listen, and they will shoot you in the back of your head. You’ll be dead before you know what happened. If you attempt to warn the priest, you’ll get a bullet in the back of your skull. If you fail to hand the vials over to me, they will also put a bullet in your skull. Nod if you understand.”
The man pressed his pistol hard into her head.
Marina swallowed, nodded slowly, and tried to keep herself from breaking down into a blubbering mess of tears.
“Good,” he said. “Now hand me the case.”
“What are you going to do with them?”
“No talk. Do as I say, or I will shoot you now and take them myself.”
“It’s on the floor at my feet. I need to bend over.”
“Go ahead.” He slipped the gun from Marina’s head to her spine, pressing again to remind her it was there.
Marina’s fingers found the vials, and as she touched the box voices entered her head — intertwined like two people, a man and a woman, talking at once.
No, don’t give him the vials. He works for the enemy.
Marina ignored the voices. She had no choice: it wasn’t like she could defend a gun to her back, even if armed and able to fight.
“Come on,” he said, “hand ‘em over.”
Marina did as instructed.
He withdrew the slip of paper that had been inside with the vials.
“What’s this?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
He pressed the gun hard into her head again. “No lies, Marina. Again — what is this?”
“The names of the people with the other three vials.”
“Three?” Ed asked. “Where’s the other one?”
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s two in here. I thought you all had three.”
“There should be three in there.” Marina turned around to look into the case.
The agent kept his gun on her, pulling it back slightly as she moved.
“There are two,” he said.
“Shit, he must’ve taken one into there.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.” Marina shook her head. “He went in to get a vial from some guy called Beef. I don’t know why he’d bring one into there unless … oh no.”
“Unless what?”
“Unless he plans to use it.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 2 — ROSE McCALLISTER
It lay still in Rose’s shell on the bed after reaching out to Boricio, who’d been stubborn enough to reject Its invitation.
It would try again before moving on and finding another person to join their cause.
It wanted Boricio, but hadn’t decided if It would infect him and use his shell, or offer one of the vials and invite the man to truly evolve. Boricio was one of the most merciless killers It had ever seen. It, along with many others, had tried to destroy him, yet the human kept surviving. To have Boricio as part of the collective might be dangerous to Its stability. It was losing the army of hundreds it had gathered since its bit-by-bit arrival. Humans had proved too difficult to tame through long periods of time.
They were easy to infect and control when weak. But over time, a small something inside them always seemed eager to fight back for control. But how could they fight what they could not understand? So they inevitably snapped into a murderous rampage or ended their misery with a bullet to the brain.
It needed to create a strong group of soldiers prior to Its evolution, and control, of the species. Luca was Its first. There was something about Boricio — or the Boricio of this world — which The Light had chosen to help.
The Darkness had tried to pluck his doppelgänger from the other world as a counter, but that had failed miserably when Rose, prior to Its infecting her, killed Boricio Bishop. It had considered leaving Rose’s shell and entering Boricio Wolfe’s body, but It wasn’t sure It was up to the task.
First, this Boricio’s psyche was much stronger than Boricio Bishop’s. Second, The Light was stronger in Boricio Wolfe than in Bishop. If It entered Boricio’s body and failed to take over, that could be the end of all of Its plans.
For now, It would continue to focus on getting Luca ready to truly evolve into the perfect hybrid of human and alien.
Luca was developing his powers nicely, though he was still a bit too sentimental when it came to humans. It would have to break that in the boy, lest his mind weaken to nothing. The collective could have no anemic links.
Now they had a military strategist in the form of the writer, Art. The man was so grateful for his youth, he would do anything to maintain it. His knowledge of human warfare was an invaluable asset in conquering the species.
They still had four more vials, which meant another four people to strengthen their fold.
It closed its eyes and reached out into The Darkness’s collective consciousness, filtering the experiences of those It possessed, searching for the right pieces: casting a net then tuning into the thoughts and memories of Its many hosts.
It could tap into any of them individually, or the lot all at once, ingesting experience like breath into Its body. Sometimes, the process was easier than others. In recent weeks It had managed to swell Its numbers to nearly a thousand.
But tonight It could sense only 658.
It was frustrated to find so many dead connections.
Surely they hadn’t all been severed, or Its hosts broken.
It would’ve sensed such a decline in Its collective strength. It would have picked up on the pain of so many people snapping.
It had felt only a few such cases in recent weeks. And usually It could feel the intensity of those who had snapped prior to their break. It had even managed to draw a few back from their madness, though by then it was usually too late to get complete control, so It usually ordered those to kill themselves before taking out others and drawing unwanted attention.
If they’re not dead, then what’s happening?
When it came to The Darkness, people were either infected or not. There was no in-between. Those who killed the connection had died following their psychotic breakdowns. There was no cure for infection. No human had yet to return, save for the girl, Paola.
And she was only spared because of the other Luca.
Yet It could feel parts of Itself out there in the world, unplugged from the collective, somehow there, but not connecting. Were they broken, or somehow refusing connection?
What’s happening?
The only thing that made sense was It losing control, along with Its collective strength. It had to accelerate plans.
Suddenly It felt something probing back.
It allowed the connection, and was surprised by the source — The Light.
“So, there you are,” It said to Its counter. “I’ve been wondering where you are. It’s been a while.”
It tried to lure The Light deeper into Its mind, but The Light was too bright, too strong, too wise to fall for such an obvious trick.
The Light was surprisingly strong for a disembodied entity. The boy, Luca, had died on the other world, leaving The Light and the boy fused in some sort of incipient state. But without a host, The Light had been weakened.
And then, as bits of residual memories flowed through the connection, It realized the error of Its presumptions. The Light was no longer disembodied. It had found a new host, after all — the girl, Paola.
“Where are you?” It asked.
The Light had tried not to tell I
t, but was unable to mask Paola’s thoughts quickly enough.
Black Island.
It now knew Its enemy’s location.
Even better, the island harbored four infected humans, that neither she nor the humans knew of.
It smiled in the darkness.
Perhaps the war would end sooner than planned.
* * * *
CHAPTER 3 — MARY OLSON
Mary had never had a job with a company picnic, but had been to enough of Ryan’s to loathe them. She hated sitting with coworkers and their families, pretending to ignore the obvious politicking as employees jockeyed for raises, promotions, and ideal schedules that didn’t exist.
She remembered sitting with Ryan as he detailed the nasty things that someone had done behind his back. Then the very asshole he was telling her about would greet them, and Ryan would offer an enthusiastic hello with a wide, phony smile. Mary was always forced to do the same.
She hated when Ryan put her in that position.
“You can’t tell me what monsters these people are right before I meet them, then expect me to be all nice. Now I come off like some cold bitch,” she’d said several times in many different ways. It was one thing for him, as he could mask his dislike for the people. But Mary had never done well at hiding her feelings.
Ryan would always apologize, but too late, with the damage already done.
Mary found it sadly fitting in a full-circle sort of way. Here she was again, this time on Black Island with people she didn’t know in what felt like the world’s most uncomfortable company picnic.
A shame, because the park, on the southwestern tip overlooking the mainland, was gorgeous.
They were at one of two dozen picnic tables under a wooden pavilion, where the men all crowded in front of a row of grills to show off their skills.
Most of the hundred or so attendees of the island “eat n’ greet” for nonessential personnel and their families were at the other tables. Mary and her flock sat by themselves like the black sheep she felt like they were.
