Mouth of Madness

by Hunter Blain

  Doc Jim rushed to the IV stand and hung the crimson bag before connecting the line. The blood ran down the line into Depweg’s arm.

  Without missing a beat, the doctor rushed to another cabinet and unlocked it to reveal another smaller locked cabinet. This one had a fingerprint reader, which Doc Jim pressed his thumb onto. A green light flashed and a clicking sound rang out, followed by a hiss as the door was opened.

  Inside was a collection of different vials in a multitude of sizes, colors, and opaqueness. A quick scan and the doc pulled out a dark blue container before shutting both cabinet doors again. He made his way back to the IV stand and picked up a syringe on the tool table next to the bed. He drew two CC’s of the liquid, glanced at Depweg, and pulled a third before sticking the needle into the line and injecting the liquid.

  The dark blue mixed with the crimson and formed a purple line that disappeared into Depweg’s veins. I could see the outline of his vascular system as it made its way up his muscular arm and into his chest.

  Depweg inhaled sharply and his eyes opened wide, flicking around the room in seemingly random patterns.

  “Help me keep him down,” Doc Jim commanded with growing urgency.

  I rushed to stand next to the table and placed a firm hand on Depweg’s impressive chest.

  “Easy, buddy. Ea-he-heasy, man. We got you,” I comforted a shell-shocked Depweg. Unfocused eyes shifted in my general direction. He nodded once with a gaping mouth and laid his head back down. His degree of self-control was admirable, even more so when factoring in how close he was to death.

  “Can you remove the, ah, cover?” Doc Jim asked, nodding to my bloodpatch.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said as I moved my hand down Depweg’s chest onto his stomach. I sent my blood out, covering the patch, and rehydrated it before willing it back into my body.

  Depweg’s gaping wound split open, spilling his intestines onto the table with a sickening slosh as blood began to ooze out.

  “Jesus Christ,” Doc Jim exhaled while covering his mouth and shaking his head in disbelief.

  “What?! Don’t do that to me, Doc. You gotta fix him!” I was losing control over my sanity. Depweg groaned while tears sprouted in the corners of his eyes. He tried gritting his teeth but didn’t have the strength.

  “I-I don’t know. But I’ll do my best.”

  “Fix. Him,” I said with harsh emphasis on the words.

  “You said he can’t heal this?” he asked, snapping on some surgical gloves.

  “Right. Neither can I.”

  “Okay. Okay, first—we need to remove the portion of flesh that came into contact with the weapon.” He reached to the table and pulled a silver scalpel, bringing it to the edge of Depweg’s side where the wound began.

  “Wait! Won’t the silver do the same thing?” I asked, grabbing his wrist.

  “No. This is sterile with no latent residue,” he informed me calmly but curtly. “Now, please let go of my hand so I can do my job.”

  I dropped his wrist as if it had been electrified and moved my hand back to Depweg’s chest, knowing what was coming.

  As soon as the doc cut into my friend’s flesh, the incredibly strong werewolf began bucking with renewed strength and vigor.

  An idea came to me and I placed my other hand on his forehead, sending a portion of my essence into his mind.

  “No pain,” I whispered as I closed my eyes and focused on his synapses. “No pain.”

  Depweg gasped and then his entire body relaxed, his breathing becoming slow and steady.

  “Helpful trick,” Doc Jim said, flicking his eyes briefly to where my hand rested on Depweg’s forehead before returning to his work.

  “I’ve, ah, honestly never tried that. Stole it from Interview with the Vampire,” I admitted.

  “Hmm,” was all the doc said in response as he made his way just past the were’s navel, pulling at a strip of flesh almost as thin as spaghetti as he went.

  In short order, he had removed the top and bottom portions of the wound and began working on Depweg’s insides.

  He started at the liver, cutting an alarmingly large portion of the organ out. From the doctor’s peripheral vision, he saw me shoot my eyes to him, on the verge of demanding to know what he was doing.

