Deranged Souls

by Ron Ripley

  “Speaking of experiments, sir,” David said. “What do we do about Subject B and Timmy?”

  “How is Timmy?” Abel asked, spitting out the name.

  “He doesn’t look well, sir,” David said.

  “I would have to agree, sir,” Armand said. “He seems to move very little. He may die of his own accord sooner rather than later.”

  “Shame,” Abel said, grinning. “Now, Marcus, we will leave him where he is. He has discovered the house, and more than likely he has discovered his friend. We will continue to supply food and essentials while she remains. When she is done, so, too, is dear Subject B. I have gathered a significant amount of information on him. More than enough to write my paper and finish it neatly. I will be focused on Meredith for the time being. David, I expect you to see that Marcus remains unharmed. At least until the time comes.”

  “And Timmy, sir?” David asked.

  “Make no efforts to save him,” Abel said. “But I don’t want him executed out of hand. When Meredith returns, I must be able to say with a clear conscience that I had no direct involvement in his death.”

  “Excellent, sir,” David said, standing up. Armand followed suit, and the two men hesitated a moment in front of the desk.

  “Go, go,” Abel said, making a shooing motion. “Thank you, gentlemen. I must get to the business of bringing back my dear Meredith.”

  The two men exited the room, and Abel picked up Meredith’s tooth as the door closed behind them. Smiling, he rolled it between his fingers and turned to his computer.

  ***

  “He’s insane,” Armand said.

  David looked at the man, wanting to argue with him and knowing he could not.

  “Yes,” David said finally. “We came to that conclusion ourselves.”

  “You and Nurse Schomp?” Armand asked.

  “Yes,” David said, nodding. He hated speaking the truth. “We are attempting to find a medication we can give him, to bring him down, to help him be rational once more.”

  “I wish you the best of luck with your effort,” Armand said. There was genuine sincerity in the man’s voice. “I will take care of the Village if you wish to focus on finding a cure.”

  “Thank you,” David said. He sighed and shook his head. “I doubt there is one. We can only hope to slow the madness down. Where are you going now?”

  “The man who was killed, Miguel, his brother is here with us,” Armand said, his expression growing dark. “I must now go and tell Guillermo that he will not be able to collect his brother’s corpse from the Village.”

  “Well, luck to us both then,” David said.

  “To us both,” Armand replied, and the two men went their separate ways.

  Chapter 6: Research

  Erica Schomp walked into the study unannounced and wasn’t surprised to find the professor draped across his desk, asleep. He had removed his watch and left it on the leather blotter, an act which frustrated her endlessly. She felt the urge to push on the site of his still healing amputation and smiled at the idea.

  Erica walked to the desk, paused, then kicked it violently.

  Abel jerked up, his eyes darting about wildly, his face red where it had pressed against the desk.

  He blinked several times, then he focused on her.

  “Nurse Schomp,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his uninjured hand. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said without any real apology in her tone. “I’ve come to give you your antibiotics and to inspect your wound.”

  “It’s fine,” he said dismissively. “I should be quite all right.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” she said. Before he could move, she reached forward, snatched his wrist in her hand and jerked it up unpleasantly. He snarled at her, but she ignored him. She twisted his arm first to the left, then to the right, finally nodding. “It’s healing quite well, thankfully.”

  She let go of him and dug the medication out of her pocket. He looked at her greedily for a heartbeat.

  “You don’t have any morphine, do you?” he asked softly.

  “Ask again,” she said, shaking two tablets out of the bottle, “and I will personally put a catheter in.”

  Professor Worthe flinched and squirmed away from her in his seat. She put the tablets on the desk and motioned for him to take them. With his eyes on her, the professor did so. He put them in his mouth, picked up a half-full glass of water, and washed them down.

  “What have you been up to in here?” she asked, knowing full well what he was doing.

  “Some research.”

  She glanced around his desk, saw the vile, cracked molar of the dead Medium, and said, “Doesn’t have anything to do with that, does it?”

