Robert grimaced through clenched teeth. His eyes were wide, locked on the blade that Dr. Shaw was bringing closer and closer to his bare calf. The tourniquet just below his knee had numbed the lower half of his leg, but the sheer sight of that gleaming scalpel made his heart race. He barely heard the words that the doctor was saying; he was locked up with both fear and trying to make sense of everything.
“You—you promised you would let my friends go,” he managed to whisper. “Do what you want to me—but you have to let them go. They don’t deserve to die here.”
Dr. Shaw chuckled.
“Get the gauze ready, Justine.” Then, to Robert, he said, “You see, that’s the problem with people like you: you don’t know what it means to actually let go—to really be free. To see the—”
A faraway look suddenly passed over Dr. Shaw’s eyes and his scalpel hovered in midair. Robert instantly recognized the expression.
“—the Marrow?” he said softly, finishing the doctor’s sentence for him.
The blissful look on Dr. Shaw’s face became one of shock before transitioning into a grin.
“Oh, you’re a knowledgeable one, aren’t you? I was warned about you…the Goat warned about you.”
Robert swallowed hard. The multiple mentions of the Goat were somehow making it more real. When James Harlop had first threatened that it was coming, he thought it was just the ramblings of a madman on the verge of dying a second time.
But now…
What the hell is the Goat?
For some reason, however, Robert just knew that it had something to do with the rift in the sky…the opening and the screams that echoed over the Marrow.
“What is the…the Goat?” he whispered.
Dr. Shaw shook his head and his expression hardened. Clearly, he too was frightened of the Goat.
“Hold him down, Justine.”
The woman’s hands tightened on his head, locking it in place. Although his arms and feet were bound, it was clear that they didn’t want to risk him biting either of them. Justine’s hands were cool and clammy on his skin, but they felt nothing like James Harlop’s had.
She was alive, he was sure of it. As for Dr. Shaw, however…
“My friends,” Robert whispered.
Dr. Shaw lowered the blade until it was only an inch from his calf.
“I asked you a question, Robert Watts.”
Robert, teeth still clenched, his forehead soaked with sweat beneath Justine’s hands, couldn’t recall what exactly the man had asked. He kept glancing at the door, expecting Cal’s face to fill the window, or Shelly’s.
Pretty Shelly with the foul mouth who had saved him when he was sure that Patricia Harlop was going to lay her hands on him.
But there was no one there—no one was going to rescue him this time. There was only darkness.
If he wanted to get out of there alive, he was going to have to help himself.
“I asked if you have ever felt like there is someone else inside your head? Telling you what to think? What to say?”
Robert thought about this for a moment, about how he hadn’t been acting like himself. He had been quick to anger, as Cal had pointed out. And the whole situation with Jacky…it was so unlike him.
But even when he had been under the grip of the Harlop Estate and the Harlop family, it had still been him performing those actions.
Dr. Shaw grew impatient and didn’t wait for a response.
“Well I have, Robert. For as long as I can remember, there has been someone else in my head. And I can’t get him out, because he is also”—with the hand not holding the scalpel, Dr. Shaw pulled down the front of his shirt, revealing the top of a thick, pink scar—“in here.”
And with that, the doctor lowered the scalpel to the back of Robert’s calf. He felt searing pain, but with the hands that tightened on his forehead, he couldn’t see exactly what was happening.
But he felt it.
A scream bubbled in his throat and then echoed in the small room, threatening to deafen them all. Robert tried to squirm, tried anything to break free, but Justine’s hands and the leather straps were too strong.
Hot liquid soaked his leg, and he knew that the man was in the process of removing his calf.
“Please!” he cried through teared vision. “Please, dear God, let me out of here!”
Dr. Shaw didn't reply; he remained focused on his task.
Robert squeezed his eyes together tightly, biting the inside of his lip so hard that he tasted blood. Darkness threatened to wash over him, but he forced it away.
Shelly and Cal were here somewhere, and he had to save them.
He had to find a way out.
Robert forced himself to hyperventilate, trying everything to stay conscious as Dr. Shaw performed whatever hellish surgery he was doing down there.
Time passed, time that stretched out, much as it had been in the Harlop Estate. A disoriented Robert had no idea if an hour or ten minutes had passed.
Eventually, however, he felt a pressure release from the back of his leg, as if a heavy load had been removed. This was quickly followed by an incredible tightness that stretched all the way across his shin.
He’s sewing me up now. It’s almost time.
Shelly’s pretty face, her too-red lips in a pout, moving in for a kiss, flashed in his mind.
This can’t be it. I won’t let it.
A hackneyed plan began to form in his mind. One that was as dangerous as it was foolish.
And insane; it was probably a little insane.
But with the leather straps and Justine’s thick hands on his head, he could think of no way to get out of here…at least not in the physical world.
More time passed, and eventually Justine let go of his head and started to fiddle with a syringe.
“I’m sorry about the pain, Robert. Truly, I am. But there just aren’t many drugs left, and sometimes…” He let his sentence trail off.