  “The liver, even for non-supes, is the most versatile of organs,” he informed me while never taking his eyes off his work. “There are recorded cases of seventy-five percent of a human’s liver being removed, only to grow back. With his superior healing, this will be the least of his concerns.”

  I relaxed a little as I watched the master work. It reminded me of an artist bringing a blank canvas to life using a variety of paints and tools. Doc Jim worked with an efficiency that only experience could manifest.

  He continued his progress and moved on to Depweg’s stomach.

  “Oh, dear. This…this is bad.”

  “What?” I asked frantically, drowning in the sensation of helplessness.

  “His stomach was entirely cleaved in half. I will have to remove a portion and sew the top and bottom back together. Can you get me the surgical thread on the counter over there?” Doc Jim indicated behind him with his head.

  “I can’t lift my arm,” I said, indicating where I rested my hand on Depweg’s forehead.

  “This isn’t good,” Doc Jim breathed out, his mind racing with ideas.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I can’t let go of his stomach. I’ve already started cutting.”

  “I, ah, think I can get it,” I said as I extended the hand that was resting on Depweg’s chest and willed a bloodskeleton arm to reach out from my palm. It grew in length and began to cross the distance.

  “Oh, my God!” the good doctor said as he did a double-take.

  “Hush. Concentrating,” I ordered as the hand steadily crossed the room and reached the countertop, grabbing at the surgical suture. The first attempt failed, so I tried again. On the third try, I grabbed hold of it and slowly retracted the bloodskeleton arm, snatching the suture as the manifestation disappeared into my palm. “Here.”

  “Th-thanks,” he said, a little grossed out. His expression flattened to a professional stoicism as his eyes locked onto his patient. “Help me thread this needle."

  Doc Jim finished cutting the stomach and expertly threaded a silver-tipped needle before beginning to sew the pieces together.

  “Will those, um, dissolve?” I asked, searching for the right word.

  “Yes. The body will process the sutures in a matter of weeks. Possibly sooner for our friend, here.”

  I nodded my head as I watched the doc pull out a chunk of undigested meat from somewhere in Depweg’s cavity.

  “Hand me the vacuum next to you, just there.” He pointed with his nose and I used my free hand to pull a machine on wheels next to the table. “Suck up the blood and stomach contents, please.”

  I did as instructed while he organized the loose intestines into a semblance of normality.

  “Will these correct themselves if they’re not perfect?” he asked loudly over the whirr of the cleaning instrument. I watched in fascination as blood, bile, and chunks of meat were sucked into the tube.

  “For weres? I honestly have no idea. I don’t think Depweg has ever gotten hurt this bad, man.”

  “Well, this is as good as I can get them for now. We need to get him closed up and let him rest.”

  I pulled out the gore-covered vacuum and replaced the tube on its hanger before flipping the off switch.

  “Thank you, Doc,” I said just below a whisper, relief sapping me of my strength as I looked at my friend. His lips were darkening to a healthy red while his pale skin began to flush pink.

  Exhaustion hit as it became clear the danger was over. I just wanted to collapse into a chair and fall into a damn coma. “Can you give him anything for the pain? I need to sit down. Too much has happened tonight.”

  “Unfortunately, weres’ metabolisms are too fast for conventional methods of pain relie
f.”

  “Do you have any of that Fae stuff you can use? I don’t mind paying, man.”

  “It’s not a matter of money. I’m afraid to just start injecting him with different concoctions in the hopes of finding one that might work with his anatomy. The first vial was necessary to keep Depweg from going further into shock while providing a neutralizing agent for any potential magical residue that might prevent him from healing. With how depleted he is right now, I don’t want to risk adding anything extra. At least not yet. We can reassess once he has recovered somewhat.”

  “Can you, like, pull up a chair or something for me? I’m really tired all of a sudden.”

  “Oh yes,” he said as he made his way to a rolling stool, reached out with his blood-coated glove, and then pulled back. “Give me a second.” He walked over to the sink and thoroughly washed his hands all the way to the elbow. He removed the gloves and tossed them into a biohazard container before rewashing his bare skin. Seemed a little bit overkill to me.

