“Please! Just…,” Emma sobs, “…make it stop!”
Jack nods silently, pausing for a moment as he places a hand against the wall to steady his nerves. Another cry comes from the room, and Emma lets out a short scream that only intensifies her crying fit.
“Just wait here for a moment,” he says calmly as he places a hand on her shoulder. “Everything is going to be fine. Just block out the noise. I know it’s hard. Focus on something else if you can. I’ll be right back.”
Emma looks up to Jack, and nods, biting the bottom of her lip.
Jack walks back into the room, his flashlight trained on the remains of the child on the bed. He reaches to his side and pulls his handgun from his holster. Holding the flashlight beneath the gun’s stock, he steadies his aim.
The child lets out another piercing cry.
“I am sorry…,” Jack whispers, offering some form of penance, before he trains his aim upon the head of the child. Part of him wants to close his eyes as he squeezes slowly on the trigger, but he refuses himself the comfort. With a deafening bang, a single round discharges into the child’s head. He releases his breath, and waits, his gun still aimed ahead. The child is quiet. The emergency light in the room flickers for a bit and then goes out completely. The room feels quiet once more, feels more normal—if there could be a normal here in this place.
“I am sorry,” he repeats as he forces away the wave of emotion that threatens to overcome him. His business done, he strides back into the hallway.
“Is it over?” Emma asks, finally regaining some sense of self and sanity.
“It is,” he calmly replies as he extends a hand down to her.
Emma accepts the hand, allowing herself to be brought back up to her feet. She fights a strong urge to take another pill, despite the fact that it has only been an hour or so since her last one. After all, by her last check she only has about fourteen or so left, and she will need them. “Thank you,” she adds as she wipes away the last of the tears that have escaped her blue eyes. Her thanks must seem like a small consolation, after what Jack has just been forced to do.
“It had to be done, I believe,” he replies, although he sounds unsure once again. “I just… I guess leaving him in that state would be the real inhumane thing. I just don’t understand any of this.”
Emma hugs Jack, feeling that no words are right at that moment.
“I just don’t know what is going on….” Jack’s voice finally cracks, and his voice betrays his emotions and he begins to cry. “This, what is this place? I mean, what kind of purpose does something like that serve? Life is supposed to be about what is right and wrong, and I don’t know what I just did. I don’t know what is right….”
“I know,” Emma replies, attempting to sound somewhat comforting, “I couldn’t have done it. It was the right thing to do and never in a million years would I have been able. I would have run and hid in some corner. You did something good, you ended that pain.”
“I just don’t understand why that had to happen,” he says as he lets his eyes wander back to the room, which thankfully remains quiet. “Thank you for your words, Emma; they are worth more to me than you know.”
“We should move on,” she says as Jack hands her back the flashlight, “Right?”
“Yes,” he answers simply, finding his confidence once more. His voice is direct again, and sure. “What do you want to do? I figure we got two options here: we can check more rooms, or we can see how far down the stairs we can make it.”
“I don’t want to run into anything like that,” she says as she looks away to the silent room. Neither choice sounds great at this moment in time. However, staying and finding a hiding spot, somewhere quiet, somewhere safe—that was not defined as an option. “Not ever again—I’m scared. Honestly, I can’t decide.”
“I’m with you on that idea,” Jack says, “I don’t think my heart could take another shock like that. Still, there is no promise that something worse isn’t waiting for us down below.”
“The stairs,” Emma decides. “Let’s just find some way to get out of here. “
The two walk silently, yet swiftly, making their way back to the familiar red glow of the exit sign above the door to the staircase. Jack pauses for a moment and, instinctively, peeks through the small glass window. It looks clear. He pushes the door open, and they leave the sixth floor. They begin their descent, this time more swiftly than before, their caution and deliberate movements tossed aside in favor of haste.
They reach the door to the third floor and, for the first time, their feet hit water. It is only ankle-deep here, but going any farther down would be impossible. The emergency lights along the wall and stairs are submerged, and the glow dances on the surface of the water, casting brilliant glimmers of light against the white bricked stairway wall. If not for the unfortunate circumstances, it would be something that Emma would find artistically beautiful. Jack pauses again at the door, peeking through into the familiar red glow of the hallway.
“It’s flooded in there, but looks about the same level as what we got going on in here,” he says as he readies his hand against the door. “You feel all right?”
Emma nods, however, hiding the truth that she feels as far from all right as the earth is from the sky.
As they enter the hallway, the floor lights casting the same beautiful glow as that of a light in a swimming pool, the door shuts behind them. Jack leads the way once more, each step sloshing in the water, causing an upsurge of radiant bubbles with his every step. The water beneath their feet is cold; it sends shivers down Emma’s body. After all, she is dressed in only a hospital gown and a pair of socks.
“Can you swim?” Jack asks.
“I can,” she replies, although the thought of doing so under these conditions drives a spike of panic even further into her head. “What are you thinking?”
“We find something that we can use to float, and we try and make it out one of the windows,” he responds. Even to him it does not sound like a great plan, however given the options it seems like the only plan. “Then we go from there, I suppose.”
