Forging the Nightmare

by J. J. Carlson

  Jarrod tugged on the chains once.

  Grinning, Jacques said, “I didn’t think it was possible to make it look like an accident and keep you alive. Honestly, I didn’t care. I was going to get paid either way.”

  Jacques began walking around the room, running a hand over the various chains and instruments of torture that hung on the wall. “You know, I’ve been called unimaginative, dull, dimwitted, all kinds of nasty stuff like that. I don’t think it’s true; I think I just have uncommon interests.” He paused and started toying with a blood-stained rubber mallet.

  “I think I’m pretty damn clever. Killing someone and making it look like an accident isn’t easy. Campbell and I had to watch your family for days, and I looked everywhere for an alcoholic that owned a private rig. Then we had to get the timing just right. Your family needed to be somewhere vulnerable, and the fat drunk needed to be passed out.”

  Jacques spoke with the tone of someone complaining about a hard day’s work. “You three were being so uncooperative! Your wife was off shopping, you and the kid were somewhere else…it was such a pain in the ass. Our first good opportunity came when you stopped for ice cream. I was at the truck, just a few miles away, when Campbell here made the call. I had to haul ass over there to make it in time. Luckily, you were still there. I hit the gas and…bam!”

  Jacques struck his open palm with the rubber mallet. “Well.” He shrugged. “I guess you saw the rest.”

  Hot tears streamed down Jarrod’s face, which only seemed to bolster Jacques’s good mood.

  “Look at me, babbling on while there is work to do. What can I say? I take pride in my work.” He did a little skip toward his prisoner and waved the mallet dramatically. “What we really should be talking about is you…”

  He held the mallet a few inches from Jarrod’s nose and said, “How did you find me?”

  “Why?” Jarrod said through gritted teeth.

  “Why?” Jacques flourished the rubber hammer like a sword. “Isn’t it obvious? Whoever led you here deserves the same treatment you are about to get.”

  Jarrod shook his head. “Why did you kill them. I know...how,” Jarrod’s voice cracked. “I just don’t know why. They never did anything to deserve it.”

  Jacques shrugged. “I killed them because I was told to, or because I was paid to, or because I enjoy it, whatever.”

  “But why?” Jarrod pleaded. “Someone had to have a reason. Who paid you?”

  “You think I would tell you?” Jacques laughed. “You’re either really gutsy or really stupid.”

  Jacques took a few practice swings, then admitted, “I don’t even know who wanted it done. I just get the instructions, not the reasons for them. Probably somebody associated in the business; we don’t do hits for strangers.”

  “Oh…” Jarrod said.

  Jacques grinned. “Sorry, buddy. You came all this way to find out some answers, and it was all for nothing. But don’t worry, you can still do something good tonight. Tell me,” he said, pointing his weapon with every word, “who told you where to find me?”

  “Rishi.”

  Jacques lost his grip and the mallet fell to the floor. Wiping the panic from his face, he said, “Bullshit.”

  Jarrod smiled.

  Jacques grabbed the mallet and pulled one of Jarrod’s hands down to the floor. “Tell me the truth!” he shouted, raising the mallet above his head.

  “I am!”

  The mallet swung down, smashing the now ebony hand against the concrete. Jarrod let out a high-pitched, feminine sounding shriek. Jacques let go of his arm and took a step back.

  “Don’t hurt me, Jacques, please!” Jarrod begged in a woman’s voice.

  “You really are a freak,” Jacques said. He stepped closer to Campbell and lowered his voice. “Call the clubhouse and get Rishi on the phone.”

  Campbell nodded and slipped out the door. Jacques strolled over to a shelf, set down the mallet and picked up a hacksaw.

  He looked down at Jarrod, who was smiling mischievously.

  “Oh, we’re going to have some fun,” Jacques said. “We’ll party all day and all night. Then you’ll tell me the truth, and we’ll party some more.”

  A minute later, Campbell stepped back into the room, looking four shades paler.

  “What?” Jacques grunted.

  “Rishi didn’t answer,” Campbell glanced nervously at Jarrod. “The cops were there.”