  Maybe he could feel me staring at his hands because without looking over his shoulder, he said, “Can’t risk getting his blood in a small cut or something. I don’t think I’m strong enough to survive the change.”

  I shrugged with indifferent understanding. Plus, I had a sneaking suspicion that he might be stronger than he let on. Which, if true, would turn out to be a concern as to why he wouldn’t bring his allies in on the fact. The thought that we might simply be his customers sounded in my head like a creaky floorboard that caught your attention in the middle of the night while watching TV. It wasn’t enough of a concern to get up and inspect the noise, as it might be something as rudimentary as the air conditioner kicking on and expanding the material of the floor until a tiny pop happened, but it was still there, drawing your attention for a few moments before dissolving into normality.

  As Doc Jim finished drying his arms, he went to the chair and rolled it over to where I stood with my hand still resting on Depweg’s forehead. I noticed that my face had scrunched into a scowl at my train of thought, and I forced it to relax before the doctor could see my not-so-subtle consternation.

  “Thanks,” I sighed as I sat down, deciding right then and there that Doc Jim was a friend. If he didn’t reveal all of his secrets, that was his prerogative. Hell, it’s not like I showed him all of my cards, either.

  The simple act of sitting opened a floodgate of thoughts that sent my mind spiraling like a gyroscope, flooding over my prior concerns about my doctor friend as if the worry had been as trivial as what shirt to wear. There was a war coming, and I needed all the allies I could muster.

  “John, what is it?” Doc Jim asked with growing concern as he brought a familiar-looking bag of blood over. Apparently my face, once again, told the story of my inner thoughts. I really needed to work on that.

  I struggled to keep my hand on my friend’s forehead while keeping a portion of my focus on his brain. With my free hand, I first poked a hole in the cellophane top before sipping on the blood like a fine wine. It wasn’t enchanted like Locke’s, but I was hungry.

  As I looked inward to try and make sense of my cacophony of thoughts, I slackened my mental control for a few heartbeats and Depweg responded by jerking into consciousness long enough to sharply inhale in preparation for a scream of unimaginable anguish.

  “No pain. No pain, my friend,” I urgently whispered, finding a renewed mental acuity.

  He lowered his head with fluttering eyes and let out the pent-up air in a wordless moan as he slipped into unconsciousness.

  With a degree of concentration, I let only a portion of my mind explore the events of the night and my rampant thoughts, which begged attention from me.

  Ulric was free. Not only that, but ostensibly, he had made a deal with the Devil to become the new Grand Master Warlock. I wasn’t sure if there had ever been a vampire warlock before, but I did know his power had just been substantially upgraded. The million-dollar question was: by how much had his well of energy increased by making a deal with Satan and donning the mantle of Grand Master Warlock?

  He can’t be stronger than me, I tried to convince myself before thinking of the freshly-murdered Silver, who hadn’t sold his soul for power until WWII, and he had only been a mortal man!

  “Oh, Lilith,” I exhaled while rubbing my face. The mortal had only been in power for around a hundred years while Ulric was hundreds of years old. If the mortal had bested me in a one on one battle—and without a vampiric well of power—then…

  “Fuck me,” I drawled as I leaned forward in my chair with my free elbow on my knee. I felt nauseated and light-headed. “Fuck me!” I barked out with an explosion of anger.

  I could feel Doc Jim looking at me before he resumed cleaning up his station, leaving me alone with my volatile thoughts. I took an aggressive pull from the bag and consumed the rest of the blood. The good doctor extended his hand over Depweg and I looked at it, confused, before catching on. I handed the empty bag to him and he pointed at the cabinet with his thumb, asking me if I wanted another. I shook my head, knowing I needed the real stuff or more of Locke’s enchanted elixir to replenish my well.

  My mind flashed to the wink Ulric had given me as he descended, as if he knew something I didn’t. It made me incredibly uneasy, and I couldn’t get comfortable in my chair.

  I looked at Depweg and pleaded, “Get better real quick, okay, man? I’m gonna need your help on this one.”

  Depweg answered by breathing steadily. For once, his silence was welcome, giving me ample time to consider my options.

