“You still have a partner, although you’re retired?” Emma asks, attempting to gain some headway into what is going on. “Why do you stay there, if so many things have happened?”
“Partner, life partner, we are together. I stay… well, because at first it was a place where we could be accepted. Things were a lot different for people like us, say, thirty years ago. Then, about eighteen years ago, I made a promise to a friend that I’d stay in the hopes that his missing brother would return, somehow. He never did, the missing brother. I kept the promise to stay, but nothing ever came out of it,” Jack clarifies, feeling reminiscent and slightly depressed at the way that things had turned out. “That’s neither here nor there right now, however. Anyhow, so I decide to make the trip over and make sure everything is all right on the farm there. I get past the tree line and next thing I know it’s the worst downpour I’ve seen in my entire life. I lose control of the car on a bit of a bump and end up heading right towards a tree. Next thing I know, I’m awake sitting right up against the wall in the hallway out there, if that makes any sense.”
“So you think that Jack’s father murdered a child?” Emma asks. The concept seems completely impossible to her; after all that Jack had said of his family, they seemed mostly the normal sort.
“Bill’s got a pretty good intuition about people; used to be a lawyer; can usually read people pretty well. Seemed to be pretty troubled with what he saw in Landon that day,” Jack answers as he lets out a short sigh, “Never made it, though, so I suppose I wasn’t meant to find out. You got there, though—you see anything strange?”
Emma thinks, trying hard to focus in on images in her mind that seem more like old stills kept away in a photo album until they are all but forgotten. Finally a few snapshots pop into her mind, “The house looked old, like no one was caring for it. Paint was peeling off, and windows were either broken… no, taped up or covered up. The door was hard to open, like it hadn’t been used in a long time. I think… yeah, there was black stuff on the floor—it felt wrong.”
“So, what is the last thing that you remember before waking up here?”
“Being in the car as Jack went in by himself, just to take a look through the front door,” Emma replies, and the image is much more vivid this time. A tear streams down from her eye that she quickly wipes away as she turns her face away from Jack. “Then a heavy rain, the sound of thunder. I thought he’d be right back.”
“He may be in trouble—we need to find some way back so we can help,” Jack says, reaching over to the bed and patting Emma’s leg reassuringly.
“Is there anyone else here?” Emma asks as she tries to rub the sadness away from her eyes and takes in a heavy breath of air to steady her mind.
“I’ve checked this floor. It’s completely empty. I tried hitting the button for the elevator, but it doesn’t seem to want to do anything useful,” Jack says as he gets to his feet once more, “We have power, or, at least, these emergency lights are working. Must be run off some kind of generator.”
“I have to find Jack,” Emma says as she searches around the bed. “Have you seen my clothes, my cell phone, or anything? I had some things in my pockets.”
“Sorry,” Jack replies shaking his head. “It seems as though all they were kind enough to leave you were your pills, a cup of water, and that dinosaur necklace.”
Emma looks down and sees her familiar green brontosaur necklace lying next to her on the bed. She places it around her neck once more, and rises slowly from the bed. Her back is stiff and sore. She can feel a slight draft. Avoiding any possible embarrassment she reaches behind and attempts to tie her gown shut.
“Here let me help with that,” Jack says as he makes his way behind her.
Emma backs off, holding her hands out before her to stop his advance. After all, despite his claim to be a former detective and the story of how he has ended up here, Emma is naturally weary of new people.
“I’m sorry,” Jack says as he backs away, “It’s not like that. I’m… you’re not really my type and I’m just a chronically helpful person. Remember from before—life partner.”
“Sorry,” Emma whispers, feeling slightly embarrassed still. She lets her guard down a little. With help from Jack, she is now secure from any bare-assed accidents, and a little more ready for travel.
“I suppose shoes would have been too much to ask for, too,” Jack says as he shakes his head at their predicament. “We’ll just have to work with those rubber-bottomed socks till we can find you a better outfit.”
“Yeah,” Emma says as she gets to her feet completely, steadying herself against the rail of the hospital bed.
“Now, not that I’m recommending you do so until you’re really prepared to see some crazy shit…,” Jack says quietly, as he nods in the direction of the large window that faces the east wall. “Take a look out there.”
Emma shakily walks toward the window; it feels as though she has been in bed for days. It feels just as it did right when she had her appendix removed at sixteen. She places her hands against the cold glass, which feels soothing to her sore, tired hands. She can make nothing out in the darkness, so places her face against the window. Her breath nearly leaves her body as her eyes adjust to the view afforded from the hospital. As far as she can see is nothing but water, a great flood. She can see the rooftops of submerged houses barely peeking up through the water’s surface. Other large buildings are besieged by water—looking down she can see that she is higher up, possibly on the eighth floor. Possibly less—it’s impossible to tell how many floors beneath her are flooded. She can make out maybe six floors that are not. Emma’s eyes are drawn to a bright light off in the distance, illuminating what should be a completely dark scene. As she focuses on the light, what exactly she is looking at is so profoundly unbelievable that her mind denies the vision and claims it as some sort of hallucination. There, in the water, bobbing up and down like an apple in a barrel, is the moon.
