AGE OF EVE: Return of the Nephilim (NONE)

by D. M. Pratt

  Eve’s heart sank. She worried for her friend. Nurse Ratchet signaled them to follow her and led them down the hall.

  “You were supposed to wait for me,” the detective said.

  “I didn’t know if you believed me,” Eve responded.

  “I didn’t,” he replied. “Not the part about the sister anyway. I know Cora Bouvier is an only child.”

  They were both handed blue surgical gowns and masks. Eve watched the detective closely as she put her gown on.

  “What are these for?” Eve asked the nurse.

  “Whoever ripped her up like that left some deep cuts. We don’t want any infections to get her before we know what we’re dealing with.”

  “She’s been quarantined?” Eve asked.

  “Not yet,” the nurse said.

  Eve’s heart pounded in her chest as the Nurse led them into ICU. Eve could see the police officer positioned at the door to the very last room. The banks of equipment that glowed through the large window made Eve understand this was bad… very, very bad.

  “Blanchard,” the detective said. “Detective Mac Blanchard.”

  Eve’s eyes were transfixed on Cora or at least what was left of her.

  The nurse stopped at the door then turned to Eve.

  “If she makes it through tonight, there’s a good chance she’ll survive,” Nurse Ratchet said. “The fact that people think they have a right to do that to another human being…”

  The nurse shook her head and walked away. Eve turned to Mac and he nodded to the security officer to let her pass.

  “I’ll wait here,” Mac said.

  Eve walked into the room. The soft ping from the monitors and breathing machines made the room feel desperate. It was as if life clung to the walls right next to death, the pair waiting for who would seize the day.

  Eve stepped closer and looked down at her friend. Cora’s face was bandaged. Her right eye was exposed but it was bruised and swollen shut. The small portions of her cheek and lips exposed were bruised and scarred. Her left arm was in traction, broken; her right arm was cocooned in gauze as was most of her body.

  “Oh, Cora, I’m so sorry. What did I get you into?”

  Eve pulled the talisman from her pocket and tied it gently around Cora’s neck being sure to hide it in her wrappings as best she could. She touched Cora’s hand leaving her fingers to lie softly on the small patch of exposed skin. Eve closed her eyes and felt a tear roll down her cheek.

  Suddenly a flash of violence exploded in her head as she saw Cora slammed against the wall. It was ripping at her like a werewolf.

  Eve gasped and opened her eyes. For a moment she saw Aria standing at the foot of the bed and in the next moment only a shadow.

  Eve turned to Cora. If the little girl could read her mind maybe she could read Cora’s. Again Eve closed her eyes; this time no horrific images filled her mind. The silence of the moment was swallowed up by the beep and ping of the machines.

  Eve closed her eyes again. She kept one hand on Cora and grasped the talisman around her neck with the other, steeling herself as she tried to will the images to fill her head. Nothing happened.

  Obviously mind reading was not one of her skill sets yet and the idea of going back to find Aria did not appeal to her at all.

  Please Cora, help me find who did this to you, she thought.

  Another tear fell down Eve’s cheek.

  The key. The words echoed into her mind. The key, Eve.

  Eve’s eyes opened. It was Cora’s voice. She heard it in her head.

  “What key,” Eve asked out loud.

  Eve racked her memory. Cora had never given her a key to her house or car. Did she mean a key to a lock or a key like a secret?

  “What key?” Eve asked again but there was only more silence.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The pre-dawn light turned the Louisiana sky from darkest indigo to pale grey. The rays of the morning sun reached yellow and peach fingers of light through the slatted blinds and stretched out, crawling like long shadowy snails across the floor over the next half hour until they reached Eve. She sporadically drifted in and out of sleep awkwardly draped across the hard baby blue vinyl covered chair that sat next to Cora’s hospital bed. Inside her nocturnal haze, she watched with one eye the nursing staff come and go over the long worrisome hours, monitoring her vitals in dutiful vigilance. It had only been a few days before that Eve had been lying in a hospital bed herself, her sleep disturbed by the same actions. Cora was not disturbed. She lay oblivious to the staff that ebbed and flowed to keep her alive. He body, bruised and torn, lay motionless through the night but for the rise and fall of her chest. The drugs kept her mercifully sedated and because of all these modern medical miracles Cora had lived through the night and that was what was most important to Eve. She had survived.

