by Amy Cross
“What's wrong?” Absalom asks, taking a step toward me. “Abby?”
“Senator Joseph Bulledon McAllister was just found dead in his apartment,” I reply, turning to him, “and Emilia Hargreaves has been taken to hospital with injuries from some kind of attack. And apparently she's refusing any treatment unless...”
“Unless what?”
I feel a shiver of dread passing through my chest. “Unless it comes from me.”
Emilia
She's here.
Sitting here on a bed in a bare room on the hospital's tenth floor, I immediately know when Abby enters the lobby far below. Closing my eyes, I allow my thoughts to race down until my mind licks and curls at the edge of her presence, sensing the fear and caution that fill her soul. She clearly knows of my request by now, and she knows she has to come and face me. She's worried, which is only natural, but she's brave enough to come straight here. That's good. I like the fact that she's predictable.
I wonder how much she understands...
Rain is falling outside now, tapping against the window.
Abby's talking to someone. She didn't come alone; that's a surprise, I thought she was the type to go everywhere alone. Another weakness, maybe. She and her friend are in an elevator, rising through the building, and with my eyes still closed I'm able to ride with them, my consciousness extending from my body and swirling around them unnoticed. They're talking about me, naturally, and about poor Joseph's wrecked corpse. Have they performed an autopsy yet, I wonder? I want Abby herself to do all of that, I want her to be the one who picks through Joseph's torn and chewed remains. After all, a mere human would never be able to work out what had happened to the late senator, whereas Abby would most likely understand, at least after a while. Perhaps she'd even start to realize what I am, and why I've come for her.
Deep down, she probably already has her suspicions. She just can't accept the truth quite yet.
They're out of the elevator now; they're on this floor, headed for my room. They're talking to other people, to doctors and nurses, finding out about my condition. Abby's fear is getting closer and closer, yet still she's telling the others that she wants to be alone with me. That's good; I specified she should come unaccompanied, of course, but I wasn't certain that all my wishes would be granted. The most important thing is that I get to see Abby properly, face to face. I've been waiting for this moment, I've been trained for it, but still I feel a little apprehensive. A few seconds later, I hear the door-handle being turned.
I open my eyes.
Abby's standing in the doorway, watching me.
I wait, not wanting to say anything yet. She has to be the one who speaks first.
“We'll be right outside,” a voice calls to her. “Let us know if you need anything.”
She steps into the room and pushes the door shut. Her fear is electric, filling the air all around, and I want to breathe it all in. So this is her, this is the daughter of the great Patrick. She looks so ordinary, so boring, so vanilla; when I was younger, I imagined her as some great warrior, almost Amazonian in her stature; I thought that her power and her lineage would shine in her eyes and burn in her body, but now I realize that her mundane appearance is actually rather fitting. It's as if her vampire side is hidden deep, and she prefers to show her human aspect to the world.
She hides inside herself.
Well, I can certainly relate to that.
“You... wanted me to come?” she says cautiously, stopping in the middle of the room. I won, I made her speak first. “My name is Abigail Hart, I'm really more of a -”
“I know who you are,” I reply, my voice sounding weak and damaged, which is somewhat fitting. “I'm sorry to have disturbed you, but I wanted you to be the one who examined me. It's very important.”
She stares at me for a moment. “I understand that you were the victim of an attack tonight?”
I nod, while keeping my eyes fixed on hers and trying very hard not to smile. She's trying to sound professional, even though curiosity must be burning in her chest.
“I also understand,” she continues, “that you wouldn't let anyone else here take a look at you?”
“They found me in the apartment,” I reply. “Joseph was... Well, I'd just got home from a night out with Senator Joseph McAllister. He's dead now.”
“I heard.”
“They found me on the floor,” I continue, “shivering, covered in blood, naked.” I look down at my hands, which are still caked in remnants of Joseph's guts. “They put me in this blue hospital gown,” I explain. “They think that whatever attacked and killed Joseph...”
My voice trails off. All the police officers and doctors treated me with such care, as if they worried I'd been seriously hurt, but I can tell that Abby has no such concerns. She senses the truth.
“Where are you hurt?” she asks.
“I'm not. Not really, not in the way they think.” I pause, wondering how much to tell her. “Mainly my torso. My belly.”
“What happened to it?”
I stare at my hands for a moment longer, before turning back to look at her. I don't think I've ever felt so alive. “You're the medical examiner,” I tell her. “Examine me and find out.”
She makes her way around the bed and stops behind me. Reaching up with almost-trembling hands, I untie the cord around my neck and then let the gown drop to my waist, exposing the bare upper half of my human form. A shiver passes through my body at the realization that someone is going to see me, the real me, after all these years. I'm quite certain she'll be horrified. God, I hope she's horrified.
I wouldn't mind if she threw up.
“You have scratches on your back,” Abby says after a moment, “but they look -”
“They're old,” I reply, with a faint smile. “From this morning. Joseph got a little enthusiastic before we got up for breakfast. Ignore them and keep looking.”
She makes her way around me, but she stops as soon as she sees my bare belly. Looking down, I can't help but feel proud of the deep slit that runs from just below my breastbone, all the way over the spot where my belly button should be, down to the patch of skin just above my crotch.