Robert’s eyelids started to flutter, and as expected, Dr. Shaw came right up next to him. He was holding something in his hand, something that looked like a pork shoulder, straight from the butcher. Only it was smaller, and was very familiar.
Robert turned his head away from the gruesome sight.
“Robert,” Dr. Shaw said, moving even closer. “I need you to see this. You should be proud; you are going to be part of something—”
Robert waited until the man was so close that he could smell his sweat emanating from beneath his lab coat. And then he quickly turned back, his eyes flipping forward.
Although his wrists were bound, his hands were still fairly mobile. Robert stretched his fingers as far as the strap would allow, and then he clamped his hand down on Dr. Shaw’s wrist.
The man’s eyes immediately went wide, then started to turn black. He tried to pull away, but Robert’s grip was like iron.
“Justine! Justine!” the doctor shouted, but it was too late. His gaze lowered to Robert. “Wha—what have you done?”
Robert’s grip held fast, and as he stared into the man’s black eyes, he started to see little specks of white.
Tiny, rolling whitecaps.
I’m going back…
PART III – A Picture of Amy
Chapter 26
“What do you think they’re doing to him?” Cal asked softly. There was an extended pause, and for a second, he thought that maybe Shelly had fallen asleep. His outstretched hand reached for her in the dark. It grazed her hair, and he instinctively pulled it back.
“That you?” she asked.
“Yeah, just checking to see that you were still awake. I asked if you knew what they were doing to him?”
Shelly sighed, a pained expression.
“Fuck if I know.”
Cal felt tears coming on, but he forced them away.
That thing—that abomination—had taken them to their own cell and ordered them inside. They had had no choice but to relinquish their flashlights, as it was all they could do to avoid being t
ouched by the rotting creature that Justine called George, of all things.
The name, however unfitting, did have a strangely familiar ring to it.
Then the monster had promptly left them alone in the dark. To wait for…Cal couldn’t even imagine for what.
“You have your cellphone?”
“No. I think I—I think I dropped it.”
Cal bit his lip and waited. He had a sneaking suspicion that Shelly had given up, that she was going to just roll over and die. It was in the way her responses were short, abbreviated, immediately followed by heavy exhalations.
It reminded him, strangely, of when his friend Mike had died.
In that moment, Cal wanted nothing more than to have some light source to be able to look into her eyes. To see what was in there…deep inside there.
He swallowed hard, and pushed the morbid thoughts away.
Shelly was his friend, and getting that feeling back from all those years ago wasn’t worth the price she would have to pay…was it?
“Do you remember the doctor’s name? That one that was, uhh, killed?”
“Mansfield or some shit.”
“His first name? Was it George?”
There was another pause, and Cal waited patiently. Aside from their breathing, the rest of the room was thankfully silent. If they heard nothing for a few more minutes, Cal had convinced himself that he would search around in the darkness with his hands, trying to find some way out. Or something to use to get them out.
Even with things like George lurking about in the Seventh Ward.
“Yeah,” Shelly said at last. “I think it was…you don’t think—wait, you think that that thing is—”
“I don’t know,” Cal admitted with a shrug. “But you saw its face…it was—fuck, I dunno, it was multiple people all stitched together.”
Just thinking about the sight of the horrible sutures crisscrossing the man’s cheeks and mouth was enough to bring about an involuntary shudder.
“Maybe…but what does it matter, Cal? We’re stuck here, while they are torturing Robert. All while we just sit here in the dark waiting to die…to be taken to the Marrow. To rot for eternity.”
“Die? I’m not going to die, Shelly. I’m going to send this abomination to—”
“I told you guys to take this seriously, I fucking told you guys,” Shelly interjected.
Cal reached out with the intention of hugging her, but he missed and ended up striking her in the shoulder. To his surprise, she actually leaned into him. She smelled of sweat, but Cal didn’t mind. He hugged her tight for a moment, relishing human contact. Her back hitched slightly, but then she seemed to stiffen and pulled away from him.
“You’re right, Cal. I’m not giving up. Fuck that.”
Cal smiled in the darkness.
“Let’s go find Robert, then,” he said.
“Fuck, I completely forgot,” Shelly said excitedly. Her change in attitude was so sudden that Cal felt his face flush with warmth.
Was it hugging me that did that? Was that it?
“What? What is it?”
He heard some rummaging, then a zipper being opened, but Shelly still didn’t answer.
“What?” he asked again, his heartrate picking up.
Then he heard something else—a strange clicking sound that he didn’t recognize.
“Shelly, what are you—?”
But his words were cut short as the cell was suddenly awash in bright light. Cal instinctively brought a forearm up to shield his face and cowered from the blaze.
Blinking rapidly, his eyes slowly adjusted enough to make out Shelly’s smiling face.
“I forgot all about the blowtorch,” she said, her smile growing. “Let’s blast our—”
“Wait,” Cal interrupted, “they took our flashlight and crowbar, but didn’t take your backpack?”
“Fucking geniuses they aren’t,” Shelly replied, still smiling. “Probably didn’t even—“
But a small voice from behind them wiped the expression away instantly.
“Have you seen it?” the voice asked.
Shelly whipped the blowtorch around so quickly that it made trails across Cal’s vision.