  Doc Jim walked over with a fresh bag with the initials “JD” on it and replaced the empty bag on the IV stand.

  I patted Depweg’s huge forearm with my free hand, feeling the veins beginning to bulge through his skin again as the fresh blood coursed through his system. He felt warm to the touch, which briefly confused me as I had watched the doctor pull the bag of Depweg’s own blood from the freezer. I shrugged it off, content that the small details didn’t matter right then.

  As the good doctor finished hooking up the fresh bag, I asked him, “Say, Doc, mind going to the store and buying around twenty pounds of meat? Rib eyes work best.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Do you need any cash?”

  “I appreciate the offer, but he’s my friend, too. Just cover the cost to replace what was used in the vial and we are square.”

  “Thanks, Doc. How much I owe ya?”

  “Twenty—wait, thirty thousand,” he informed me without a trace of levity.

  My eyebrows went up in surprise.

  “Cheese and rice, man! When did the Fae stuff get…oh, wait.” The leftover busses from the Fae exodus in Nevada came to mind. So many lives had been lost to the Shadow Court. Locke had warned me supply and demand would go up drastically. “Never mind. Yeah, I’ll wire the funds to you when I get my new phone.”

  “Much appreciated. Would you like me to pick you up anything while I’m out?” Doc Jim asked as he slipped on a modest black coat.

  “Nah, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

  “I’ll return shortly.” He disappeared through the double doors and I heard his footsteps abruptly stop. Striding back into the OR, he added, “Better make it fifty thousand.”

  “Ah, shit. Right. Sorry about that. Was, ah, panicking, and, um, stuff.”

  “Right. I’ll get a pin pad for the next one and give you a code.”

  “Good idea.”

  I slapped my feet on the cold tile and then called out, “Oh, can you get me a pair of size eleven black steel-toed Doc Marten boots? And some socks?”

  “Size eleven, got it,” I heard him say as he crossed the threshold to the parking lot.

  I took a moment to close my eyes and rub the bridge of my nose between index finger and thumb while taking deep, calming breaths that didn’t work. Anxiety was an accelerant, and each inhale brought fresh oxygen to fuel my worst fears.

  Ulric was back and stronger than ever, having made a de
al with Satan to become his lackey with the moniker of Grand Master Warlock.

  A horrifying thought sprang to mind and I straightened, dropping my hand to my knee. “Does that mean he can command all the warlocks on Earth? Shi-hi-hiiiiiit!” I drawled, shaking my head in utter disbelief. Now I would definitely have to help the cloaked wardens. A bark of laughter leaped from my mouth, surprising me before another followed suit like mirthful lemmings jumping to their deaths. A staccato of laughter intermixed with tears of exhaustion at my complete lack of good fortune filled the OR, reverberating off the tile floors and steel cabinets.

  “That’s John’s luck, alright. Always in. Always bad.”

  To add insult to injury, Depweg divided my luck by zero and let out a lengthy fart that stung my eyes.

  “Glad to see everything works, buddy,” I said while gagging.

  I swear I saw an almost imperceptible smile tug at the corners of his lips. I was tempted to lift my hand off his forehead and show him who was boss, but quickly decided that it was not the right time. Plus, that’d be like smashing someone in the head with a frying pan because they tickled you.

  Instead I leaned in, focused on the synapses of his brain, and whispered, “No farts. No farts.”

  19

  The doc came back fifty minutes later, judging from the silver clock on the wall, with an armful of bags. I recognized the black and yellow of the Doc Martens and smiled.

  “Thanks again, Doc. I’d offer to help, but you know,” I said, gesturing to the sleeping Depweg.

  “Quite alright, John,” he answered as he set down the bags on the counter against the wall. He grabbed the shoebox with a package of black socks on top and brought them over to where I sat before returning to the counter and removing the steaks from the other bag he’d brought. Putting on a fresh pair of gloves, he poked a hole in one of the containers and pulled the thick rib eye out with his fingers. “Raw?” he questioned while I slipped on my socks and new-new boots.