  Eve sat up, perching herself on the edge of the uncomfortable chair and stretched her body. She ached from her own brutal encounter with the Nephilim in New Iberia. She too had survived the attack and another sleepless night. The factions and the intensely insane stress of this ongoing bizarre situation only added to her fatigue. She opened her back and twisted her head from one side to another trying to wring the kinks from her muscles. A series of snaps and pops belched from her bones. Her body pinched at her, her muscles, skin and even her hair hurt as did every living cell that made up her body.

  “How about a cup of coffee?” a kind voice asked.

  Eve looked up and saw Detective Mac Blanchard standing next to her with a steaming cup of hospital coffee. She nodded and took the warm paper cup and sipped the hot liquid. It wasn’t actually coffee, more like caffeine-induced syrup, obviously made for the doctors, nurses and staff who had to stay awake and keep an ever watchful eye on the lives entrusted to their care.

  “Careful, it’s pretty strong,” Mac said.

  “Understatement of the day,” Eve responded, struggling to find her morning voice after the first sip.

  They sat quietly drinking the thick muddy brew, Eve’s eyes on Cora, Mac’s eyes on Eve.

  “Don’t suppose you have any idea what happened?” he asked.

  Eve said nothing. How could she explain what had been going on? He would simply put her in a straight jacket and take her up to the psych ward, lock the door and throw away the key. Or… maybe… he could help. Eve’s inner voices fought the argument over in her head and for the life of her she couldn’t make the decision. Somehow, something inside of her told her he knew she knew.

  “Take a walk with me,” he said.

  “I don’t want to leave her in here alone,” Eve told him.

  The words jumped from her mouth so fast she surprised herself.

  “There’s a cop outside the door,” Mac said.

  “Will he come in and sit next to her?”

  Mac looked at her. Now for certain he knew she knew something. He could hear the fear in her voice and see the terror in her eyes.

  “Sure,” Mac said.

  Mac walked to the door and stepped outside. A moment later he returned with a very young, very buffed, rooky of a cop.

  “This is Officer Thaddeus Ballard. He’ll stay right next to her and if she wakes he’ll call me and I’ll bring you right back.”

  Eve studied the young cop. He had sausage fingers, broad shoulders and a square chin shaded with the blue shadow of a beard that came with fair skin and jet black hair. She guessed he had a lot more hair hidden beneath his uniform making him more akin to his ancient primate ancestry than his human. Thaddeus looked strong enough but her heart told her he would be defenseless against the incubus. The thought of “it” made her flash on the Nephilim, with its smooth flesh that glowed red from somewhere deep inside and completely hairless skin. Skin that felt like fine, warm silk, electric to her touch. It had held her close and looked into her though those two open wounds where eyes should have been; chocolate black portals that saw into a part of her soul she never knew existed.

  “Please don’t let
anyone else in,” Eve pleaded. “Okay?”

  “You got it, ma’am,” the young officer said with a slight Southern drawl, shooting a look to Mac. Mac nodded.

  Eve stood and leaned down to gently kiss Cora on the forehead.

  “I’ll be right back,” she whispered to Cora.

  Holding on to her coffee cup she followed Mac into the hallway.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked. “I need you to see something and I am going to apologize ahead of time, but I think you need to see this,” he said.