Although the blowtorch was incredibly bright, it didn’t spread well, and while they could make out an old-fashioned wooden bed covered in a sheet a few feet from them, they couldn’t see who had spoken.
Then the voice spoke again, and Cal froze.
“Have you seen my ear?”
Shelly moved the blowtorch toward the man’s voice again, leaning forward hesitantly. A man stepped from the shadows, and a scream caught in Cal’s throat.
Chapter 27
Waves…gently crashing surf…
Robert Watts’s eyes slowly opened, and he found himself back at the place he had so desperately wanted to return to.
He was on the shores of the Marrow—only this time, he wasn’t just an observer, as he had been when he had been grabbed by James Harlop in the basement of the Harlop Estate. Now, after wrapping his fingers around Dr. Andrew Shaw’s arm, he was actually here.
Robert was standing with his feet slowly sinking into the warm, soft sand. He looked down at his toes, and then slowly raised them all at once, reveling at how amazing the sand felt as it spilled between and over the top of his foot. It felt like miniature balls of velvet cascading over his skin.
A sigh escaped his mouth, a sound that seemed to have a viscosity to it, spilling from the open orifice and moving slowly through the air. He raised his gaze and watched as the sound moved away from him, but it eventually faded, leaving him staring at the amazing surf. The waves, gentle yet powerful, lapped at the milk-and-coffee-colored shore but six feet from where he stood.
He should have been afraid; based on everything that he had read, everything that Shelly had told him, he should have been very afraid, terrified even, at the prospect of never returning home. But he only felt one pervasive emotion: pure, unadulterated fulfillment. It was as if someone had painlessly guided a catheter into his heart and had filled it with love.
The waves were hypnotizing, and he stared at them as they broke on the shoreline, all seemingly identical. He watched to see if they changed, some subtle difference based on unseen air or water currents, or movement of fish or vegetation that were hidden just out of sight below the crystal blue waters. It was impossible, he knew; the waves had to be different. But no matter how long he watched—which could have ranged anywhere from a few seconds to hours—they were all identical, breaking at the exact same time, frothing the exact same distance on the velvety sand.
For some reason, Robert felt compelled to move, and he lifted his right foot from the sand, almost giddy at the sensation of the tiny granules clinging to his bare skin. After the surface tension had broken, his feet seemed to slide, and in seconds he found himself at the shore. He squatted and extended his hands, intent on cupping the Marrow Sea in his hands, seeing if he could break the hypnotic symmetry of it all, but before they touched the water, a voice called out to him and he froze.
It was a voice he hadn’t heard in a few months, but it was one he knew well.
It was the voice of his late nine-year-old daughter, Amy.
“Daddy? Is that you, Daddy? It’s dark in here, Daddy.” Her voice was strained and so utterly out of place in this holy sea of serenity. Robert retracted his hands and his heart began to race. “Daddy? You promised me that it would be beautiful here, that it would be—”
“Amy!” he croaked, unable to control himself. His eyes desperately scanned the surf, trying to find Amy out there somewhere. But he saw nothing different from a few moments ago. Tears began to spill down his cheeks. “Amy?” he asked again, his voice more desperate now.
“Daddy, please—”
Then something happened—something that had happened before.
Something was not right in the Marrow.
The sky, full of soft, fluffy clouds and gentle, warming sunlight, suddenly flickered. And then light
ning split the atmosphere, its appearance startling during what he considered the perfect summer day. It was as if the place were powered by cheap incandescent lighting, flickering on and off, becoming less luminous with each flicker.
“Amy!” he cried out, rising to his feet.
But before he could even finish the word, the sun suddenly blinked out. In its place, the clouds became roiling flames, a strange bubbling cauldron of fire just above his head. Gasping for air now, Robert tried to step backward, but he found himself unable—his feet seemed to be stuck. His eyes darted downward, and he screamed.
The sand, moments ago so soft and inviting, had become a thick, black tar, gripping his feet and ankles. It even seemed to be moving—not just bubbling and boiling over, but he thought he could see hands down in the mud. Gnarled, horrible things that formed and then burst, some of them making fists, others reaching for him, popping and collapsing only inches before making contact.
“What the fuck!” he yelled, trying to yank his feet free. With an incredible pull, his right foot came loose, and he took a large step, but before he even put it down again, a hand formed, reached up, and grabbed his heel, tugging it back to the muddy ground.
“No!”
Lightning lit up the sky, an incredible blast, drawing his gaze upward. The flames were still there, but now he could see distinct outlines in them.
Faces…it’s filled with faces.
As he watched in sheer horror, the faces grew in size, their flaming outlines masking his own expression: mouths wide, nostrils flaring, eyes bulging. They rolled in and out of focus, bubbling to the surface before receding again. Robert, not believing what he was seeing, blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. But each time he opened his eyes again, he could have sworn there were more and more faces popping in and out of existence, a nose of this person becoming the eye of another, the mouth of one becoming the ear of someone else.
Until he could see millions of these tortured expressions stretching over the infinite expanse of the sea.
The Seventh Ward (The Haunted Book 2) Page 12
