Crucible of Fear

by D. W. Whitlock

  Squinting, she looked for any sign of the other truck but the gloom remained impenetrable. The heat was near unbearable now. Sweat trickled freely down her back. Time to get out, she thought. She placed a palm against the lid to pry it up again.

  Then she saw it.

  A quick flash of taillights as the truck came to a halt. It was barely visible on the screen, the image fuzzy, shaky from her hand. The rear door rose, dim blue light revealing a dark figure crouched inside. The figure emerged and jogged out to the street, partially light by a streetlight. It was a man, dressed in black, same as her.

  He stood for a moment, gazing upward. Briana tilted the camera up and saw a shiny glass building, stretching high above. It was the tallest building around here by far, the windows a smoky black. She panned back down and watched as the man climbed the steps past a large sign that read: Monolith Media Tower. The double-doors at the front opened and he disappeared inside. A faint smudge followed him in.

  Must be the drone.

  She withdrew the camera and snapped the screen shut before pushing it back into her pocket. Forcing the lid open with a shoulder, she wriggled out, rolling onto the pavement. It was much easier going out, than in. From the opposite end of the alley came the faint sound of music.

  A plan began to form in her head. She’d catch a taxi back to the apartment in time to meet up with the autonomous truck that had brought her here. The instructions stated that she’d be brought directly home after the hand off had been made. There might have been more, but she couldn’t remember. Briana sighed with frustration. It didn’t matter now. The dragonfly drone probably had more important things to do than make sure she made it back. With how slow that truck drove, it should be easy to grab a ride, beat it back to the apartment, wait for it to show up, then grab her phone when the door opened.

  Right. Easy.

  Getting some evidence had seemed like a good idea back in the safety of her room, swinging back and forth between anger and fear. She touched the camera in her pocket. It wasn’t much, but at least it was something they couldn’t control. She hoped it was worth the risk.

  Briana threw one last glance over her shoulder then headed down the alley toward the deep bass rumble of dance music.

  CHAPTER 52

  Burning Oil

  Gary strode past the unmanned front desk through a set of glass security barriers as they slid open, then down a long hallway past a bank of elevators and glass enclosed offices to a plain gray door. There were no locks or handles, just a key card reader that glowed red. The reader flashed three times before turning green and he pushed the door open. The drone shot through the doorway ahead of him.

  Three elevator doors stood before him. The first one on the left was open and waiting. The drone clung to one of the panels inside. Gary walked in and knelt down as the doors closed.

  The messenger bag dropped with a clunk and he threw back the flap. He removed the black box and placed it on the tile floor, then lifted the lid with a finger, grimacing at the array of electronics and wires tucked inside. He leaned back, allowing the drone an unimpeded view.

  Mounted at equal points just inside were four hypodermic needles, their reservoirs empty. Gary removed four small glass bottles from his pocket. They’d been delivered last night by the large drone, left behind on one of his Adirondacks. The thing had been even creepier glinting under the moonlight.

  He inserted a bottle behind each of the four hypos. Clear liquid emptied from the bottles with a hiss as each of the hypos filled to the three ml mark.

  A few inches in from the hole at the end were a pair of curved blades, held in place by sturdy levers and small hydraulic rams. The blades brightened and the smell of burning oil filled the air before they snapped shut with a metallic clink. They reset with the sound of scissor blades scraping. It put his teeth on edge. Gary closed the lid and slid the box back into the bag with a shiver.

  As he stood, he withdrew the Taser and held it down at his side. The elevator doors opened and he went to a flight of stairs that led to the roof. He crept to the top and sat on the top step to wait. His face lit up in the dark as he flipped through pictures on his phone of the twins playing on the carpet, running in the park, sleeping in their cribs. He stopped on an image of Gail holding the babies when they were just days old, a look of pure joy in her eyes. A text appeared, vibrating the phone like a fly trapped under a glass.

  It was time.

  Gary stood and removed a balaclava from his pocket and slipped it over his head. He tried to swallow but his throat was dry and prickly.

  C’mon, he urged himself, breathing in slow and deep. You can do this.

  He hefted the bag with its strange contents, held the Taser up like he’d seen on a million cop shows, and descended the stairs, slipping inside the first open door on the right.

  Almost over, Gary said to himself as he approached the lone man standing in the dark office.

  Almost over.

  CHAPTER 53

  Summer Bash

  Electronic dance music thundered out from speakers placed throughout the kitchen area of Ellis Media. Orange globes sat intermittently along the outer walls providing the crowded space with small pools of warm illumination. Knots of people clung together, shouting to be heard, drink in one hand, overloaded plate of food in the other. Some of them wore dazzle camo. A full bar at the far end of the room was doing brisk business. Two younger employees had already been escorted out and shoved into Ubers, barely able to stand.

  Naomi sipped her Manhattan and scowled. Maybe the free bar had been a bad idea this year. It was barely past ten and everybody was already smashed. After checking her phone for the third time, she scanned the room.

  Where is Dante? she thought.

  He had the yearly announcement coming up at 10:30 PM and she wanted it to happen before everybody got too wasted to remember what he’d said. Tonight’s the night. Promotion time.

