by Tim Waggoner
“Hello,” he said, in a warm voice. “I’m Dr Arthur Menendez.”
His lab coat wasn’t stained like the rest of the staff’s, and on the left breast was sewn a stylized insignia: a silhouetted profile of a human head enclosed by a multicolored circle. The colors swirled slowly around the head, creating a near-hypnotic effect.
He came straight to me, and briefly acknowledged Jinx and Trauma Doll with smiles and nods before offering his hand for me to shake. I held up one of my wounded hands.
“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind,” I said. I told him our names, and then said, “You’re a Somnacologist. I recognize the insignia on your coat.”
Not all humans who are sensitive to Maelstrom energy become Ideators. Some become M-gineers, able to use and shape M-energy, while those more attuned to the mental and emotional aspects of M-sensitivity become Somnacologists.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ve been brought in to consult on Ms Gail’s case.”
Trauma Doll rose from her seat, her barbed wire outfit shredding the chair’s plastic covering as it pulled free.
“Is Melody okay, Doctor? Can I see her?”
Trauma Doll put her hands on Menendez’s shoulders, and he nervously eyed the barbed wire coils that wrapped her porcelain body.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said. “Ms Gail needs her rest.”
“But I have to see her!” Trauma Doll said. “I just have to!”
She started to cry again, and Menendez relented. I wasn’t surprised. He was a Somnacologist. He understood how deep the bond between an Incubus and her Ideator ran.
“All right. You can see her – but only for a few moments.”
Trauma Doll smiled for the first time since we’d arrived at the Sick House and nodded.
He gently removed Trauma Doll’s hands from his shoulders, then turned and began walking down the hallway. Jinx and I stood, and we followed Menendez down a long corridor, Trauma Doll coming along behind us. The fluorescent lights hummed and flickered overhead, adding nicely to the hospital’s sinister atmosphere. Sounds came from the rooms we passed – moans and cries mixed with the electronic tones of medical equipment. The chemical tang in the air was stronger here, and it mingled with a sweet-sour stink that reminded me of rotting meat. I vowed never to get sick or injured in Nod if I could help it.
As we continued walking, I once more experienced a wave of vertigo. As before, my vision blurred, and when it cleared I found myself looking at Menendez’s back from a slightly different – and higher – angle. I turned to look at the woman walking beside me at the same moment she turned to look at me. My first thought: Wow, am I really that short? My second thought: I’m in Jinx’s body!
We continued down the corridor, but with each step Jinx’s body became more difficult for me to operate. It felt as if his body was somehow trying to reject me, as if I were an invader. I started to lose my balance, and I saw that Jinx – who was in my body – was having similar problems. He weaved as he walked, unable to move in a straight line. He shook his head, as if attempting to clear it, but he started repeating the motion, like my nervous system wasn’t cooperating. I reached out, intending to put a hand on his shoulder to help steady him, but, before Jinx’s hand was halfway to my body, his body did an abrupt spin, and I walked face-first into a wall. The impact didn’t hurt much, but the pain was enough to set off a new wave of vertigo. An instant later, Jinx and I were once again back in our own bodies. I didn’t bother asking Jinx if he was all right. Smacking into a wall might hurt him for a moment, but it wouldn’t do him any damage. And I didn’t want to say anything that would alert Menendez to what had happened. But the doctor had stopped walking and faced the two of us. He frowned as he flicked his gaze from me to Jinx and then back again. I thought he might say something, but instead he turned forward once more and started walking again.
Jinx and I looked at each other and mouthed the same word.
Busted.
Before long, Menendez stopped before a room and turned to face us.
He focused his attention on Trauma Doll. “You’re Ms Gail’s Incubus.”
It wasn’t a question. Menendez hadn’t asked which of the two Incubi with me was bonded to Melody, but he didn’t need to. Somnacologists can sense that kind of thing.
He continued, “Because of your deep connection, seeing her in her current state will be difficult for you. Are you certain you want to do this?”