“You see it, too, then?” Jack asks, his voice quiet and unsteady, as though he’s hoping the answer is no.
Its brilliant glow offset by the grey craters, the familiar rabbit-like pattern, it is there. No matter how crazy or physically impossible it seems, there is no denying what her eyes see out in the darkness. The moon is there, in the flood water. Softly, nearly breathlessly, Emma simply replies, “Yes.”
“Right, then….”
Her mind struggles to come to grips with what has happened to her, faced with this strange place that defies logic, like an un-waking dream. She begins to fear what has happened to her. Worst of all, she has no idea what has become of Jack. Although her last memories of him are fragmented in her mind like shards of a broken mirror, she still feels that connection. That sense, that longing, that has not been dulled or hidden away like her others feelings have. She senses that she should feel more worried or confused for her current situation, the water, the flood, and the moon, yet all she wants right now is Jack Wolfe, his comfort, his voice. She has a memory of making love in a red room, at a red rose motel, yet it feels like a lifetime ago. She wonders if she will ever see Jack again.
“Where are we?” Emma asks, as she backs away slowly, her hands raise to cover her mouth as she feels the cold feeling of fear wash over her.
“I’ve had about two hours more time to think about it, and I’ve got nothing,” Jack says as he places his hands to Emma’s shoulders, reassuringly, her back turned from him. “We should go; maybe there are people on the other floors.”
“They might know what’s going on, yeah,” Emma says, her gaze still transfixed on the window. It takes all the will she has inside of her to turn away, to accept things as they are and move on.
A short distance down the hall, the red glow of the exit sign hangs above the door to the stairs. Jack leads the way, raising a hand to halt Emma, who follows behind.
“Don’t be alarmed,” he adds as he reaches to his side, and after a short click a gun is produced. “I just want to be cautious.
”
“You’ve got a gun?” she asks, forgetting for a moment that her new travelling companion was a former detective.
“I don’t like to go and pay visits to people who are under suspicion without a little insurance that I’ll make it back,” he answers as he holds the gun up against the door, placing his free hand on the handle. “Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“Hate to be crass, but the moon is floating in the fucking streets,” Jack replies with a half-grin and forced laugh. “In case of just about anything at this point.”
“Right.” Emma nods. She decides not to mention that guns are on her list of things she fears, ever since her father’s suicide. Even the sight of one in the hands of a professional brings back memories that she neither needs nor wants at the moment. Instead she settles and simply adds, “I understand.” After all, despite her apprehension, she agrees.
The door groans open, followed by a metallic clicking. Jack peeks his head around the corner, gun still leveled against the cold metal door. Seeing that the way is clear, they continue. The stairs are illuminated by small emergency lights on the ground. Emma looks down, only a few levels are lit up in the dim lights, the rest are swallowed up in an absolute darkness. The view makes her dizzy, like looking down mineshaft and an endless distance. Emma backs away, almost stumbling against the wall.
“You good?” Jack asks, reaching out to Emma and helping her back to a more stable position.
“Yeah,” Emma answers quietly once again. “I just don’t like heights.”
“Got it,” Jack replies, “Let’s take it down one floor, check the rooms out there and just go from there, alright?”
“All right….”
As they descend the stairs, the quiet is broken by their footfalls against the rubber padding. The steps go by quickly, yet not quickly enough for Emma. The stairwell makes her feel uncomfortable in the say way as before, the feeling of death, that odd sense of weight in the air that can’t be explained.
As they reach the door to the lower floor, a red glow can be seen through the tiny screened window, the reverse side of an exit sign. A small brown plaque with brail lettering reads “6th floor”. Jack, leading the way, peeks through the tiny window, searching for any sign of activity.
“See anything?” Emma quietly asks, trying to maintain a whisper, although she does not know why—it just feels appropriate.
“Can’t seem much with these backup lights; not very bright I’m afraid,” Jack says as he places his hand to the metal handle and puts his weight against the door. Without much effort the door swings open and Jack points the gun ahead, toward the direction of the darkness. Together they cover the short distance, finally reaching the nurse’s station. The desk has a few items strewn about, some patient charts, a half-filled cup of coffee. It looks as though people were here recently—there are a set of keys and a pair of glasses on the counter. Jack lowers his weapon and rushes to the phone, finding there is no dial tone. Frustrated, he hangs the phone up and searches the area for anything useful. “Phone is out….”
“The drawers,” Jack adds as he nods toward the back of the nurse’s station. “I’ll keep watch; see if you can find anything in there.”