As they pass by room 306 on the third floor, Emma shines the flashlight into the room—for a moment she thinks that she sees a silhouette of a boy standing at the empty hospital bed, and she lets out a short gasp.
“What is it?” Jack exclaims as he looks into the room, seeing nothing but an empty bed and a wheelchair beside it.
“Sorry,” Emma says as she rubs her eyes, and then brushes her hair away from her face. “I thought I saw someone—just for a moment, though. It probably wasn’t real.”
She then turns back to the hallway before her, and, for a second, something else catches her eye. A dark mist and swirling smoke, something like she had seen in the child’s room—once again her heart begins to beat faster and faster.
“What the hell is that,” Jack calmly says as he pushes Emma behind him and reaches for his gun.
In the darkness before them, where the emergency lights once shone, a pair of blue eyes is tracking them a short distance away. A low, rumbling growl is heard echoing through the hallway. Emma points her light toward the sound: a single wolf stands at the other end of the hall, its teeth bared, its body black and swirling, like the black smoke of the rubber of a tire fire. The wolf starts to advance, cautiously though, its growl growing louder.
Jack aims his gun and, without hesitation, fires a single shot toward the wolf, but it seems to pass right through the creature, impacting into the wall behind it. Jack fires a second shot with similar results, the bullet striking water and causing a ripple that washes up high against their legs.
“What the fuck,” Jack mouths as he turns to Emma, and then pushes her into the closest room. He follows closely, slamming the door behind them and leaning against it as he hastily scans the room. “The chair…”
Emma is already on it; she grabs the wheelchair and braces it against the door, and then reaches down and locks the wheels firmly in place.
Jack eases his weight off of the door and runs as best as he can into the flooded room, sliding a bit and almost falling. He grasps the corner of a dresser and begins to pull it toward the door. With Emma’s help he shoves it next to the wheelchair and against the adjacent the wall.
A scratching noise can be heard at the door, followed by a short whine.
Jack continues to fortify the door, placing an end table with a lamp on the other side for added weight. He stacks a visitor’s chair on top of the table, causing the lamp to come crashing down and break against the side of the table. After the chair, there is no usable furniture left in the room, save for the bed.
The scratching noise comes again; the door does not budge nor give any indication that it intends to.
“What the hell is going on?” Jack says, pacing back and forth in the water, searching for some kind of solution.
Emma has gone into a state of panic once more. She sits on the bed shaking her head. Finally giving in, she reaches into her breast pocket and forcibly pops open her clonazepam. She chews the pill whole, swallowing hard, her throat still sore and now dry as well.
The clawing on the door intensifies, followed by a loud thump. For a moment, everything stacked against the door shudders a bit under the new pressure.
“Emma!” Jack shouts as he makes his way to the window at the far side of the room. He unlatches the lock, pushing the window open to the left, exposing the screen. A gust of wind that smells of the sea blows in, scattering about the pages of a magazine on the bed beside Emma.
She looks to Jack, still dazed. A look of complete and infinite sadness comes over her face. Her lips are pressed together tightly, her eyes, motionless and empty, and more tears come down.
“Emma, I need your help here,” he continues as he places his hands against her shoulders. “Come back to me. I know things are really confusing right now; I know how it must feel. Still, I need you to pull it together, get it under control.”
“Are we in hell?” she manages as she buries her face in her palms and lets out a frustrated scream.
“We aren’t in hell,” Jack says reassuringly, “Now, please, just… just trust me.”
An intense banging comes from the door, as though someone is beating it as hard as they can with their fists. Emma is startled to her feet.
“Just leave us the fuck alone!” she screams in frustration, her fists balled up at her sides.
“Come on, Emma,” Jack continues, “we have to get out of here. Help me with this mattress; it should float.” I hope, Jack adds to himself.
Jack kicks at the screen—it takes a few tries, but finally enough room has been cleared. With Emma’s help, he lifts the top mattress from the hospital bed and tosses it out the window. It falls a short distance before a distinctive splash is heard below. To his relief, he can see it floating about four feet below the window.
Jack helps Emma up onto the window sill. Standing on the radiator, he lowers Emma down onto the makeshift raft. It supports her weight and continues to stay afloat. Just as Jack is about to lower himself down, the door to the room blows open. By this point, he has done the math in his head, and there is no way that the mattress would support his weight as well. He aims his gun toward the door, firing off two shots in rapid succession, spending the rest of his ammunition.
“Emma!” he shouts, “Emma go!”
“Please!” Emma screams, “Please don’t leave me alone!”
Jack jumps down from the radiator onto the flooded floor of the hospital room. The wolf closes in on him, and for a second the form of the wolf appears as a man, and then alternates back, almost like the flickering of a television set. He lowers the gun and then drops it to the floor.
“I know you,” Jack says quietly, calmly as he stands face-to-face with the shadow form. All at once it is a man once again, almost as though it is struggling to hold itself into a specific shape. The form reaches out with a billowing hand and grabs Jack by his face, squeezing with great pressure.
