"So you're saying," McDole cut in, "that every time you feed that kid in the bomb shelter he gets stronger, while the person donating the meal …" His voice trailed off as he recalled the woman who'd offered her arm and a half pint of blood this morning, their prisoner's second easy meal.
Perlman nodded solemnly. "Yes. And while I'd love to have a healthy vampire for my research, the risk is too great. The strength these things possess is immense. Calie can verify that getting the tissue sample this morning was far worse than yesterday, even though you and Ira were there." Calie nodded unhappily. "If we feed him tonight, trying to get a piece of him tomorrow could be disastrous. We simply can’t let that happen."
Calie choked and both men turned to look at her. The young woman's expression was grim in her pallid face. "So you're suggesting that we stop feeding him? Isn't that like starving a caged animal?"
McDole looked to Perlman pleadingly. "I suppose it is," Perlman answered. "But we don't have any choice. It comes down to the lesser of two evils—use a once-human child for our tests or watch mankind become extinct." Perlman set his jaw, and McDole was impressed to see him meet Calie's eyes without flinching. "I can't say that it's right or wrong, Calie, just that it has to be this way. The best we can do is put the boy out of his misery as soon as possible."
Calie nodded and stared at the floor, then her glum look brightened and she hopped to her feet. “Are you through?" She sounded impatient. "C J.'s back."
Perlman nodded, then frowned. "How could you know that?" he asked as he and McDole followed her out of the lab.
Calie didn’t bother to answer as they extinguished the last of the halogen camping lights around the room. "Come on, come on!" she said excitedly. "Not only is he back, he's brought company!"
McDole had to laugh at the look on Perlman's face.
4
REVELATION 12:6
And the woman fled into the wilderness,
where she hath a place prepared… .
"I've got to go."
Alex struggled up from the sleeping bag, trying to push the last of the night's sleep from his mind. "What?"
"I've got to go," Deb repeated. "I've got to get back to the Institute. It’s starting to snow." Deb was already pulling on clothing, her voice a muffled jumble as she tugged a sweater over her tangle of blue-black curls.
"The Institute? You mean the Art Institute? Wait a minute," Alex protested. He began reaching for his own clothes. "If it's snowing, you shouldn't leave the building."
"It just started."
"Deb—" She wouldn't answer, just kept gathering her things and dressing rapidly, blue jeans, heavy woolen socks—already she was lacing the black high-tops he'd found so amusing. He suddenly felt helpless and embarrassed, as though last evening had been nothing but a one-night stand and this extraordinary woman a cheap bar pickup whom he'd never see again. He couldn't let that happen.
"I'll go with you—"
"NO!"
Alex stuttered and stopped in midsentence at the ferocity of her voice. "I–I'm sorry," she said then. "I didn't mean to yell. I … just need some time, that's all. It's all so much—meeting you, us… ." She faltered, then continued. "I just want to go home and—and think things out, get cleaned up and change. I'll come back after the snow melts."
"No, you won't."
Alex's flat statement brought an instant of surprise, then Deb recovered. "Of course I will," she insisted. "Why wouldn't I?" She pulled on her jacket while Alex stood dumbly, his feet still buried in the folds of the crumpled coverings. She'd dressed so quickly that all he'd managed to don was his pair of long underwear; now he felt absurdly exposed and vulnerable.
"You can't even look me in the eye," he said.
Then she did just that, and Alex was sorry for his challenge because the terror he saw in those crystalline blue eyes was paralyzing. Deb pulled her gaze away. "Tomorrow, after the snow melts—"
"What makes you think it'll be gone by then?" he interrupted. He had to keep talking, stalling, until he thought of a way to change her mind.
"Sure it will," she said. "It's almost April."
Alex wished he felt as confident as she sounded. "We've had plenty of spring blizzards."
"After the snow melts," Deb continued patiently, "you can come and … get me."
Alex's hopes rose, then plummeted again. Why had she paused like that? Would she even be there? Perhaps she was already planning to leave—but why? "How will I find you?" he asked. A wistful note had crept into his voice. "That place is huge."