  Jacques whirled around and barked at Jarrod, “What did you do!”

  “Well I didn’t call the cops…”

  Jacques grabbed Jarrod’s forearm and drew the saw’s blade over it. Jarrod stared down at the rip in his sleeve apathetically.

  “What did you do?”

  “Lots of things.”

  Jacques threw the saw aside and pulled a large, black pistol from his belt. Flying into a rage, he brought the butt of the gun against Jarrod’s forehead. “What happened to Rishi!” he shouted.

  Jarrod smiled even wider, and the black armor oozed into place around his head.

  Jacques stumbled back and fumbled to aim his gun.

  “Well,” Jarrod said, “he told me where you live, for one thing.”

  “Quit lying!” Jacques thundered, “Rishi would die before giving me up!”

  “After.”

  Jacques jammed the barrel against Jarrod’s forehead. “The hell did you just say?”

  “I said ‘after.’ I was correcting your statement. Rishi died after giving you up.”

  Jacques twisted around to look at Campbell, who’s worried expression gave no reassurance.

  Jacques lit into a flurry of colorful insults, then added, “You are gonna tell me exactly what happened to Rishi.”

  Jarrod sighed. “That would take a while. Maybe I can sum up: I had a long conversation with him that included a lot of crying, screaming, and begging for mercy. Then I cut his femoral arteries and watched him bleed out.”

  Jacques’s eyes widened and he lashed, pummeling Jarrod’s face with his pistol.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jacques said, slightly out of breath. He placed the tip of the barrel against Jarrod’s forehead once more. “Maybe your lying, and maybe you’re not. I’ll find out the truth with or without you. So tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you right now?”

  Jarrod’s voice dropped to a menacing growl. “Because you would be better off running.”

  Jacques pulled the trigger and Jarrod’s head slammed against the concrete wall. Standing back, Jacques emptied the rest of the magazine into Jarrod’s chest.

  Smoke hung in the air, and a cackling laughter echoed off the walls.

  The chains jingled and there was a sound of splitting metal. Something heavy struck Jacques in the face, nearly knocking him over.

  Jacques dropped his pistol and put a hand to his chin. He felt the warm slickness of fresh blood, and his eyes widened as he tried to figure out what was happening. Campbell opened fire, and Jacques stumbled out of the room, locking it behind him. The shooting ceased and Campbell started to scream.

  Jacques didn’t hesitate. He sprinted up the stairs toward the garage, then hit the button to raise the garage door. He fell into the driver’s seat of the BMW and put his finger into a depression on the console. The car rumbled to life, and Jacques cursed the garage door, willing it to hurry up.

  Something popped at the front of the car, and the hood sprung open. Jacques slammed the car into reverse and hit the accelerator, but the vehicle didn’t move. He pounded the gas pedal. The engine responded with a sputter, then died completely.

  Jacques hesitated, then threw the door open and ran for the driveway. He reached the street a few seconds later, searching desperately for a way to escape. The rising sun cast an orange glow upon the pristine homes in his neighborhood, but he saw no sanctuary in them. He decided to make a run for it.

  His feet slapped hard against the pavement less than a dozen times before Jarrod overtook him, catching one of his legs with a powerful arm. Jacques spraw
led forward, his face grinding against the pavement. He tried to get back to his feet, but was knocked down by a bone-crunching kick. Something sharp dug into his lower back, and he yelled out in pain.

  “Shh…” Jarrod said. “You don’t want to disturb the neighbors, do you?”

  One by one, the curtains in the surrounding houses were drawn aside. Seven, then eight bystanders watched the scene with morbid curiosity. Cell phones that could have been used to call the police were held up to record videos.

  “Please,” Jacques begged. “I was just doing my job.”

  He crawled on his elbows, not daring to look back at Jarrod. “I didn’t even want to…but they would have killed me! I—I have to do what they say, I don’t have a choice!”

  “Do you think your neighbors know what you do in that room in the basement?” Jarrod asked.

  Jacques whimpered and clawed forward, blood oozing from his fingertips.