“You...” Abby pauses, and the shock is evident in her expression. “That doesn't look like a wound.”
“It's not a wound.”
“It looks more like...” She pauses again, having clearly seen nothing like it before. “Have you always had it?”
“There's a reason I never allowed myself to be photographed in a bathing suit,” I reply, still looking at the folds of skin that meet in the center of my belly, and that hint at an opening leading deeper inside. “I'm sure you can imagine how people would speculate if they saw this. They'd probably think it's a deformity, they'd think I'm hideous.” I smile. “Do you think it's hideous?”
“Is it a...”
I look up at her and see the concern in her eyes.
“How deep is it?” she asks, struggling to remain professional.
“Why don't you examine me and find out, Doctor Hart?”
I wait for her to get to work, but she's holding back. In a way, I understand; she's most likely never seen anything like this before, not even in her precious Book of Gothos, and a lifetime of danger has trained her to always exercise extreme caution. This is the Abby Hart I expected to find, but I also know that curiosity will force her onward, that she won't be able to simply turn and walk away. I've studied her in great detail and I understand how her mind works. Any moment now, she's going to come closer, and her fingers will start peeling open the folds of skin around my so-called 'wound'.
“What does it do?” she asks finally.
“Do?”
“I mean... Does it have a function?”
“Everything has a function,” I point out.
“Were you born with it?”
I nod.
She reaches a hand toward the slit in my belly, but at the last moment she holds back. “Will it hurt if I touch it?” she asks.
“Hurt you, or hurt me?”
She pauses. “Either of us.”
“Of course not,” I reply. “I promise. Not this time, at least.”
I wait, holding my breath as she reaches a little closer, and finally I feel her cold fingertips against the skin on either side of the slit. Although I know I should control myself, I feel a shiver running through my flesh now that the moment is finally here. She pushes slightly, as if to check that it's safe, before moving her hand to the center and allowing her fingers to touch the slit itself.
“Do you understand,” I say quietly, “why I wanted you and only you to examine me?”
“I'm just a medical examiner,” she replies.
“No you're not.”
She glances up at my face, before looking at the slit again. After a moment, she puts a couple of fingers on either edge and then slowly starts to ease it open, getting ready to see deeper inside. I have no idea what she's expecting, but I can sense her fear and I can feel her heart pounding in her chest.
“Does this hurt?” she asks.
“I already told you it doesn't,” I reply. “Don't worry, you can't possibly hurt me.”
She pulls the edges of the slit even wider apart, and I see the shock in her face as she starts to notice the glistening red mass within.
“Is that -”
“It's okay,” I whisper. “I won't hurt you. I just want you to see.”
With that, I realize that it's time. Slowly, taking care not to startle her, I start to unfurl the fangs of my chelicerae, not to scare Abby or to attack her but simply to let her see the real me. I could easily strike her, I could most likely get a good amount of venom into her face before she could even react, but that's not the plan, at least not now. I'm too disciplined to give in to temptation. Instead, I simply let my fangs reveal themselves in all their glory, along with the other parts of the jaw that's nestled in my belly. After a moment, realizing that I can perhaps be a little braver, I tense my abdominal muscles and allow my fangs and jaw to protrude further, poking out through the slit and moving closer toward Abby's face with a slow, gentle cracking sound. At the same time, fresh saliva dribbles from the fangs and runs down to the bottom of the slit and then leaks down across my human flesh.
“What is this?” she whispers.
“Can't you tell yet?”
“Is...” She leans a little closer. “Those things at the top?” she continues. “They look like...”
“Fangs?” I ask.
“Above the fangs,” she replies, clearly engrossed. She reaches her hand into the slit, as if sheer curiosity has finally gotten the better of her. How predictable. “They look like little... dark, round little...”
“Oh,” I whisper, realizing what she means. “Those. You mean my eyes.”
“Eyes?”
Closing the eyes on my human face, I'm able now to see through the eight eyes that stare straight at Abby from deep within the slit on my belly. I must admit, this view is better, although it takes a moment before I'm able to resolve the eight separate views into one clear image; I can see the look of pure wonder on her face, although there's a hint of concern too and perhaps even some disgust. She doesn't recoil, though, and she doesn't pull her fingers away. After a moment she looks up toward my human face but, seeing that those eyes are closed, she turns back to look into the slit, staring into my real eyes, the eight eyes that are seeing her from eight subtly different angles.
“What are you?” she whispers.
“I think you already know,” I reply, using my human mouth to speak.
She stares at me, but I can tell that even though she's understood the truth, something seems to be preventing her from acknowledging what's happening. It's almost as if she's been told so many times that this is impossible, she can't quite bring herself to accept that it's true.
“You're a spider,” she says finally, her voice filled with wonder.
My human mouth smiles.
“You're a spider.” She pulls back slightly, staring in shock at my eight eyes. “How... This isn't possible.”
She looks up at my human face.
I open my human eyes and meet her gaze, and I watch as her sense of wonder slowly starts to sour, as if a veil of disgust has fallen across her soul.
