He was sitting on the floor of her room now, a copy of ‘A Very Hungry Caterpillar’ snuggled in his lap. The contents of this one were new to him. Brenda was beginning to enter uncharted territory. She had mentioned something about children trapped in a school, their flesh burning until it became crisp and blackened. The newspaper article Hunter had found in Bowes’ office—the article the head doctor kept hidden in a ratty old scrapbook—was the first thing that had come to mind. There, Bowes had set two clippings side by side. One where Brenda had lost her job at Collingwood Elementary and the subsequent fire which had left five children dead.
In Hunter’s mind there wasn’t any question about whether Brenda had been the one to set the fire. Although on a professional level, his main interest lay in understanding how she could have justified such a savage act. The further he read, the more confident Hunter grew that he was about to hit pay dirt. He flipped the page; the words he saw scrawled along the margin of that page made the skin around his scrotum tighten painfully.
Unplug me.
His head snapped in Brenda’s direction, not entirely sure for a panicked moment whether he’d find her in bed or on the ground, slithering toward him. He had to focus for a moment before his brain registered that she was exactly where she should be.
Hunter went back to the children’s book and turned the page.
Unplug me, Dr. Hunter.
Hunter flung the book across the room as if it were a hissing snake. Heard the pages fluttering wildly before it hit the wall and fell limp onto the floor.
He speared the crumpled book with his eyes, half expecting it to get up and lung at him.
Sudden movement in his peripheral vision. He looked over and gasped.
From here it looked like Brenda’s eyes were open and glaring at him. He felt a thought pop into his head and knew it wasn’t his own.
UNPLUG ME, YOU FUCK!
“No!” he screamed. “You’ll die. I swore an oath never to do harm… I swore an oath…no, there’s nothing I can do.”
He was staggering into his car when the full weight of it finally hit him. He would never let anything happen to Brenda. Not because of some archaic oath he had sworn—an oath he had already managed to break at least once. No, that was just an excuse and he knew it. Brenda was fishing around inside his head and he knew he was powerless to make her leave. But Hunter had no intention of obeying Brenda’s order because he couldn’t stand the thought of living without her.
Chapter 25
Tyson came awake with a start. He’d been dreaming. He remembered sliding onto the sofa just after nine. The intention was to wash down a half dozen caffeine pills with an espresso chaser. That would surely have kept him hip hopping until morning. He glanced down. In his right hand was an empty mug. His lap was brown and sticky. From here it looked like a Chihuahua with a bad case of the runs had been sitting on his knee and Tyson knew from the smell that he had probably never managed to get the espresso past his lips before his eyes had sealed shut. The clock on the wall read quarter past nine.
Tyson breathed a sigh of relief.
Fifteen minutes, he thought. I couldn’t have been out for more than fifteen minutes. Surely even that wasn’t long enough for anything to…
The tapping sound drew his attention toward the balcony. A fly the size of his pinky nail was bouncing off the sliding glass door. It was trying to get outside. The breath hitched in Tyson’s throat and he stood trying not to think about where that fly might have come from. He hadn’t taken more than two steps when he felt something crunch between his toes and the sensation was like walking on spilled cornflakes. He glanced down. On the floor were thousands of dead flies.
His mind was whirling with images from Skip’s cottage and the ceiling of the master bedroom, a black swarming mass. Something from the other side had crossed over that night. From his very first dose of Noxil, whatever mechanism normal people employed to keep their waking and dreaming worlds in check, had broken in him.
And wasn’t it the morning after he left Skip’s cottage that Stevens had been found dead? Tyson felt his insides twisting violently into painful knots.
His lungs were beginning to tighten up on him. He lifted himself up off the couch and headed for the kitchen and the pot of coffee he hoped was still warm. Next to that were the remnants of his caffeine pills.
A little shot of adrenaline, he told himself. That’s all he needed. Just to smooth out the edges so he could think straight and figure out what to do next. It was only when he was half way there and more than a touch groggy, that he found himself hugging the wall and avoiding the center of the living room.
Good boys always listen to their mothers.
He couldn’t remember how her young face must have looked to him as a child, but that queasy feeling that bit deep down in his gut every time he did something wrong had never gone entirely away.
That was a long time ago, he told himself. You’re an adult now, have been for a long time. Hell, you practically raised yourself. You aren’t bound by those rules anymore.
He was in the kitchen now, about to tip back his coffee when the brown shape under the table caught his eye. He squinted. His tired mind kept trying to form it into an overnight bag, but that was impossible because the sides were dark and slick with some kind of ooze. The top had been peeled back and folded over into three even flaps, like the ends of a rotting banana. As though something inside had pushed its way out. He touched one of the slime covered flaps and retracted his hand almost at once. The word cocoon kept popping into his head and each time he tried to brush it away. Except each time he wondered what the hell he was seeing, that word kept getting brighter and brighter.
By the end it was blazing across his mind’s eye in blinding neon flashes.
Cocoon.
But a cocoon for what?
