J Duncan - Deadworld

“Now then, I suppose that will have to do. Not quite the right color, but we don’t have much time. Your Ms. Fontaine has a bit of blood in her and will be closing in sooner than I wish.”

He came back up from under the table yet again, this time holding a bowl filled with items she could not see. Only a strand of rubber tubing jutted out from the top. “Now what?”

“I’m going to hook us up in a moment, Ms. Carpenter.” He set the bowl down on the table and began to roll up his sleeves. “But first, a proper bit of scenery needs to be dealt with if you’re going to be Nicholas’s Gwendolyn. Look, Ms. Carpenter. Look here,” he said and leaned over her with a soft smile on his thin lips.

She tried to turn away, squeezing her eyes tightly closed. That feeling of being trapped inside oneself was almost more than she could stand. “No.”

A hand slapped her face, snapping it back the other direction. Laurel gasped and winced, tasting blood in her mouth. “You will look, Ms. Carpenter, or I shall remove your eyelids with a razor and make your final moments in this world most unpleasant.”

Tears began to slowly trickle out of the corners of her eyes. “I’m not ready to die.”

“I’m not killing you yet, my dear. We have about half an hour, I’d say, possibly forty-five minutes. Now then, look here. This next part’s not really as difficult as all that, and you will be far more relaxed under my influence.

“How can you be so sure of that?” She looked at him as he asked the question and felt herself at once drawn in and shut out at the same time.

“I can feel them coming, Ms. Carpenter. They are closing in, eager to save their friend. It shall be close, painstakingly even, if I do say so myself. Now then, let’s get those pants off. I buggered Gwen before I killed her, and you shall have the same privilege. We can’t be leaving out any of the important details, now, can we?” The slight quirk of a smile held nothing but menace this time.

Laurel wanted to scream, but her body no longer belonged to her mind. Everything had become disconnected. Her only choice was to sit back and watch or let herself sink deeper, further out of his reach. He could abuse her body, but in the end, at least he could not touch her soul.

She sank into darkness, Drake’s deadpan accent fading away, finding quiet and solitude. Years of practicing deep meditation allowed her to find that place with ease. In this state, away from Drake’s prying presence, she could reach out. The spirit world was within her reach if she could only achieve a deep enough state of relaxation.

Shelby. If anyone could hear her cry, it would be Shelby. There was a connection between Drake, Nick, and Shelby, a link amongst the dead, but maybe Laurel could hear it. Her abilities did not lean in that direction, but what could it hurt? She had nothing left to lose.

Laurel thought of the sign over the door, with its flowing script and large FF that abbreviated Fitzsimmons Furnishings, and called for Shelby as somewhere above, in the world of flesh and blood, she gave hers willingly, and it began to siphon away.

“He’s started!” The unmistakable voice of Shelby yelled into Nick’s cell so loudly Jackie could hear it from the driver’s seat. The words sent a chill through her.

“Started? Started what, Nick?”

Nick raised a hand to silence her so he could hear, and Jackie wheeled over to the curb-screeched to a halt. Nick bounced off the side of the door as the front tire hit and rolled up onto the curb.

“You tell where?” he asked Shelby, keeping his hand up to Jackie. A moment later he nodded. “Okay, yeah, I’m getting it, too, now.”

Jackie swatted the hand aside. “What’s he started, Nick?” Panic clawed through her, a tiger ready to devour the last vestiges of rationality and sanity she might have. “Tell me, goddamnit!”

“Head up Steele,” he told Jackie. “We’re at one hundred sixty-fifth, I think, so we’ll start moving up. It can’t be too far.”

“Nick, I swear to God, if-”

“He’s begun drawing her blood, Ms. Rutledge.”

“No! Fuck, no!” she screamed at him, punching him in the shoulder. “It’s been only three hours. It’s too soon.” Jackie pounded her fists against the steering wheel. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t fucking happening.”

The cool, firm grip of his hand on her arm jarred Jackie out of it. “Can you drive?”

“What?”

“Are you okay to drive? We need to keep moving. We’re in the right area now. It’s just a matter of narrowing it down.”

“Of course I can fucking drive.”

“Slowly,” Nick added. “I can’t sense as well if I’m worried you’re going to plow us into a telephone pole.”

She nodded and pulled them back out into the street, light flashing, creeping along at twenty-five miles per hour. Nick did little more than tell her to turn left or right, his hands braced on the dashboard, eyes closed. Jackie gripped the wheel, knuckles white, her mind slowly unraveling as the minutes on the dashboard clock ticked by. Forty-two minutes, excruciatingly slow moments of her life, pulled out like fingernails. Hang in there, Laur. We’re coming. Soon. Just a bit longer. Keep him talking.

The words were no good, however. Jackie’s mind had the image of a red tube dangling from Laurel’s arm, with some grotesque, fanged monster sucking on it like a kid’s favorite milkshake. “Are we any closer? I’m going to lose my mind here, Nick. Hurry the fuck up.”

He had an earphone hooked up and was in constant contact with Shelby, who apparently was running on foot. “Okay,” he said. “Head up Steele then. We’ll come over on one-seventy-eighth. Careful, Shel.” He turned to Jackie. “We’re close. Be ready for anything, Ms. Rutledge.” He sat back in the seat now and pulled the plug out of his ear. “Left here on one-seventy-eighth. He’s somewhere between us. Two blocks at the most.”

“Shit,” Jackie answered, fumbling at her phone to call down to headquarters. “We’re near one-seventy-eighth and Steele. Look for my car. Suspect is currently in this vicinity, and victim is in jeopardy. I repeat, victim in jeopardy.” She clicked the phone shut. “You sure about this, Nick?”

“I can feel him. He’s close but difficult to pinpoint exactly. I’m hoping Shelby gets a stronger hit than I do.” On cue, Shelby’s voice was an excited, inaudible yell coming out of the earpiece. “Fitz what?”

Jackie knew in that moment exactly where he was talking about, a block and a half ahead on their left. She had purchased a couch there when she first got her apartment. “Fitzsimmons,” she said and gunned the engine.

Leaning on the horn, Jackie sped through the next intersection, this time not fortunate enough to avoid causing an accident as a Ford Explorer swerved to avoid her and sideswiped a taxi coming the other way before sliding into a pair of parked cars.

As they approached the building, the first drops of rain began to fall from a darkening sky. Jackie didn’t bother with a parking space and flew over the curb, sliding up to the main entrance to the warehouse. At the same time, something dark bolted across the street, coming at them with uncanny speed. She reached for her gun, but Nick’s hand stopped her.

“Shelby,” he said in one of those startling commanding voices that came from somewhere not quite living.

Jackie watched in disbelief as Shelby came sprinting up, faster than a human had any business running, and launched herself through the door. The twin metal doors erupted inward in a shower of glass and twisted metal.

“Holy shit,” Jackie muttered and bolted after her, gun drawn. Nick jumped and slid over the hood in one smooth motion, following up the steps closely behind.