“Abby -” I start to say.
“No!” she hisses, pulling away as if she can't stand to be anywhere near me.
“Abby,” I continue, getting to my feet and letting the hospital gown fall away, “you must listen to me. I orchestrated this whole meeting so that I could -”
“No!” she shouts, stepping back to the middle of the room. There's panic in her eyes now. “Don't come anywhere near me or I swear to God I'll hurt you!”
“You want to hurt me now?” I ask, tilting my head slightly as I smile. “You seemed so concerned about my welfare a moment ago. It was so touching, I almost shed a tear.”
“That was before I knew what you were,” she stammers. “It was before I knew you were a...”
I wait, but apparently she can't even get the word out.
“I'm aware,” I continue calmly, taking a step toward her, “that traditionally there has been a degree of animosity between our species. A war here, a war there. I'm also aware that our fathers, in particular, weren't exactly the best of friends -”
“Our fathers?” she replies. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don't you know that part?” I can't help but frown. “That's a shame. I was under the impression that you knew all the details of the war between our species, and our fathers' roles in that war, but perhaps certain things have been kept from you. Still, there's plenty of time for us to discuss the past,maybe over a candlelit dinner. Right now I'm more interested in the future, Abby, and in what we can achieve together now that you know the spiders aren't fully extinct.”
I step toward her.
She instinctively steps back.
“You'll at least hear me out, won't you?” I ask. “I imagine you're almost hard-wired to hate me, to find me repellant, but I hope you'll summon the strength to at least listen to what I have to say. I wouldn't have gone to all this trouble if I merely wanted to hurt you; if I wanted to kill you, I had the perfect opportunity just now when you were peering straight inside me. Just a little squirt from my venom sacs would have melted your face right off, and then while you were screaming I could have dug down through your neck and torn out your heart.” I take another step closer. “I know you've been living among humans for most of your life, and I know you've become comfortable with that arrangement. That's why I couldn't just knock on your door and introduce myself. I had to set things up a little, I had to get you out of your comfort zone. Did I succeed, or do you always looks so upset?”
“Go to hell,” she stammers. Her disgust seems to be boiling over, becoming pure anger. I anticipated this, but I hoped she'd have more self-control. More discipline. I hoped she'd be more like me.
“Please, Abby -”
“Go to hell!” she shouts. “Absalom was right! I should have killed you the moment I saw you!”
“Abby -”
Before I can finish, she lunges at me, slamming her weight into my chest and sending me crashing back down against the side of the hospital bed. I could easily push her away, of course; with my superior strength and training, I could throw her against the opposite wall or pin her down like a bug, but instead I let her wrap her hands around my throat. In some ways, I'm actually enjoying the sense of her climbing on top of me and directing all her pain and fury into my body. With no weapons, she's resorting to a futile attempt to suffocate me, but after a moment she looks into my human eyes and I can tell she realizes it's not working. Instead, she looks around for some kind of weapon she can use against me, and then she leaps off and runs toward the trolley in the corner. She's so cute.
“Abby!”
Grabbing her by the ankle, I pull her back down. I open my mouth to explain everything, but she turns and punches me s
o hard that I almost lose my grip.
“Abby,” I say calmly, “you're being irrational!”
“You can't be real!” she shouts, kicking me in the face.
“Abby -”
“You can't be! You're gone, you're all gone!”
Suddenly the door opens and a doctor wanders in, reading from a clipboard. “If you -”
“Out!” Abby and I both shout, simultaneously reaching toward him and sending him toppling back out into the corridor, before we both slam door shut.
“I don't want any interruptions while I'm killing you,” Abby hisses to me.
Realizing that I need to subdue her so I can explain everything, I grab her by the shoulders and slam her into the floor. She lets out a pained gasp as I climb onto her and pin her down, and even though we're both out of breath, she must be able to tell that she can only get up when I want her to get up. I've been giving her little hints of my dominance so far, but now it's time to really make her understand. She's scrappy, whereas I've been properly trained for this moment.
“Listen to me,” I say firmly.
“You're not real!” she stammers, her eyes wide with horror.
“Oh, wouldn't that be convenient?” I reply. “You really hate my species, don't you?”
“You're a monster!”
“And you're just like your father,” I continue. “Does your hatred mean that I shouldn't have a chance at life? Did you and the other vampires learn nothing from the war that raged between our species for centuries? A war you won, by the way.”
She tries to push me off, struggling until I'm forced to squeeze her wrists even tighter. I could break her right now and leave her in agony, but that's not why I'm here. A part of me still clings to the hope that she'll listen.
“Look beyond your hatred,” I tell her. “You and I share something, Abby. We're alike in ways you can't possibly begin to imagine. We're both children of people who fought in the war, but that doesn't mean we have to fight!”
“I'm nothing like you!” she sneers.
“Let me explain. You'll understand once I -”
“Go to hell!”
“Can't you even try to listen?” I ask. “Can't you look past your instincts and think about this rationally? You've never even met one of my species before, but you've been indoctrinated and taught by your elders that we're all evil. Wouldn't you rather make up your own mind?”