Deb was already by the door to the stairwell. Now she lifted the metal bar, pushed the door open, and stepped into the cold darkness; once again he heard that terrible split second of indecision. "I'm in the Arthur Rubloff Auditorium on the lower level. Come when the snow melts. I'll unlock the front entrance." She turned to go.
"Deb—"
"Don't follow me, Alex." Her voice had taken on a sudden, horrible coldness. "Swear to me that you won't.
"But—"
"Swear it!"
"All right!" he snapped. As soon as he said the words, he regretted them. But she was gone and it was too late to retract the hurt and frustration that had taken charge of his mouth when what he should have done was enfolded her in his arms and kissed her, and told her yes, he'd see her tomorrow, and by the way, did you remember that I love you?
He scrambled to the door and peered down the stairs, but the stormlight that filtered in from the office would only show one landing down. Far below he heard a faint clang as the fire door on the first floor swung shut. Shivering, he went to the south windows, draping one of the sleeping bags across his shoulders as he stared out at the plaza. Sixty seconds more and he saw Deb, first jogging, then flat-out running in those oh-so-funny-looking shoes across slick granite stones already dangerously covered in powdery snowfall.
I shouldn't have let her go! Alex railed at himself. He watched helplessly as she angled across the intersection of Washington and Dearborn and disappeared. Catching her now would be impossible, and going after her to begin with was unthinkable—after all, he'd promised. A stupid, stupid thing to do, but done, nonetheless.
Alex could still see the soft outline of Deb's prints a hundred feet below, though they were already filling in and fading. In another half hour it would be as though Deb had never existed at all.
5
REVELATION 6:8
And I looked, and beheld a pale horse:
and his name that sat on him was Death… .
C.J. and the girl were a dripping mess, so laden with melting snow that it was leaving tiny, tear-like trails down both of their faces. Calie's first thought was for C.J.'s safety, yet there was another, more important question. Even she was too slow.
"How deep are the tracks you two left?" McDole's voice was harsh with fury. "Can they be brushed away?"
"Didn't leave any," C.J. responded immediately. The girl, a pale, pretty teenager about C.J.'s age, said nothing; she looked like a terrified rabbit, frozen by the glare of an onrushing truck. Her dark blue eyes flitted nervously from C.J. to Calie to McDole and back again.
McDole's expression relaxed slightly, though fear was still apparent in the crevices across his forehead. "Are you sure?" He glanced at the girl. "Absolutely positive?" She nodded timidly, and Calie guessed the girl was struggling more with shyness than fright.
"Hi," Calie said warmly, and stuck out her hand. "My name is Calie." The girl smiled in relief and Calie saw C.J.'s eyes widen as the expression transformed her whole face. Calie decided that later she'd ask if the girl wanted a trim on that dreadful haircut.
"I'm Louise," the teenager said as she offered her own hand. "I'm really glad to be here."
Calie clasped Louise's hand and the world stopped.
They might have touched for a second or a minute, but in the faded light behind Calie's eyes it was timeless, eternal, and she was filled with a sudden, terrible sense of terror that exploded briefly in her mind then abruptly fell
away to nothingness.
"Calie?"
C.J. was staring at her and she made the mistake of turning her glazed sight on him before breaking the touch with Louise. Despair twisted her gut when she realized that this premonition extended to C.J. as well. She pulled her hand away. "We're glad to have you," she rasped. She could feel Bill's questioning eyes on her from the door of the stairwell, where he'd lingered when she and McDole went to greet C.J. and his new girlfriend.
McDole crossed to the front windows and peered at the maelstrom beyond. Outside the wind howled like an enraged beast, hurling wet snow and ice pellets against the thick plate glass. "I don't understand how you didn't leave tracks in this slop," he muttered.
C.J. set his jaw and looked embarrassed, until Louise finally spoke. "It was Jo," she said. "She … took the tracks away."
"Jo?"
"You mean there's someone else?" Perlman came into the room. "And you left her out in the storm?"