The sound of scratching was soft at first. Barely audible above the ambient din in the room. Then it grew louder and Tyson couldn’t deny what he was hearing. It was definitely coming from the short hallway that led to the front door. A set of claws scraping at wood, that’s what it sounded like. Then he became aware of the trail. Blood mixed with snot and it snaked out from the cocoon, through the dinning room and around the corner to the front door of his apartment.
…on the quietest nights, if you hold your breath, you might just hear his nails scrapping against the door…
Tyson scanned the kitchen, fear bubbling up through his pores. He was searching frantically for a weapon. Beside the stove sat his John Lewis knife block. Inside were six knives.
Cleaver for chopping or the Sashimi?
Sashimi in hand, Tyson crept out of the kitchen and past the dining room table where only yesterday Judy had saved his life. He pressed his back up against the flimsy Gyprock wall that separated the dinning room from the hallway.
There he waited to hear the scratching again, unable to build up the nerve to see what was making that sound. Seconds felt like hours. His heart was pounding inside his chest and he could feel his breath as it quavered in and out of him.
Scrape scrape scrape
There it was.
Definitely at the front door, and the closer he listened the more it sounded like a dog scratching to be let out for a piss. Except this dog didn’t want to piss, did it? No, whatever monstrosity had slithered out from that cocoon in his kitchen wasn’t interested in pissing at all. It wanted to kill.
Tyson peeked quickly around the corner and then retreated back behind the wall.
Holy fuck.
In all honesty, he had half expected to glance around and find empty space. How many late nights had he stalked through his apartment after hearing a strange noise, knife in hand, yanking back shower curtains, looking for deranged serial killers and calling out:
I’ve got a big ass knife, motherfucker, and I know how to use it. Boy did you fuck with the wrong guy this time.
Oh, there was something there all right and it was hairless and dark brown and lying at his f
ront door scratching to get out. But that wasn’t an animal, was it? Although his rapid-fire glance had lasted barely a nanosecond, he had seen enough of it to know that it was human, at least part of it was.
But why was it on the ground? he wondered skittishly. And then it dawned on him. He couldn’t remember seeing any legs. He was getting ready for another look when the scratching stopped. This time he waited nearly a full agonizing minute before he had the courage to look again. Tyson held his breath and peered around the corner.
Empty.
But both the bathroom door and the hall closet were open. Had they been like that before? Goddamnit, he couldn’t remember.
He stepped into the tiny hallway that faced the front door of his apartment, the business end of the knife leading the way. On his right was the closet, jammed with winter coats and boots and a tangled mass of heavy shadow. Tyson slid the closet door shut with his free hand. Behind him was the bathroom, and unless this thing could walk through solid objects then it must be in the bathroom. Tyson flicked on the light. The fan overhead buzzed loudly, startling him. Since it was too big to be under the sink, the only other place was behind the shower curtain. The drape was dark blue, but right now he would have given his left nut for a nice boring curtain made of clear plastic. Tyson grasped the plastic edge in a tight fist and swung it aside. He yelled as he did so and swung the knife around wildly.
Empty.
That’s impossible.
He turned and the sight before him made his skin crawl. The sliding closet door was open again. Inside, he could see one of his winter coats swaying back and forth. Tyson reached for the door and that’s when it came at him, pulling itself along the floor on two skinny arms. Tyson only had enough time to feel the pressed wood and peeling paint on the bathroom door before the knife was knocked away and the creature was on him. But on him wasn’t exactly right because it was scaling up his clothing, pulling at handfuls of loose fabric as it came at him. In the sheer terror that gripped him, Tyson could see it clearly now for the first time. The creature’s skin was brownish gray. And it looked human. At least, it had the trunk of a human body and with impossibly thin arms. Its eyes bulged out of its sockets and its lips were receded so that the sharpened teeth that filled its mouth were constantly bared. Below the waist, apart from a thick tail, Tyson couldn’t see anything resembling legs. Sure, at a quick glance, it looked human enough, but Tyson knew whatever this was, it had stopped being human long ago.
The creature was still scrambling up Tyson’s shirt when he slid a hand under its chin and curled his fingers around the thin leathery skin of its neck. He wasn’t sure what it intended to do once it finished climbing on top of him—maybe it only wanted to give him a big kiss—but he certainly wasn’t going to stand around to find out.
Tyson cocked his right arm back and let it fly. He was aiming for what resembled a nose. His knuckles landed squarely in the creature’s face and it made a snorting sound. He punched it again and blood began pouring down its face. After the third strike he felt its grip loosen and he laid his free hand, smeared now with a kind of dark cadaverous blood, against its abdomen and used that to throw the thing back into the hallway. It flew through the air, its arms scrambling madly for purchase. It hit the varnished wood floor with a wet thud and went sliding into the closet.
Tyson wasn’t going to wait around to see if he had killed it or not. He sprang for the front door of his apartment, swung it open and charged into the hallway, glancing back over his shoulder briefly as he took off running. That’s when he heard his name being called out, about a second before the collision. Tyson went sprawling onto the ratty hallway carpet, entangled with whoever or whatever he had just crashed into. He scrambled to his feet.
“Judy!”
She was shaking her head. Above her right eyebrow was a thin trail of blood.
“Oh Judy, oh I’m sorry.”