  They stepped into the elevator and he pressed the LB button. Eve watched as he pulled a gold lighter from his pocket and flicked the cap on and off several time. It was the nervous habit of someone trying to quit. He wanted a cigarette. Eve turned her eyes to the buttons and each flashing light heralded she was heading somewhere she didn’t want to go. Eve said nothing but her stomach tightened into a knot so rigid it was making it hard for her to breathe. The door opened and the heavy scent of antiseptic, disinfectants and Pine sol rushed up her nose. She squinted as her eyes adjusted to the pale light. Eve was able to make out several area signs. They were written in shades of red and green and black on cream and they hung directly across from the elevator door well illuminated by the glare of the harsh florescent light. Each of the various areas were punctuated by bright yellow and green arrows pointing off in different directions. It was the bottom name written in black and its arrow of dirty white that made her step backwards into the elevator.

  “I don’t want to see her,” Eve said.

  Mac held the door.

  “Whatever did this to Cora Bouvier’s housekeeper needs to be under the jail,” he said. “Deep under the jail.”

  Eve’s heart raced. This “thing,” “creature,” “being from another realm” was what she foolishly thought she was going to be able to face—alone no less—with no one to help her. She had lost her mind and suddenly the psych ward sounded like a good place to go. She needed to find another kind of strength, super human courage and another kind of power and she knew if she didn’t, there was no way in hell she could even look at a body let alone kill a Godling.

  “Please,” Mac said.

  She took a deep breath and made herself step out of the elevator.

  “Okay. Fine,” Eve said.

  Mac gestured her to go to the right then led her down several more dimly lit corridors. If this wasn’t the second act of a horror movie she didn’t know her scary movies; dimly lit, closed doors with nothing but the droning of the air-conditioner, humming its foreboding song somewhere in the distance behind them. The air was cold and other than the whisper of the machines the place was as silent as a tomb.

  Finally they reached the morgue. Mac took a last look at her, analyzing the uncertainty in her eyes. Eve was sure she must have looked like a beacon of desperation but did her best to be brave. He opened the large double doors and gestured for her to enter first. Eve took another deep breath, held it and entered.

  Inside the morgue it was even colder but amazingly peaceful. Beyond the first area, three autopsy rooms stood shadowed behind glass windows. They all lay to the left. She suspected they kept the bodies behind the wall of refrigerated drawers behind door number four on the right. Mac walked her forward.

  “Wait right here,” he said and entered into the room on the right. As the door opened she could see banks of drawers neatly filling three of the four walls, each drawer with its own handle and a place for a tag. The door swung shut. Eve looked around trying not to be nervous. Now the only thing missing would be when they wheeled Ms. Clarisse out and pulled the sheet back, she would stretch out her arms, get up zombie style and eat them.

  She shook off the B movie image and crossed over to the third viewing room. Eve placed her hands on the glass to cut the glare and peered in. It was empty and other than a large, icy steel table, there were no zombies. The room was spotless and the autopsy table with its angled surface and multiple draining gutters looked efficient for the job of cutting people apart; portals that allowed a variety of liquids to ooze from various body cavities and find their way into the appropriate receptacles for further exploration and analysis. Suddenly a light from the farthest little room came on next to her. Mac stood behind the viewing glass near another steel gurney table. On it lay the sheet that covered the remains of what Eve couldn’t help thinking looked like a formless blob.

  He beckoned her to come closer to the glass. He was nice, giving her the option not to come in or have to stand too close or breathe the smell of new decaying flesh. Eve stepped forward, her face inches from the large glass window that divided the rooms and waited. She had been to funerals but she’d never seen an unprepared body, especially one that had come to a violent death. She felt like she was on a rollercoaster about to pitch over the first descent.

  Mac removed the filmy white sheet of plastic and what Eve saw made her knees turn to Jell-o. She felt her hand go to the glass to balance her. She wanted to look away but found she could not. She wanted to turn and run but she couldn’t do that either. What lay on the table barely resembled a human being. Tears filled Eve’s eyes.