  He bristled. “If you mean Meredith, then yes, it certainly does. I will have you know, Nurse Schomp, that I am quite close to finding a way to bring her back to me.”

  “She’s dead,” Erica said coldly. “Dead. Dead. Dead. There’s no coming back for her, Abel. None whatsoever. Deal with it.”

  His face reddened, and he shook his head violently. “Shut up.”

  “Dead,” Erica snapped.

  “Shut up!” Abel screamed, getting to his feet and kicking his chair back. “She is not dead! She loves me, and she will be back! I know it! I can feel it!”

  Erica slipped her right hand into her pocket, wrapping her fingers around the sedative-filled hypodermic. “You need to come to grips with her death.”

  “I have,” he spat, sitting back down. “You need to understand she will return to me.”

  “No one,” Erica said coldly, “is coming back to you. She did not love you. If she knew what you were doing, she would spurn you, Abel.”

  His eyes widened, and his face paled in horror.

  “You take that back,” he whispered. “Abel doesn’t like to hear that.”

  Erica blinked. “Who doesn’t?”

  “Abel,” the professor said again, his eyes darting around fearfully. “He hates things like that. Don’t you know that?”

  Erica licked her lips and asked in a soft voice, “Who are you?”

  “I’m Abe,” the professor said. “He doesn’t like it when I talk. But, you know, he’s really, really angry right now. You should hear him yelling. It’s bad. So, you gotta stop, okay?”

  “What’s going to happen if I don’t?” Erica asked, fascinated with the conversation.

  “I don’t know,” the professor whispered. “I have to go. He’s calming down.”

  Abel shook his head, anger bright in his eyes. “I’ll have no more talk like that, Nurse Schomp, do you understand me?”

  She laughed. “I’ll say whatever I want, Abel, and you’ll take it. Drink more water, or you’ll get sick. I’ll have food sent up. If you don’t eat it, I’ll intubate you and feed you that way.”

  Erica turned and left the room, Abel sputtering with impotent rage behind her.

  Does David know about Abe? she wondered. Does anyone?

  Closing the door behind her, Erica decided it was time to go deeper into the professor’s medical history. I need to read more, she thought. Was he hospitalized before? Is this something we should be concerned about? I need to speak to David.

  Chapter 7: Fears

  Marcus hadn’t slept well. The strange, prophetic statement Alex had made on his return kept playing in his mind. Marcus shook his head, splashed water on his face, and examined his haggard features in the mirror.

  Tired and worn, he thought, grimacing at the dark circles beneath his eyes. If I keep this up much longer, I won’t have to worry about Worthe killing me. My heart will do me in.

  The sound of voices in the kitchen caught his attention, and he hastened out of the bathroom. When he entered the kitchen, he found Alex seated at the table, a mug of hot chocolate in his hand. Elaine stood on his left, and in front of him, near the door, stood a pair of Huron Indians. Marcus recognized one of the dead men as Philip, an Indian with whom Alex had frequent co
nversations.

  Alex said something in the Hurons’ native tongue, and the men laughed happily, replying, and then exiting the house.

  He’s like a king, Marcus realized. This is his court, and the dead are his subjects. What will happen when we escape from this place?

  Marcus held back a bitter scoff. How do I know we will escape? If we do, will it be all of us?

  He couldn’t allow those thoughts to continue. His nightmares centered around Alex, about failing the boy in a time of need.

  “Marcus?” Alex asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Hello,” Marcus said, forcing a smile. Both Elaine and the boy looked at him with concern. “I’m fine. Quite fine. Merely distracted this morning. I did not sleep particularly well.”

  “I’m sorry,” Alex said. He sipped from his hot chocolate as Marcus limped into the kitchen and made himself a pot of coffee. “Is Timmy still asleep?”

  “He is,” Marcus replied, turning around and leaning against the counter. “He is still healing.”