"She wouldn't come in," C.J. said. “And then she was gone, just disappeared."
"With no tracks," McDole commented doubtfully.
"Jo is … special," Louise said reluctantly. "She does things."
"What things?" Calie knew her question wouldn't help the girl feel more at ease, but it had to be asked. This mystery person might be a valuable asset to the underground. Calie was not impressed with her own abilities—parlor tricks, like knowing where to find the entrance to a building or second-guessing someone's trustworthiness with more accuracy than the average guy. Someone who could make footprints in the snow vanish was another thing entirely.
"What things?" McDole prompted.
"She can unlock doors," C.J. offered. "How do you think we got in?"
McDole scowled and checked the metal lock-bar across the bottom of the seldom-used front door. It was firmly in place, surrounded by small puddles of melted snow that trailed from the door to the youngsters' feet. In the gray light of the storm, he could see the unmarked snow on the sidewalk outside. "Anything else?"
"She heals."
Louise's statement stunned all of them, but affected Perlman most of all. His attention level tripled. "What did you say?" he demanded. "Heals?"
Louise wasn't at all surprised at their reaction, though McDole jumped as she proudly held up her hands, then unzipped the front of her jacket and brought out a tiny grizzled dog. She stroked the dog lovingly before she spoke. "Twenty-four hours ago both my hands were cut and horribly infected. She healed them. It's that simple."
The look on C.J.'s face said this was news to him, but doubt never crossed his features. "I believe her," he said. "I think she could do it." C.J's mouth turned up in the self-conscious smile of someone trying to explain the fantastic.
"I wouldn't call that 'simple,'" McDole said.
"Can I see?" C.J. asked. Louise blushed and held out her hands. They gleamed a soft pink, as though the girl had been living in luxury for the last year and a half with two or three servants and a manicurist.
Hardly.
"There used to be a scar here." Louise pointed to the heel of her right hand with a perfectly shaped fingernail. "Not big, but noticeable. Freaky, huh?" C.J., absorbed in his inspection, had yet to relinquish his hold.
Perlman stepped forward. "May I?"
Louise looked to Calie hesitantly and Calie gave herself a mental shake. "I'm sorry, Louise. All these people must be a shock, and here we haven't even introduced everyone. This is Dr. Bill Perlman, that's Buddy McDole." McDole nodded; still at the front door, he looked numb. Perlman smiled reassuringly and C.J. reluctantly moved aside.
"Where have you been living?" the doctor asked in a conversational voice "In one place?"
"No," Louise responded. She glanced at the little dog snuffling uncertainly at her feet. The dog's eyes were a milky, blinded white—no wonder he hadn't tried to explore his new surroundings. Calie picked him up; he was soft and warm, wagging his stump of a tail as he licked her face. "Beau and I moved around," Louise continued. "That way we didn't build up any patterns. I started thinking there might be people downtown." She looked tired. "Plus I wanted to stay somewhere for more than a couple of nights at a time. I thought it'd be nice to have a home again."
Perlman stopped his examination of her hands and grinned at her. "Say ahhhh. Don't worry, I'm not going to try and dissect you." Louise laughed nervously and opened her mouth, standing patiently as the physician checked her eyes and ran his fingers beneath her jaw and behind her ears. "Did you know you have a slight fever?"
"Jo said you shouldn't be out in the snow because you'd been sick." C.J. folded his arms. "Was she talking about your hands?"
Louise nodded. "Probably. I felt awful."
"Why don't we get Louise some dry clothes and food instead of making her stand here and shiver?" Calie suggested. "Then she and C.J. can tell us about this Jo person."
Louise looked relieved. "I could use something hot," she said hopefully.
"How about some coffee?" McDole chimed in.
"That sounds great."
"She needs some aspirin," Perlman added. C.J. nodded and immediately hurried up the escalator.
"Meet us in the breakfast room in half an hour," McDole called after him. C.J.'s shout of agreement floated back.
Calie smiled at the girl and tried to ignore the darkness that bubbled up when she looked at those pretty blue eyes. "Come on," she said. "I happen to know a shop in this building that keeps snowstorm hours and has just your size."