Trauma Doll took no time to consider Menendez’s warning.
“I have to see her, no matter what.”
Menendez nodded. “Very well. The three of you can see Ms Gail briefly, but, as I said, she needs rest. She’s sedated, so she won’t know you’re here, at least not on a conscious level. Even so, it would be best if you remain as quiet as possible.”
He opened the door to Melody’s room and gestured for us to enter. Trauma Doll went first, and Jinx and I followed.
One of the worst things about visiting the Sick House is that you never know what you’re going to see. If this had been an Earth hospital, we might’ve found Melody lying in bed, safety rails up, IV in her arm, face wrapped in thick bandages. But the healing techniques used in the Sick House are more unique and specialized – and often quite disturbing.
Melody was wrapped head to toe in white strands of silk-like material. Lines of the silk extended from her body to the walls and ceiling, holding her four feet off the floor. Crouched in one corner of the ceiling was a black spider the size of a large dog, its legs drawn close to its body. The creature remained still as we entered, but I could feel it watching us closely.
Next to Melody, another Incubus sat in a chair. She was an elderly woman in a brown robe, and she was whispering something to herself. I couldn’t make it out at first, but as we stepped into the room – careful to avoid the spider’s silken strands – I realized what she was saying.
“So good. So good…”
She repeated this over and over, without pausing between the words. It was damned eerie, and I couldn’t keep from shuddering.
Spider Incubi are probably the most common type of living nightmare. After all, who isn’t afraid of spiders? But they come in many different varieties with different capabilities. I wasn’t worried that the spider intended to feed on Melody. The Sick House is regulated by the Nightclad Council and monitored by the Shadow Watch. No, she was here for some medical reason, probably because the silken cocoon she’d woven around Melody kept her in some kind of stasis. Since Ideators can’t sleep – not even with the aid of the strongest anesthetics – other methods had to be employed. As for the old woman in the robe, I figured her for a Pain Eater, an Incubus that derives sustenance from others’ suffering. Normally Pain Eaters cause suffering in order to feed, but this one had found a perfect job that allowed her to feed without having to harm anyone. Pain Eaters’ victims become increasingly numb the longer they’re fed upon because the Pain Eater takes away their ability to physically feel anything. As long as the woman moderated her power, though, she would keep Melody from experiencing the agony of her injuries. Together with the spider silk, it was an effective – if creepy – treatment.
As soon as Trauma Doll saw Melody, she began crying again. The Pain Eater turned to look at her and gave her a toothless grin.
“Please, child,” she said, in a voice no louder than a midnight breeze. “I find your pain delicious, but I am working here.” Her grin widened. “And a girl has to watch her figure, you know.”
Incubus is a Latin word that means nightmare. Over the centuries, the term came to be applied to an evil male spirit that visited sleepers in the night and drained life force from them through sex. Basically, the male version of a succubus. But Incubi have been around as long as humanity has, and they adopted the Latin name for themselves long ago, and they don’t give a damn what modern dictionaries say. But, whenever I encounter creatures like the Pain Eater, I can see why the whole notion of draining life force became attached to Incubi in th
e first place. It’s one of the most terrifying things that humans can imagine, a being that feeds on their most primal essence, so it’s no wonder they created living nightmares from this dark fantasy.
Menendez gestured that it was time for us to leave. Trauma Doll didn’t look happy about it, but she exited the room with the rest of us. Menendez then led us down another corridor until we came to his office. It was a typical doctor’s office, which made it atypical for the Sick House. No peeling plastic, no weird stains on the floor… Just a desk with two chairs in front of it. There was a laptop computer on the desk, a stack of manila file folders, and an office telephone. Nothing unearthly or disturbing in any way. On the wall behind the desk was a framed diploma from the Institute of Somnacology, just in case any of Menendez’s patients doubted his credentials.
“Please sit,” he said, as he closed the door behind us. Since there were only two chairs, Jinx – in a rare display of gentlemanliness – stood leaning against the wall while Trauma Doll and I sat. Menendez sat at his desk and leaned forward, interlacing his fingers on the desktop, his manner professional, but not detached. He cared about Melody. I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice when he spoke.
