jerked at the doorknob again without success. Blood was trickling down my face faster than I could blink it away. “Do you have the key to her cell?”
“I’ll be right back down, Shields. Don’t go anywhere this time.”
I hung up. My vertigo subsided. The hallway was empty of personnel and equipment, but I recalled seeing a fire axe in its case in the stairwell. Pressing my face against the glass, I tried to make out any movement in the dark cell. A sickly green line arced and dove in the blackness to display the girl’s pulse rate. All else was still.
I jogged down the length of the hall, hands out before me in the dark. As long as I kept up forward momentum, I could stay upright. I wrapped my coat around my fist and punched the glass. It shattered on the third or fourth try, and I cut myself on the loose shards as I pried them out, then took the axe.
The elevator opened as I was lurching back to her cell with the axe cocked over my head. Randels popped out, a nurse beside him. He cringed behind her as I came at them.
I barely kept my footing as I pivoted and hacked at the window. The second swing went wild and I slipped again. The axe launched from my hand and crashed through the safety-glass.
Randels came shouting out of the elevator with the nurse close behind. I got to my feet and threw one leg over the windowsill. The axe was lodged in the wall above Jane Doe Cykes’ head.
Randels punched me in the throat. I gasped and slipped from my straddling position into the cell, at the foot of her bed. Glass grated under my weight, biting into my skin, drawing more blood. Randels dug for his keys.
The air recirculator gurgled.
Randels opened the door and came in holding a flashlight out in front of him as if to ward wild animals away, the nurse creeping dutifully behind him. His brow knitted as he squinted around, then his features were eclipsed by a splatter of darkness and his arms flew to his face.
I know what the videotapes showed. The hospital claimed they never existed, but I saw them before they were destroyed. I could not be made, then, to explain what they showed. For a long time, they formed my only memory of what went on once I entered the girl’s cell.
On the tape, I stood beside Jane Doe Cykes’ bed and leaned over her, hands outstretched as if to drink in the moonstone glow of her skin. My mouth opened and closed spasmodically, my eyes rolled back in my head, and I vomited blood all over her. From out of the gash in my brow and the lacerations in my palms came fans of crimson spray like the fountains of severed arteries.
Blood cascaded out of me in a serpentine arc, and into the girl in the bed. I swiped at it, but my hand passed through the stream and emerged as dry as desert sand.
Jane Doe Cykes opened her eyes. The blood pummeled her and formed lakes in her lap, between her arms and torso, in the ravine where her rib cage gave way to her concave abdomen. Her mouth gaped and crimson jewels came pouring into her, gathering like to like with the eerie prescience of living mercury. A fountain of blood swirled and drained into her lips, and I threw myself upon her, taking her in a deep kiss.
I choked and lost control of my body, but somehow managed to hold on to her. Some of the blood flowed into my lungs, but came right back up, gushing out my nostrils. It was like trying to stifle a hearty New Year’s Eve puke. I bit through my lips, trying to hold her back, licked and frantically bit her cold, waxen lips to steal her back. I might have eaten her, if Randels hadn’t clawed at my shoulders and dragged me back.
I was losing her. Blood spat from my mouth, bubbled out of my sinuses, wept from my pores and flew across the room to the bed. She had only used me as a vessel to reach her daughter. With all we shared, she could still hide inside me, use me, and slip away—
I was too weak to resist as Randels grappled me into the corner of the cell. His teeth chattered in my ears, but he could not
“I’ll be right back down, Shields. Don’t go anywhere this time.”
I hung up. My vertigo subsided. The hallway was empty of personnel and equipment, but I recalled seeing a fire axe in its case in the stairwell. Pressing my face against the glass, I tried to make out any movement in the dark cell. A sickly green line arced and dove in the blackness to display the girl’s pulse rate. All else was still.
I jogged down the length of the hall, hands out before me in the dark. As long as I kept up forward momentum, I could stay upright. I wrapped my coat around my fist and punched the glass. It shattered on the third or fourth try, and I cut myself on the loose shards as I pried them out, then took the axe.
The elevator opened as I was lurching back to her cell with the axe cocked over my head. Randels popped out, a nurse beside him. He cringed behind her as I came at them.
I barely kept my footing as I pivoted and hacked at the window. The second swing went wild and I slipped again. The axe launched from my hand and crashed through the safety-glass.
Randels came shouting out of the elevator with the nurse close behind. I got to my feet and threw one leg over the windowsill. The axe was lodged in the wall above Jane Doe Cykes’ head.
Randels punched me in the throat. I gasped and slipped from my straddling position into the cell, at the foot of her bed. Glass grated under my weight, biting into my skin, drawing more blood. Randels dug for his keys.
The air recirculator gurgled.
Randels opened the door and came in holding a flashlight out in front of him as if to ward wild animals away, the nurse creeping dutifully behind him. His brow knitted as he squinted around, then his features were eclipsed by a splatter of darkness and his arms flew to his face.
I know what the videotapes showed. The hospital claimed they never existed, but I saw them before they were destroyed. I could not be made, then, to explain what they showed. For a long time, they formed my only memory of what went on once I entered the girl’s cell.
On the tape, I stood beside Jane Doe Cykes’ bed and leaned over her, hands outstretched as if to drink in the moonstone glow of her skin. My mouth opened and closed spasmodically, my eyes rolled back in my head, and I vomited blood all over her. From out of the gash in my brow and the lacerations in my palms came fans of crimson spray like the fountains of severed arteries.
Blood cascaded out of me in a serpentine arc, and into the girl in the bed. I swiped at it, but my hand passed through the stream and emerged as dry as desert sand.
Jane Doe Cykes opened her eyes. The blood pummeled her and formed lakes in her lap, between her arms and torso, in the ravine where her rib cage gave way to her concave abdomen. Her mouth gaped and crimson jewels came pouring into her, gathering like to like with the eerie prescience of living mercury. A fountain of blood swirled and drained into her lips, and I threw myself upon her, taking her in a deep kiss.
I choked and lost control of my body, but somehow managed to hold on to her. Some of the blood flowed into my lungs, but came right back up, gushing out my nostrils. It was like trying to stifle a hearty New Year’s Eve puke. I bit through my lips, trying to hold her back, licked and frantically bit her cold, waxen lips to steal her back. I might have eaten her, if Randels hadn’t clawed at my shoulders and dragged me back.
I was losing her. Blood spat from my mouth, bubbled out of my sinuses, wept from my pores and flew across the room to the bed. She had only used me as a vessel to reach her daughter. With all we shared, she could still hide inside me, use me, and slip away—
I was too weak to resist as Randels grappled me into the corner of the cell. His teeth chattered in my ears, but he could not
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