She led Louise away, being very, very careful not to touch her.
It was nostalgic, Calie thought later, how old habits still clung, despite the circumstances that had changed permanently. Louise was certainly likable—funny, too. Alone in the breakfast room, Calie was still grinning at the memory of Louise checking the price tag on a sweater that had caught her eye in Lord & Taylor, then almost putting it back. She'd looked decidedly sheepish when Calie had laughed at her. They had all settled early for the night because of the excitement and the dragged-out feeling that a hard winter storm always seemed to bring. C.J. and Louise had answered questions about Jo as best they could, although Louise had apparently met the mysterious preteen only two days ago. Both were determined, snow permitting, to be in Daley Plaza tomorrow as Jo had instructed.
What time was it now? Surely after six. Calie blindly touched her cheeks, feeling her rough fingers move over the pores of her face. The gift of healing, for God's sake—what else could that strange girl do? Could she "see" that something terrible awaited C.J. and Louise? And if so, could this Jo do anything about it? It was a maddening question.
Darkness surrounded her now, the dusky light left from sunset effectively strangled by the low-lying storm clouds. Calie rose and made her way to the stairwell by memory, her hands gliding soundlessly along the cold railing. C.J. and Louise were together, bent on obliterating the loneliness that had permeated both their young lives. Good for them—tomorrow might bring horrors undreamed of; so much the better that they found comfort in each other's arms tonight. Farther down, Calie hesitated at the door before hers. Go on to bed, she told herself. He doesn't want to listen to you. She started to step away.
"Calie." Perlman's voice was barely a whisper.
I should keep going, she thought. But she honestly couldn't find a reason not to answer. "Yes?"
"Come in for a while?" he asked. "Unless you're too tired."
"Not at all," she answered softly. "Where are you?" She stretched a hand into the darkness.
"Here." His warm fingers brushed hers, then closed over her hand and guided her to the corner. She sat, her slight weight sinking into the thick folds of the down bag.
"So what do you think of our newest addition?" Bill asked without releasing her hand.
"She …" Calie closed her eyes, glad the lightless room hid the sudden moisture on her lashes. "I don't know," she finally finished.
Perlman said nothing for a moment. Then, "You're not happy she's here."
"It's not t
hat so much," Calie said. Talking in total darkness made her disoriented. "I have a feeling that something … bad is going to happen to them."
"Them?"
"C.J. and Louise."
"Maybe you're wrong," he suggested. "You've been wrong on occasion, haven't you?"
She found herself clutching his hand. "Never."
Thank God he didn't try to humor her. "I'm sorry," he said simply. He slipped an arm across her shoulders.
Squeezing her eyes tightly shut now, Calie didn't respond. She'd be damned if she'd cry over something about which she could do nothing, although she supposed this was when a person should weep. Why shed tears over things you could change? I am not the crying type, she told herself sternly. I won't—
"We all have our times to cry, Calie." The night was like a heavy shroud, and he couldn't see her face as she gaped at him. For years she had anticipated the words of others; finally she knew how strange all those folks had felt. Bill pressed something soft into her hand. "There's nothing wrong with it."
"What's this?"
“A Kleenex." He brought his other arm around, linked hands, and held her. "It's okay. Really."
Her mind reached out automatically and touched briefly on C.J. and Louise; two doors down, the new lovers murmured gently to each other. A terrible, black loss filled her, blotting out everything for a second. At last, Calie's shoulders began to shake.
In the chill and smothering night, Bill Perlman held her, and cried too.
Soldiers of the Night
6
REVELATION 18:10
For in one hour is thy judgment come.
I shouldn't have run out on him like that.
I had to, Deb reminded herself. There was this terrible, pressing feeling that if she had stayed with him, as she had so desperately wanted, whatever dark destiny awaited her would encompass him, too. She couldn't bear that responsibility.
A Haunting of Horrors: A Twenty-Novel eBook Bundle of Horror and the Occult Page 386