  A look of doubt flashed through Alex’s eyes, but he didn’t argue with Marcus’ statement.

  “Why was Philip here?” Marcus asked.

  “One of the new guards was killed,” Alex answered.

  “How?” Marcus asked, an uncomfortable, frightened feeling creeping up over him.

  “Gwen,” Alex said. “She killed him.”

  “How?” Marcus’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  Alex smiled at him. “It’s okay, Marcus. She only killed one of the bad guys.”

  The statement pained Marcus. He is too young to be this callous.

  “Yes,” Marcus said. The boy has known nothing but death and pain. Death holds no surprises, and at times, it is not even final. “Do you know how she killed him?”

  “Yup,” Alex said, finishing his hot chocolate. “Philip said she convinced him to take his helmet off, then she stuck her hand in his head. I think she scrambled his brain. I’m not sure. But, he’s dead.”

  “Yes,” Marcus agreed. “Generally, when one’s brains are scrambled, death is the result.”

  “Do you think Joyce will be back soon?” Alex asked.

  “I hope so,” Marcus said. I hope she made it.

  “Me too,” Alex said. “I hope she didn’t die. If she died, do you think she would come back and let us know?”

  Marcus could only shrug.

  “You should take a nap today,” Alex said cheerfully, getting up from the table. “I think the guards are going to be really busy. Philip told me he was bored.”

  The boy waved goodbye as he and Elaine left the room. Marcus remained where he was, listening to the water start to boil in the coffee pot.

  What have we become here? he wondered. Timmy lies dying in the other room. Alex reigns over the dead. Here I stand, mourning the loss of a friend murdered decades ago and returned to me. Returned and madder than the proverbial March Hare.

  An angry, slow hate built up, and he clenched his hands into fists.

  Abel Worthe, Marcus thought. I hate you.

  I hate you.

  Chapter 8: Struggles

  Armand sat with Pierre and Guillermo in the mess hall.

  “I think this is ridiculous and unacceptable,” Armand said. “We should control the damned place. Not these farcical ghosts.”

  Pierre remained silent, but Guillermo nodded his agreement.

  “I want to get my brother’s body,” Guillermo said tightly, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen. “The only way to do so is to take back the Village.”

  “How do we do such a thing?” Pierre asked, sipping his coffee. The Frenchman was slight, almost effeminate. Armand, however, had never seen a better man with a knife. “The dead are not like our normal, shall we say, living opponents. We cannot kill them. They are already dead. Yes, we can shoot them. As we have seen, they return within moments. I do not think, Armand, that we have enough troops to carry out the task of seizing the Village and retaining control of it.”

  Guillermo muttered under his breath, and Armand was fairly certain it was nothing pleasant.

  Pierre ignored him.

  “What I am saying is this,” Pierre continued. “We need to decide what is necessary and what is not. My vote, if we are voting, is to maintain operational control beyond the perimeter of the Village. Finish the installation of the secondary fence, increase patrols, and be certain to find the body of the missing subject. I suspect her showing up alive at a police station could be quite embarrassing for Professor Worthe.”

  “I don’t think embarrassing is enough of a description in this case,” Armand said wryly. “Unfortunately, I must agree with Guillermo.”

  Armand felt both men look at him with surprise.

  “Yes,” Armand said sighing. “We need to take the Village back. I believed that prior to our failed assault, and I still believe it now. Not only do we need to do so from a tactical perspective, but from a moral one as well. We need to be able to claim our dead, Pierre. If only to send them on their way as the Vikings did of old.”

  “Till Valhalla,” Pierre grumbled.

  “What?” Guillermo asked.

  “It is a phrase used by our American friends,” Pierre said, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. “They fight much as the Vikings did. Some of the younger American military members believe they will go to Valhalla, escorted by the Valkyrie, should they die a glorious death in battle.”

  “You’re kidding,” Guillermo said with disbelief.