Emma makes her way to the back, sitting down in one of the wheelchairs near the station. She begins with the drawer closest to her, pulling it out and trying to make out its contents in the dim light. She reaches in, fumbling for items. Her hands meet a wrapped chocolate candy bar. She picks it up shows it to Jack, who cocks his head to the side and wordlessly gestures a kind of “so what” with his free hand. Emma stuffs the candy bar into the breast pocket of her hospital gown, feeling slightly foolish for thinking that the item was in important find; however, she figured if they were in an emergency situation food would be useful at some point. She continues to search the drawer, finding only pens inscribed with name-brand prescriptions she cannot make out, and other useless items such as paperclips and tape dispensers. Closing the drawer, in one swift movement she rolls the wheelchair over to the one adjacent to it. Giving a tug, the drawer comes open, exposing its treasures. The first item she finds is a small, silver LED flashlight. She holds this item up for Jack to see.
“Perfect,” he adds, nodding in approval. “You hang on to that.”
“All right,” she replies as she continues her search. In the very back of the drawer she finds half a pack of cigarettes with a lighter shoved into the corner beside it. She places them into her breast pocket. She doesn’t smoke, but she figures at least the lighter may be of some use. Lastly, she finds a small pen knife, probably used as a letter opener. She holds on to this as well, figuring it might also be useful in the future. Content with her find, she rises from the wheelchair as it rolls back and away. She holds the flashlight out before her, clicking on the rubber back to turn it on—however, it does not. “Damn,” Emma exclaims. She flicks the switch to the OFF position, and then ON again, causing the same result—nothing. She then bangs it against the table, the sound echoing through the silent hall. She tries the rubber switch once more, and the light instantly comes on.
Echoing down the long hallway is a small, quiet cry, like that of a child.
“Did you…,” Jack starts, placing his gun back into his holster.
“Yeah, I heard it, too,” she replies. A chill runs down her spine and she suddenly feels that terrible dizzy feeling once more. Her heart is racing in her chest: despite the medication that she has been on for the past few months, these new situations have started to cause a reoccurrence of her anxiety attacks.
The cry comes again, a little louder this time.
Emma points her flashlight in the direction of the sound. It seems to be coming from a few rooms down. Jack leads the way, rushing ahead as Emma reluctantly follows behind. The situation seems more terrifying to her than it does to him; she doesn’t know if she owes that to her anxiety or to the fact that he’s more of a trained professional in these kinds of things.
“This one, I think,” Jack announces as they stop before room 606. The room is almost completely dark, and a strange sickly smell fills the air in the room. The emergency lights along the back wall are covered in an almost-fine dark mist that dances like lines of cigarette smoke. The cry comes even more loudly, like that of an upset child that is not getting the attention it wants or needs.
Emma points her flashlight toward the bed, which is covered in a privacy screen. “I don’t like this,” she finally vocalizes.
“You can stay back; just keep the flashlight fixed on the bed, alright?” Jack says, trying to reassure Emma.
“All right,” she says, although things definitely do not feel the slightest bit all right to her.
“Everything is going to be okay,” Jack continues as he places a hand to the privacy screen, sounding as though this time he is also trying to reassure himself as well. Without another moment of hesitation, he pulls the screen back, and finds the child. Although, it is not in any state that he could have imagined. The child is naked, its chest torn open and blood and organs strewn about the bed. Thick black blood covers the child’s face; a deep, open wound is still bleeding on the child’s head. Its left arm is missing and nowhere in sight.
“Oh my god,” Emma mouths as she accidentally drops the flashlight to the floor. She then rushes over to the nearest waste bin and proceeds to begin to dry-heave.
Jack Olen stands before the child, trying his hardest to maintain some composure. He recognizes the boy—it is the same one that was attacked and killed in Pine Hallow. He remembers from pictures that this was how the body was found. There is no reason that the child should be here, like this, in this state.
The boy continues to cry, louder this time.
Emma makes a stumbling dash out of the room, collapsing in the hallway against the wall. She begins to cry uncontrollably. There is no way that the child should be able to cry, not in that condition. Everything was out of place, exposed. So much dried blood, none of it ma
de any sense. It was maddening. She reached down to her toes, pointing them upward and pulling hard against them as she began to rock gently back and forth. She was trying desperately to regain some form of stability.
The boy lets out a single, sharp cry , and it goes on for what seems like minutes.
Jack, his back against the wall, stares unbelievingly at the view before him. In the dim light, fogged by mist, he can make out the child’s heart, detached and unbeating. The mess—not a child, but more accurately a jumble of leftover parts and missing pieces—should not be able to cry. Jack inches his way over to the flashlight on the ground, keeping his eyes fixed on the child, who once again lets out an agonizing cry, its mouth contorted in an odd and impossible angle—almost as though it is being controlled like a puppet on strings.
The sound is so loud that Emma, trembling, covers her ears as she continues to rock back and forth against the cold floor of the hospital hallway. Unattended streams of tears are falling from her eyes, soaking her elbows and continuing on their journey to the floor.
Jack retrieves the flashlight, shining it on the child once more and backing slowly out of the room. He reaches a hand down to Emma, who is in an obvious state of severe anxiety. Another cry comes from the room, this time sounding almost otherworldly, like the cry of some kind of dying animal.
Window in the Earth Trilogy Page 31