Tyson looked back and gasped. His only thought had been of escape and he saw now that he hadn’t even bothered to close the door to his apartment. The half man half creature was pulling itself into the hallway now, thick streams of dark blood ran from its face. It looked angry.
As Judy rose to her feet, Tyson saw her eyes grow wide. “Is that a dog?” she asked.
But instead of answering, Tyson grabbed her by the arm. RUN!” he shouted.
Tyson burst through the metal door into the stairway with Judy close behind. He was heading for his car in the underground parking garage. Jumping the stairs two and three at a time, Tyson was searching desperately through his pockets for the keys to his car. Above them the stairwell door fired open and slammed against the wall. Even from here he could hear the thing grunting as it dragged itself down the stairs after them. They were going as fast as they could and yet somehow this thing without legs was catching up. He could hear the air being knocked from its lungs as it hurled itself from landing to landing.
Before them now stood the door to the parking garage. It was as Tyson yanked the door open and pulled Judy through that he saw the creature scrambling down that final flight, its arms outstretched reaching for them. He slammed the door in its face, certain that if he didn’t stop soon he would surely drop to the floor with an asthma attack.
• • •
It was 9:30 p.m. and Cindi Jaworski was finishing up her rounds on the eighth floor. A strange tangle of random thoughts had been roaring around in her head for most of six and all of seven, but it was only as she entered through the doors onto the eighth floor that those thoughts had started to become dark and sinister. At first she’d assumed it was from the way Dr. Hunter had rushed past her earlier that evening without so much as a hello. There was an air of excitement in his step and she couldn’t help but wonder, painful as the idea might be, whether he was heading off on a date with some other girl.
But now she knew that wasn’t it at all. She was starting to see flashes pulsing through her brain. Horrible snapshots of something unspeakable grunting as it pulled itself down a set of stairs on its belly. In her mind she could tell that it was after someone and it wanted them very badly.
Now Cindi was approaching room H-16. Brenda Barrett’s room and the images were becoming stronger and she knew without a doubt now why no one wanted to come here after dark. Just about every staff member at Sunnybrook could tell you a story or two about the eighth floor that was sure to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end for a week. And most of them agreed that that funny feeling, like someone knocking around inside your brain, had to be coming from Brenda’s room.
Cindi rose up on her tippy toes to peek through the curved glass portal and that’s when she saw the EKG by Brenda’s bed pinging madly. In fact, all the machines seemed to be going haywire. The sight of it frightened her, but it was this next thing that nearly made her scream: Brenda sitting up in bed, her arms stretched out before her as though she were grasping for something just beyond reach.
Chapter 26
“I want to thank you for coming all this way to meet me,” Ruma said, while sipping at her coffee. Sheets of rain drummed outside the tiny café and for a moment Ruma wondered if she was back in the slums of Calcutta during monsoon season.
“I know when we spoke the last time I didn’t give you the warmest reception…”
“Don’t give it another thought, Mrs. Barrett.”
“I go by Chaudhuri now.”
“Oh yes, that’s right. I forgot.”
Ruma studied the dark circles under Dr. Hunter’s eyes, not entirely sure what to make of them. She was feeling desperate though. Desperate because something had occurred for which she had no logical explanation and she needed to speak with someone. Anyone. There was a time when Tyson would have seemed the logical and definitely the preferred choice. But that was a long time ago and if nothing else, their separation had helped to give her the kind of strength and emotional independence—successful career or not—that she’d always craved.
Sitting here now, however, the rain outside pou
nding the place to hell, she wasn’t quite sure at what price this meeting had come. It was like inviting a Jehovah’s Witness in for a chat because you wanted some company. They’d be more than happy to oblige. But after they filled your head with crap for thirty minutes, you’d begin to wonder how you got yourself into this mess in the first place. Then you’d remember that momentary lapse of judgment you had.
Hunter was regarding her now with a detached, almost clinical expression. “What is it you wanted to talk about?” he asked.
“My son Kavi isn’t prone to making up stories, I just wanted to start by laying that out.”
“I know perfectly well he had nothing to do with Brenda’s—”
“That’s not why I asked you here,” Ruma said. “Frankly, I don’t care about that. I know it sounds cruel, but if he had hit a button and switched off her life support I think the world would be a much better place.”
The change in Hunter’s expression was so startling that Ruma grew quiet for a moment.
“I know you’re a doctor and you probably hate hearing when people say things like that, but she’s brought a lot of misery to my life. Indirect misery, of course, but misery nonetheless. Whatever it was she did to Tyson, and I’m not only talking about what the papers reported that day they found him with the plastic bag… I’m talking about what it must have been like day to day. Tyson’s never been able to move past that trauma. He’s still a scared little boy trapped in a man’s body.”
Hunter fiddled with his coffee cup, spinning it in a slow circle.
“But none of this was why I called you here. Something strange happened when Kavi and I went to see Brenda at Sunnybrook and I haven’t been able to set it straight in my head since then.”
Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Strange?”
“Well, from what I understand, people in a deep coma can’t communicate at all, right?”
“Yes,” Hunter said and even Ruma caught the way he had drawn the word out, as though he knew exactly where this was headed and wasn’t sure he wanted anything to do with it.
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