  It’d better be or I walk.

  Her eyes flicked across the room again. Where is he?

  Colin Murray stood next to one of the globe lights. Drink in one hand, plate piled high with fruit in the other. Orange light was supposed to be forgiving, making people appear softer, more appealing. Colin lifted his bony arm and took a sip, throat bobbing up and down. To Naomi, he looked just like a skeleton.

  Or the grim reaper, she thought.

  He must’ve sensed her gaze because he looked at her and grinned, raising his glass.

  Naomi groaned.

  Colin lifted his arms higher as he made his way through the jostling crowd, doing a little jig as he swerved around a girl that stepped backward into his path. The plate slipped from his hand and she watched as grapes and strawberries rolled across the floor, as if escaping a predator.

  Dante must’ve been a real dork if this was his best friend as a kid. She liked Dante. Liked him more than she cared to admit. He was funny and sweet. Very handsome. But dating the boss had been a bad idea, especially when he was a widower with a nine-year-old girl. Naomi had never even been married. Barely knew her nephew. It was just too much too soon. Convenient because they worked together, but complicated just the same. She shook her head.

  What was I thinking?

  She was thinking about how he looked stepping out of the shower early one morning at work some months ago. Right after, he’d given her his office code. That probably wasn’t why he’d done it though. Or had he? Then again, she’d been the one to peek into the inner office when the shower went silent.

  Early bird gets the worm, she thought. And sees the boss naked.

  Now his skeletal friend was undoubtedly coming over to make his move, fill the void left in her life by the very recent departure of Dante Ellis. He must have told him they’d broken up or maybe Colin suspected. He had that look in his eye.

  Colin jerked to a stop, grin wilting on his face. Something across the main studio floor caught his eye. Naomi followed his gaze, peering into the darkness.

  A shadow wea
ved up through the cubicles, back lit by green exit signs. The arms were pulled in tight, one hand holding the other. It bumped against a desk, causing a bank of monitors to spring to life. Pale blue light bloomed from the screens, illuminating the person struggling to stay upright.

  It was Dante.

  Naomi rushed forward, pushing past people as they turned and watched Dante shove his way drunkenly toward the kitchen.

  “Somebody get the lights!”

  She was almost to Dante when he fell to his knees, hunched over, his whole body wracked with spasms. Naomi fought against the tide of bodies that backed away as she felt a scream rise up to her throat.

  The lights came on and everyone squinted in the sudden glare as the music died. Dante looked up and stared straight through her, eyes glassy and wide. Naomi finally made her way to him and knelt down, grabbing his shoulders.

  “Dante!” she screamed.

  His eyes found hers and he stared, uncomprehending. His left arm fell away and he held his right arm up between them.

  Where his hand should’ve been was a charred stump of oozing flesh, wet blacks and deep reds with pale pink peeking through. The air was thick with the reek of seared pork and she felt her gorge rise. Naomi skittered back, hands flying to her mouth.

  Dante’s eyes fluttered as the stump puckered and split. Jets of bright red blood gushed onto Naomi as Dante collapsed onto his face, forehead striking the white tile with a harsh clack.

  Naomi fell to her knees and vomited, Dante’s hot blood still bitter on her tongue.

  CHAPTER 54

  The Big Tip

  The autonomous truck was just easing to the curb as Briana’s taxi turned off Sunset toward the apartment.

  “Hurry! Go to that truck up there!” Briana said, swatting the headrest.

  The taxi driver glared at her before speeding up the hill and screeching to a stop behind the truck. Briana leapt out, eyes scanning for a drone.

  There were none in sight.

  The gate on the truck slid up and she leapt inside, sliding her hand into the ledge where she’d left her phone.

  It wasn’t there.

  Leaning out of the truck, Briana gazed around before turning back to search the interior with frantic intensity. Her phone was gone. She stepped down from the truck and the door slid shut. It made a tight U-turn and drove back down toward Sunset and out of sight.

  The taxi was still there, the driver staring at her through the window. He waved at her and she trudged over in a daze as the driver side window slid down.

  “You’re Briana, right?” said the driver.

  She nodded.

  “So, I just got this really weird text.”

  “A text?”

  “And a hundred-dollar tip, or else I would’ve just drove off. It’s kind of creepy, if you ask me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s from Dark Messiah. It says, ‘Tell Briana, Daddy knows’.”

  CHAPTER 55

  Rotten Starfish

  Light seeped in through his eyelids, along with the sounds of soft hissing and that unmistakable hospital smell. His first thoughts were for Abigail, but he knew she was okay. She was with Kelly, and he knew she’d give her life before—

  My hand is gone.

  There was no shock or surprise, just awareness of that simple fact. He remembered every moment of it as well, viewed through a dispassionate layer with painless, preternatural crystal clarity, one moment after another bleeding together.

  Someone coming in.

  Naomi?

  No. A man.

  White-hot pain and the taste of blood.

  The cloying stench of scorched flesh.

  Twitching spider legs.

  Twitching fingers.

  My fingers.

  Abigail’s elephant pendant falling, a flash of silver streaking down. The man picking up Dante’s hand like it was a rotting starfish, his body stiff with revulsion as the dragonfly watched with its beady little eyes.