  “I’m sure you’re careful, but I bet they are at least suspicious.” Jarrod stomped down on Jacques’s pelvis, which cracked loudly and drew a scream from Jacques.

  “Do you see the irony, Jacques?” Jarrod was shouting now, trying to be heard over the wailing. “They didn’t want to get involved. They turned a blind eye to what you did. Now they will watch you die without lifting a finger.”

  Jarrod reached down and flipped Jacques over. “I think they’ve seen enough to learn their lesson. You can go now.”

  Jarrod pushed past Jacques’s groping arms and grabbed his head. Then, with a blade-like finger, he severed Jacques’s spinal cord.

  41

  Jarrod felt the mild disorientation even as he knocked on Santiago’s front door, and he knew she was there. San ushered him into the comfortable living room. Emily sat in an armchair. Her face, though plainly sorrowful to anyone else, was unreadable to Jarrod.

  “It’s nice to see you, Jarrod,” she said. “I…wasn’t sure when I would see you again.”

  Jarrod, clad only in his glossy armor, looked at San and said, “May I use your shower and borrow some clothes?”

  “Of course,” San said.

  Jarrod took a long shower, first scrubbing the blood from the outside of his armor, then washing his skin. He dressed in the clothing San provided and joined the others.

  San’s face looked haggard, his eyes bloodshot. Jarrod sat next to him on the sofa.

  “Jarrod, I want to tell you how proud I am of the progress you’ve made,” said Emily. “San has told me about your…exploits and, although I can’t objectively agree with the choices you made, I am glad you aren’t acting solely on instinct.”

  She sighed. “But that’s not why I’m here. Late last night, I...”

  She glanced over at San, who gave her an encouraging nod.

  “I found evidence of a conspiracy. It supports the theory you’ve been investigating.”

  “You mean my family being killed?” Jarrod said with blunt indifference.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not a theory. I met with the man who did it, right before coming back here.”

  Emily’s eye’s widened. “You did?”

  Jarrod nodded. “It was a man named Jacques Barth.”

  Emily nodded. “I didn’t know who he paid off, but I assumed he wouldn’t have had the guts to do it himself.”

  “Now hold on,” San interrupted. “We can’t be certain that Wagner was involved.”

  “But I showed you,” Emily protested. “I have proof.”

  “Wagner?” Jarrod said. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Why not?” said Emily.

  “I questioned the killer. He said their murder had a revenge component. He also said the criminal organization he works for doesn’t do contract killings for outsiders.”

  Emily sat thoughtfully. “He had to be involved,” she said. “Why else would he choose her?”

  Jarrod glanced at San and said, “Who?”

  San’s face was raw with pain. “I think you should show him,” he said.

  Emily nodded. “Jarrod, how much do you know about Project Lateralis?”

  “I know it’s a weapons development program being undertaken at Hillcrest. I know some of the technology being applied is similar to what was used for my transformation, but it lacks a living subject. The goal seems to be the creation of a chemically and mechanically enhanced soldier that can be controlled remotely.”

  San and Emily were dumbstruck.

  “I also know that you and Santiago are often careless in regard to information security.”

  San chuckled. He reached out and tapped Emily’s knee with the back of his hand. “I think that was a joke. I told you he’s getting better.”

  Emily didn’t share his amusement. “It doesn’t matter. I’m about to show you the results of Lateralis. Please, take your time with processing what you see.”

  She handed him a large photo. It showed a security monitor, which displayed its own, clear image of a naked woman. The woman, once beautiful, had been transformed into a horrifying mockery of humanity. Patches of metal showed through ragged gaps in the skin. Thin tubes connected the thighs and biceps to a black box that was partially implanted in the abdomen. The left breast had been cut away, and a metallic globe protruded where the tissue had been. There was no softness, no indication of body fat in her frame. Her muscles were massive, bull-like, and covered in silvery veins. Wide, black camera lenses filled the spaces where the eyes had once been. The skin was rough, mottled, and completely hairless.