  “No,” Armand said. “He is not. I have met several Americans who wear an image of Thor’s hammer around their neck, much like others wear crosses.”

  “How strange,” Guillermo said softly.

  “Is it?” Pierre asked. “We all cling to that which makes us feel safe.”

  “We are fairly off-topic, gentlemen,” Armand said. “Back to the challenge before us. I want a variety of options for gaining the Village back.”

  “All at once or piecemeal?” Pierre asked.

  “Both,” Armand answered. “Thus, the request for a variety of options.”

  “When?” Guillermo asked.

  “As soon as possible,” Armand answered tightly.

  Guillermo nodded, stood up, and left the table. Pierre continued to smoke quietly, and Armand waited for the man to finish his cigarette.

  When he did so, Pierre stubbed out the cigarette on the table, looked at Armand, and said, “This is a fool’s errand, Armand.”

  Armand frowned. Few of his men could speak so freely with him, and while Pierre was one of them, it never ceased to irk him when he had already set his mind on a task.

  “How so?” Armand demanded.

  “We will not be able to take the Village back as a whole,” Pierre said. “Nor will we be able to do it piecemeal. The dead are too strong. We must focus on what we were brought in to do, keep the dead and the subjects in. No one else must be allowed to escape. If we go beyond this, my friend, I am afraid our casualties will only increase.”

  Armand nodded. “Yes, I know. But we have to take the Village back. It simply must be done.”

  Pierre shrugged and stood up. “As you wish, Armand. But ask yourself this, my friend. Is it a tactical necessity, or are you angry that we have been beaten?”

  Without waiting for a response, Pierre left the room, leaving Armand alone at the table. The question was a bitter one which he often asked himself. He knew what the brutal answer was.

  I don’t like to lose. Hell, I hate to lose, Armand thought, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee. If I didn’t, I never would have made it in the Legion. Or anywhere else for that matter. Regardless, this can be done. Pierre worries too much, I am afraid.

  Armand raised his cup and thought with a wry smile, To the glorious dead. Till Valhalla.

  Still smiling, he drank his coffee and thought of how best to breach the Village’s wall.

  Chapter 9: Falling Out

  Kevin Artes swore and limped along. Anthony and Guillermo were alre
ady twenty feet ahead of him. The two men paused and glanced back.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Anthony asked.

  “Damned knee,” Kevin replied. “The pace is killing me.”

  “What the hell happened to your knee?” Guillermo asked.

  “I fell,” Kevin replied bitterly. “You see, I was trying to get into the Village the other night.”

  “When your brother went in,” Anthony explained. “We wanted to go in for him, but they wouldn’t let us.”

  Guillermo shook his head but remained silent.

  “Anyway,” Kevin continued. “They jerked me back, and I fell. Landed hard. Tweaked the absolute hell out of my knee.”

  “You should have let someone else take your spot,” Guillermo said.

  Kevin shook his head. “Nope. No way, no how. Not how I roll, you know that.”

  Guillermo hesitated and said, “I’ll call an evac for you.”

  “No,” Kevin said, not bothering to hide the disgust in his voice. “I’m not falling out.”

  “No,” Guillermo said. “You’ve already fallen out. Take the ride, Kevin. I appreciate you trying to go in after Miguel for me.”

  Clenching his teeth, Kevin said, “Guillermo, I can make this.”

  “You can’t,” Guillermo replied. “Anthony and I will wait until you’re picked up.”

  “No,” Kevin said, shaking his head. “It’s bad enough I have to ride back. No way I’m slowing up the patrol.”

  “Kevin,” Anthony said.

  “Stop,” Kevin said. “Just stop. Listen, I know what to do. I’ll wait for them.”

  “Not here,” Guillermo said. “Not out in the open like this.”

  “Where then?” Kevin snapped.

  “Back at where my brother was killed,” Guillermo said tightly. “There’s already a path in the snow from the site eval this morning. Shouldn’t be difficult for them to get you.”