  Ms. Clarisse, as Cora called her, was Cora’s guardian angel. Clarisse Rhodan had been with the family since long before Cora was born. She cared for them one and all and, when Cora’s parents died, she cared for Cora like a mother. She ran the St. Charles house with the proficiency of a military general. She handled the staff, hired the cooks, made sure the house and garden were always ready for the cover of House and Garden and took care of Cora’s every need even before Cora knew she needed something. Now, at sixty-three, she was dead; a bundle of twisted flesh, shattered bones and a few patches of grey hair stuck to shreds of scalp that lay in wide ribbons next to what was left of her head. Half her head was twisted backwards, the other half ripped away. More clumps of matted grey hair, caked with blood and shredded flesh lay tangled around her foot. It looked as if she’d been flayed, skinned alive, balled up and thrown away. Eve saw the exposed muscles as they glistened and the blood caked into mounds of dried burgundy and black scabs; blood caught the glare from the overhead light, a circle mirrored like a moon on a frozen lake. The old woman’s upper torso was twisted and bent into a pretzel, her lower torso and spine were arched back, coiled in a way no human could contort themselves by choice.

  Eve didn’t realize that Mac had come out and was standing next to her. He took her arm. She looked at her reflection in the glass and saw the blood rush from her face and the pale pallor of her ghostly image must have brought him out to catch her if she fell.

  “You want to sit?” he asked.

  Eve shook her head, still unable to turn away.

  “Who did that to her?” he asked.

  Eve tried to speak but the words didn’t come for a long time. He pulled her away from the window and asked the question again.

  “Who did that to her, Eve?”

  “You… won’t believe me.”

  “Try me,” he said.

  “An incubus,” Eve replied.

  “Who is that?”

  “It’s not a ‘who’ it’s a ‘what’,” she said, trying her best to explain. Her eyes were drawn back to Ms. Clarisse one last time before she dropped her head into her hands, covered her eyes and wept.

  Eve turned into his shoulder and like a child let the emotions burst from her, breaking the flood gates of fear and anxiety she had been holding onto since everything first started. He was a stranger but his humanity enfolded her into his arms and he let her weep.

  After a moment, Mac nodded to a young female technician in a white coat to cover the remains. The last thing Eve saw was one blue eyeball, dangling from the socket, staring out at her and then the sheet fell.

  “I… need to get out of here,” Eve said.

  Mac guided the trembling young woman out of the morgue. They walked down the corridor and into the elevator, two people who shared a common experience neither would ever forget. There was silence as th
ey rode up in the elevator. Mac led her through the hospital and guided her outside into the warm morning sunshine. Eve took several, long deep breaths and exhaled as much of all that had become part of her as she could. Mac lit up a cigarette. Finally, she turned to him. He looked up from his smart phone with a stunned expression.

  “An incubus is a mythological demon that has sex with women? You expect me to believe some supernatural boogieman exists that can do that to a person?” he asked.

  “Believe whatever you want. You asked me what I knew and I told you,” Eve said and turned to walk away.

  Mac grabbed her arm.

  “Look. Help me understand this. I’ve lived in New Orleans my whole life. I’ve seen the voodoo bullshit and busted more than one person who did ritualistic murders to humans, tortured and killed alligators, doves, chickens, snakes, rats, spiders and all other kinds of animals but, they were people, crazy but real people made of flesh and blood—not ghosts.”

  Eve stared at him. He was hurting her arm. She looked down at his hand. He let go.

  “It’s not a ghost and it may be more than an incubus.”

  “More than a demon?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied.

  “Stand in my shoes for a moment …” he said, “…and help me figure out how the hell what you’re saying makes more sense than what I know?”

  “Because I’ve seen it…touched it.”

  Now he was staring at her. He could read people. Tell when they were lying and if this woman was lying she was fucking, pathologically brilliant!

  “Why didn’t it hurt you?”

  “It did. Just not like that. It wants something from me.”

  “Did you read what this thing does?” Mac asked holding up the smart phone. “Wikipedia says it rapes women and impregnates them,” he said.

  “I think we need to run a rape test on Cora,” Eve said.

  What Eve didn’t say was that she wanted to run a rape and pregnancy test on herself.

  “What about you?” Mac asked her.

  “I have to go,” Eve said and turned to walk away.