“First the bad news. Ms Gail lost an eye, and she’s going to need skin grafts on her face and neck. But let me assure you that her physical injuries – while severe – are not life-threatening.
As you saw, Itsy and Miseria are doing everything they can to keep Ms Gail – if not asleep, precisely – at least unaware of the pain caused by her injuries. The good news: since she was injured by an Incubus, there are traces of M-energy in her wounds. We should be able to manipulate this energy to speed her recovery to some degree, but she’ll be out of commission for a couple weeks, at least. From what I understand, the Incubus that hurt her was very powerful. Thank the First Dreamer her injuries weren’t even worse than they are.”
His words surprised me. In my experience Somnacologists tended to be realists. “Are you religious?” I asked.
He smiled. “In my own way. You?”
No one had ever asked me that before. I’d never discussed my feelings on the subject with anyone, not even Jinx. I say – or at least think – Thank the First Dreamer all the time. But did I believe?
“I don’t know,” I said truthfully.
“Fair enough,” he said, and let the subject drop.
“So Melody’s going to be okay, right?” Trauma Doll asked, sounding equal parts scared and hopeful.
Dr Menendez smiled. “Barring any unforeseen developments, I can almost guarantee it.” His smile fell away as he continued. “But she’ll recover even faster if you remain near her, Trauma Doll. The bond between Ideator and Incubus is profound and, to be honest, not entirely understood. But we’ve had significant success in reducing Ideators’ treatment time if their Incubi are present during their recovery. And the reverse is also true. Incubi who need help healing recover even more swiftly when their Ideators are close by.” He paused and looked at me then. “Although sometimes the bond between the two can become too close.”
I returned his gaze, keeping my expression neutral. A slight upturn at one corner of his mouth told me he didn’t buy my act.
Before he could press the matter further, Trauma Doll said, “Of course I’ll stay with Melody. I’ll do whatever it takes to help her. I mean, without her, there wouldn’t be any me.”
“Very good,” Menendez said. “I’ll call a nurse, and she’ll tell you what to do to help your friend.” He picked up the phone receiver, punched a button on the console, and waited. When someone the other end answered, he said, “Yes, could you come to my office and get Ms Gail’s Incubus? She’d like to participate in her treatment. Thank you.”
He hung up and a moment later there was a knock at the door. Menendez said, “Come in,” and the door opened to reveal a being in a nurse’s uniform who looked like she was an ambulatory sea urchin. The nurse let out a series of gurgling noises I didn’t understand, but evidently Trauma Doll did, because she nodded and stood up.
“Thank you, Doctor,” she said to Menendez. Then she turned to Jinx and me. “I hope you both understand. I have to do this.”
“Of course you do,” I said. “I’ll explain everything to Sanderson.”
Trauma Doll didn’t have to worry about getting in trouble with our boss. He’d be so pissed at Jinx and me he wouldn’t have any anger to spare for her.
She reached out then and briefly touched Jinx’s cheek. “I’m going to miss wreaking havoc at your side. Break someone in half for me, will you?”
Jinx smiled. “You got it.”
Trauma Doll smiled back, and then she walked out of the office, and the nurse-thing closed the door behind them.
“Thanks for all your help, Doctor,” I said, “but Jinx and I have to be going. We need to check in at the Rookery and make a full report of what happened.”
I started to rise from my seat, but, before I could stand, Menendez said, “I’d like to speak with you both a bit longer, if I may. You have a serious problem.”
“I’ve got ninety-nine problems, but a serious ain’t one,” Jinx said, but he made no move toward the door.
I sighed and sat back down.
“I couldn’t help noticing what happened to the two of you as we were walking toward Ms Gail’s room,” Menendez said. “You both appeared to lose control of your bodies for a moment.”