Emma hears Jack scream out in agony, and then all is silent once more. She has floated a fair distance away, kicking her feet against the water as she holds on to the mattress. Tears are streaming down from eyes as she feels even more helpless. Worst of all, she is now alone.
Jack Awakens
“Respect me…,” a voice whispers in Jack’s head. “Find me.”
Jack Wolfe struggles to open his eyes. He feels as though he is asleep but his senses and mind are aware and awake. He can sense his breathing—it is slow, and it feels as though he is not drawing in enough air. The smell of his surroundings is offensive: it’s that smell from earlier, of burnt wood mixed in with the smell of mold that fills his nostrils with a noxious odor. His back feels wet, uncomfortably warm and slightly greasy. His hands are bound; he tries to move them but finds that he cannot make any progress. His shoes are missing. He can feel his feet against the wet floor; the same disgusting feeling of a warm liquid is slathered against his feet as well, something like the consistency of motor oil.
He tries with all of his strength to free himself from his dreamlike state: he imagines himself gathering up all the energy he can, and releases it outward. His mind snaps awake and, for a moment, he can make out his surroundings, yet they are mere snapshots. He recognizes the basement of his house, although it is much fouler. His eyes begin to flutter and then shut once more. He gathers up more of his strength, attempting to wake himself up completely. He finally jolts awake, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest.
He lets out a series of coughs. His throat is dry and parched. The basement is humid and uncomfortably warm, and mixed in with that smell it makes Jack feel severely ill. He scans the area, letting his eyes adjust to the bright yellow lights that hang down from the ceiling. He notices on the bulb above him that there are tiny dark stains of blood. The more he looks around, the more he realizes that blood is everywhere. He repositions himself so his back is against the uncomfortable brick wall, his hands still bound behind him in what feels like a length of rope. His feet are bound in barbed wire; tiny cuts appear above his ankles and dried-black blood covers his feet in tiny circles.
A short distance away, he can make out something hanging from the ceiling: it appears to be the form of an old woman. Her stomach is cut wide open and entrails are dangling out beneath her like Christmas garland. Her breasts are exposed and visibly covered in claw marks, and her left nipple appears as though it has been bitten off completely. Other forms are hanging about the area—different animals: wolves, squirrels, and rabbits—all seem to have received the same treatment in some form.
Jack stares in horror, his heart feeling as though it might explode from his chest and add to the terrible display that has been laid out before him. On the workbench nearest Jack, a wolf carcass lies stretched upon the table, its skull cracked open and wires running from a car battery to its exposed brain. The wolf’s tongue hangs limply from its mouth and a crusty ribbon of blood leads out from it, as though as its last living act was to have vomited a stream of it. Next to all of this, on the table, Jack spots a kitchen knife. If he can make it to the knife, he thinks, perhaps he can cut himself free.
His panicked mind is running a million miles an hour. He struggles to get to his feet, but only ends up cutting his ankles more. If he wants to have any chance of rising, he’ll have to keep his feet together as best he can. Looking down, he notices a typed note beside him; it bears his father’s name and is also stained in blood. Jack strains to look down and read the note:
All So Many Pretty Birds
By Landon Wolfe
I was a rabbit in a dream I had once. I dreamt I was being washed away in a stream. All the birds were there with their vacant stares. My grandfather had his dick in a box of ice cream. I remember asking, if not once, then twice. If it is not very warm, then does it at least feel nice?
If not very nice, then why, why do all the pretty birds fly?
Jack stares at the paper in confusion. He is fam
iliar with his father’s stories, having either read most of them or been told them at some point in his life. This, however, was not his father’s style at all. It seemed to be the words of a madman, pointless nonsense. Then again, surrounded by all this madness, this mess of blood and death, he wonders why he expected it to make any sense at all.
Jack keeps his feet firmly together and, gaining leverage from the wall, he kicks as hard as he can against the floor and manages to get himself up to his feet with only minor cuts and scrapes to his ankles. He hops over to the knife, horrified at the face of the wolf, the open eyes and blood-matted fur. He turns as best he can, fumbling around on the table and finding the blade first. He walks his fingers down to the handle and, with one hand, begins to cut away at the rope. In moments he is free, his escape seeming to go much easier than he had foreseen. His hands now free, Jack reaches down and unwinds the barbed wire from around his ankles. Little streaks of blood flow down onto the floor, adding to the palette of blacks and reds.
“What the hell happened down here?” he asks himself as the full scope of the carnage becomes in full view before him. There are body parts strewn about carelessly, some of them human, some animal. Such little care has been taken that Jack can hardly distinguish between what belongs to what. Jack carefully makes his way to the door, dodging both the dangling ceiling lights above and the guts and parts of creatures below. Along the shelves that used to contain ordinary things like boxes filled with holiday decorations or old pictures there are now jars of different animal parts, stored in what looks like plain water. Most of these jars are either open or molding, as though no care was taken to actually preserve their contents. Jack nervously eyes half of a frog in an open jar that smells strongly of urine as he passes it by. What terrifies Jack the most is that there seems to be no purpose at all to any of this.
Window in the Earth Trilogy Page 32