  Not eyes. Cameras.

  He wondered if this video was already on line, racking up views.

  Harsh whispers crowded in, the comments section below coming to life.

  Got what he deserved.

  Not so fearless now, is he?

  Purveyors of lies pay with a pound of flesh.

  His throat tightened, the sinews of his neck going taut. Just a bunch of online ogres, hiding behind fake names, right? Sad, fucking joke, all of them.

  We’re not a joke anymore.

  That gave Dante pause, the whirling sludge of his thoughts congealing around an idea. Had those comments, or the anger that fueled them, created a monster that found its way into the real world to take a chunk out of him?

  Two chunks, to be exact.

  But hadn’t the man said sorry? Dante pondered this. Yeah, right before he let that nightmare box take my hand off.

  Someone was in the hospital room with him. He could smell the coconut scented soap they’d used to wash their hands. Those coconut scented streaks on the wall back at the abandoned Shadow Trace office leapt into his brain.

  Dark Messiah is coming for you.

  Is that what Dark Messiah was? Dante wondered. Some avenging angel for the trolls?

  “Dante? I’m Tricia. Can you hear me? Give my fingers a squeeze. Hard as you can.”

  The voices spoke again.

  And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and cast if from you.

  Dante squeezed and his hand locked into a frozen claw that shook as needles danced over his skin. His face contorted and Tricia spoke again.

  “No, your left hand, hon. Squeeze your left hand.”

  Tears of frustration streamed down his face as Dante closed his left hand around her thumb, weak as a baby.

  “That’s good. Very good. There’s a little girl out there who’s very worried about her daddy.”

  Dante’s throat was dry and his body felt like a million pounds of wet cement. Whatever drugs he was on this time were a hell of a lot stronger than his last visit. Guess you get the good stuff when you lose something really meaty. He worked his jaw.

  “Sh’okay?” he managed.

  “She’s fine. Kelly is here as well, and your friend Colin. He saved your life from what I heard. You owe him a new shirt.”

  “Sh’okay,” he said, opening his eyes.

  Dante was inside a fishbowl, the whole world distorted and shifting. Colin leaned against the far wall, face twitching as he blinked. He flashed a weak smile then looked away. Abigail was next to the bed, eyes brimming with tears. Kelly stood behind her, face pale and drawn, her hands on Abigail’s shoulders.

  Dante blinked, trying to focus. Kelly wiped away tears and smiled, putting on a brave face. His eyes fell to Abigail. The steady beep of his heart monitor filled the empty space that stretched as he mustered the strength to utter the inevitable phrase that followed every human trauma, both great and small.

  “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  A cry rose in Abigail’s throat as tears spilled down her cheeks. His right arm jerked up to reach out to her, but it was held down by tubes and straps, so he let it fall. Her face blurred and he had to look away, just not there.

  Not there.

  Not where his hand used to be. Somewhere safe. Down at his feet maybe, little hills under the sheets, left one lower than the other.

  Not a whole lot of me left, is there? His eyes slid shut again.

  CHAPTER 56

  Those Goddamn Machines

  A hand touched his forehead, then his cheek, the skin soft and cool. Lilac filled his nostrils and her warmth pushed away the chill that hadn’t even registered, until it was gone.

  Reaching up, he took the hand and squeezed it.

  “I know it’s too much to ask, but if anything happens to me,” he said, opening his eyes.

  Kelly looked down at him, holding his gaze. “Oh god, Dante.” She nodded. “I’ll take care of her. Nothing bad will ever happen while she’s wi
th me. I promise.”

  He squeezed her hand again and she leaned in close, eyes holding his before she kissed his forehead.

  “Sleep,” she said.

  Kelly and Abigail were gone. No Colin either. Too bad. He wanted to apologize for ruining his shirt. There was only the beep and hiss of machines to keep him company. Dante scanned the various monitors and pumps, no doubt connected to the network via cable or wireless. Everything was smart these days.

  It felt more like a curse.

  A computer monitor was mounted to the wall via mechanical arm, folded up like a cobra, ready to strike. Countless fingerprints smudged the darkened screen. His eyes moved to a webcam perched on top of the monitor.

  Am I being watched by Dark Messiah right now?

  Dante looked around for a cloth or towel to toss over its glossy eye, but there was nothing. He sighed. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t in any condition for a round of ICU Cornhole anyway.

  The beeping continued, unabated.

  Those goddamn machines, he thought. They put his teeth on edge. He’d had enough of hospitals and networked smart machines to last a lifetime.

  The lock snicked and the door opened, revealing a long hallway lit intermittently by harsh fluorescents. At the far end, just outside the light stood a Caduceus Medical robot, its pale arms splayed out, stock still and spiderlike. Dante stared at the thing in the shadows, icy fear stiffening his spine.

  The robot leapt to life and skittered down the hallway with terrifying speed, its bladed feet leaving deep gouges in the tile. Dante began to shudder, every muscle in his body cramping as it sped closer, time crawling as it leapt into the room, fingernails sprouting at the tips of its legs as it became an over-sized, human hand.