“I’ve lost control of my bowels before,” Jinx said, “but I’m pretty sure that’s not what happened this time. Still, I’d better check.” He started to undo his belt.
“Please don’t,” I said. “I’ve already seen your clown junk once tonight. I really don’t need a repeat performance.”
Jinx scowled at me, but he refastened his belt. “You’re just jealous because you aren’t equipped like me.” He paused and frowned. “You aren’t, are you?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” I said.
Menendez didn’t remark on our little comedy routine. He did, however, closely observe the interplay between Jinx and me, almost as if he were assessing us. Or diagnosing us.
“Unless I’m mistaken, the two of you experienced what’s called Persona Translocation,” he said. “A simpler term for it is Blending. In layman’s terms, your minds switched bodies. Is this the first time it happened?”
I thought about lying to him, but I figured he wouldn’t believe me anyway, so what was the point?
“It happened once before, during the incident when Melody was injured. It lasted only a split second then. The second time in the hallway was a little longer, but we didn’t lose control of our bodies the first time.”
“That’s because the transference was so brief. The second time your minds attempted to acclimate to their new environments, with awkward and – in the case of Jinx’s body – somewhat painful results.”
“What caused it to happen?” I asked.
“Blending can occur when the bond between an Ideator and Incubus becomes too strong.”
I frowned. “I thought having a close bond was a good thing for Ideators and Incubi. In fact, our boss urged us to strengthen our bond to make us better officers.”
“It’s true that a strong bond allows for Ideators and Incubi to work in sympatico, creating highly efficient communication and coordinated actions. Definitely an advantage in your line of work. But if the bond becomes too intense the boundaries between the separate personalities begin to blur, resulting in Blending. It’s a serious enough condition in and of itself, but if a Persona Translocation happened to take place while you were working – say, while dealing with a dangerous suspect – it could prove problematic, to say the least. You said you experienced a translocation before Ms Gail was injured?”
At first I didn’t understand what Menendez was hinting at, but then it hit me.
“You think our mind swap had something to do with Melody getting hurt?” I asked.
“Not directly, no. But it’s quite possible that neither you nor
Jinx was operating at peak efficiency after the translocation. It’s difficult to say how that might’ve affected the outcome of events.”
I thought of how Jinx had ended up in Lake Michigan, and how I’d become trapped atop Montrose’s sand tower. Maybe we hadn’t been at our best, and Melody had paid the price.
“Please don’t blame yourself,” Menendez said. “The mind interacts with the Maelstrom in profound and mysterious ways. M-gineers can harness the power to a certain degree, of course, but imagine what we might be able to do if we could truly come to understand it. To use it to our – and its – fullest capacity.” He broke off with an embarrassed chuckle. “Sorry. Sometimes I get carried away with my work. At any rate, the Shadow Watch has a number of fine Somnacologists on staff, and I’m sure they’ll be able to help you deal with your condition. I’m happy to call over to the Rookery and explain the situation to Director Sanderson.”
“No! Uh, I mean, thanks, but we’d rather tell him ourselves, wouldn’t we, Jinx?”
I turned to my partner, but he’d stopped paying attention somewhere along the way. He’d taken a pair of pliers from one of his pockets and was busy pulling out his fingernails one by one. Considering what had happened to my own fingers during the fight with Montrose, I couldn’t help wincing when I saw what Jinx was doing. Menendez noticed, but he didn’t comment on it. Why would he? I’m sure he’d seen even crazier behavior from Incubi during his career.
No way was I going to tell Sanderson about our Blending. Not yet, anyway. He’d pull us off duty, and I was determined to find out who Montrose’s shuteye supplier was and bring down the whole operation. I wanted to do it for Melody, but also to assuage my guilty conscience. And besides, Jinx and I had only experienced a couple mild, temporary “Persona Translocations.” Nothing too serious so far. If our condition got worse, we would go see the Watch Somnacologists then.
I turned back to Menendez. “Do you have any advice on how to deal with Blending? Just until we get a chance to speak with the doctors at the Rookery, I mean.”