  Despite the grotesque alterations, Jarrod immediately recognized his wife. His head twitched sharply to the side and he said, “You think Wagner chose Melody as an insurance policy, in case I escaped?”

  “That’s one possibility,” Emily said. “Or he chose both of you from the beginning.”

  Emily drew an imaginary time line on the coffee table with her fingers. “He first found out about you when you got back from Africa. You were flagged as a major security risk, and placed under digital surveillance from that point. I think he wanted you as a candidate from then on, but it’s not easy to get someone to volunteer for a project like Nerium. That’s why he made a plan to take something from you.” She bit her lip. “To take your will to live.”

  San was probing Jarrod’s face, searching for any trace of emotion. There was none.

  “I think he saw the perfect opportunity with you and your wife,” she continued. “After he killed your family, he knew you would be checked into Hillcrest, because you were on a security watchlist. Then, if he could convince you to agree to Project Nerium and arrange for your escape after Phase Three, it would be easy to get Project Lateralis approved.”

  Emily took a deep breath. “The man loves his experiments, and he doesn’t care about risks. With you on the loose, he would use Lateralis to hunt you down. If you killed her, it would prove that human emotion could be overcome with the Nerium protocols, if she killed you, it would prove Lateralis is a superior design.”

  Emily leaned back in her seat and said, “That’s why he arranged to have your wife killed, but not you.”

  Jarrod stared down at the picture. “She...was peaceful,” he said. “She didn’t even like the video games I would play with Josh. The whole idea of violence disgusted her.

  Jarrod’s face twisted with rage. “And now her body has been turned into a weapon…a weapon meant to kill me.”

  “Jarrod…” San said. “I can’t imagine what you are feeling right now, but Melody is gone. Nothing they did can tarnish her soul.”

  Jarrod gave no acknowledgment. He stormed over to the front door and ripped it open without turning the knob, sending splinters flying.

  “Jarrod!” San shouted. “Jarrod, don’t!”

  San turned, wild-eyed, toward Emily. “You have to do something!”

  Emily’s jaw was set with determination. “You don’t think Wagner deserves whatever Jarrod does to him?”

  San shook his head. “Emily, there are dozens of innocent patients
at Hillcrest, and just as many security guards. What do you think will happen to them when Jarrod gets there?”

  Emily’s eyes widened. “What should we do?”

  San paced the room, then stopped sharply. “We call in a bomb threat. That’ll get everyone outside.”

  Emily nodded and ran to the plastic case to retrieve her phone. She called her secretary and, giving as few details as possible, warned her about a bomb at Hillcrest. After ending the call, she slipped the phone into her pocket and moved toward the door.

  San followed her. “Where are you going?”

  “Hillcrest.”

  “Come on, Emily,” he said, grabbing her by the wrist, “be reasonable. There’s nothing you can do. If you try to stop him, you might get yourself killed.”

  She pulled free from his grip. “This is my fault. It was stupid to tell him. I’m sorry, but I’m going.”

  San protested further, but she wouldn’t hear him. She ran to her car and tore out of the driveway.

  42

  Jarrod slipped past the growing crowd of people outside of the Hillcrest Trauma and Rehabilitation Center. Most were speculating loudly about an evacuation drill, but a few of the staff members exchanged whispers of a bomb. Jarrod moved around the west side of the building to a secluded rear entrance, then, with an armored fist, punched through the glass door and let himself in.

  He was in a seldom-used hallway beyond the physical therapy offices. Emergency lights pulsed every few seconds and a grating alarm rang continuously. A security camera watched him through an opaque globe farther down the hallway. He walked toward it and started stripping off his clothes, every article shed exposing more of the glistening black armor. He stood in full view of the camera, arms spread wide.

  The response wasn’t immediate. Jarrod stood alone in the hallway for nearly ten minutes before the heavy clomping of boots announced the arrival of security personnel. Four guards swept around the corner with weapons raised. Each wore a bulky, next-generation exo-suit with titanium armor and hydraulic joints. Their rifles were smooth and featureless, and the barrels pointed directly at Jarrod’s head.

  “Don’t move!” one of them shouted.