Cellar Door: Short Horror Stories, page 4
“Okay.”
Dr. Peterson continued. “I know of a medication that might work at slowing down the deterioration. That would be our best option right now. His body and his brain are having problems with their communication, Mr. Salinger, and this med will work as an intermediary, like a marriage counselor, or a preacher talking to God for his congregation.”
“What about the pain?”
“Markus seems to be feeling mild discomfort right now,” Dr. Peterson began, “but the pain will slowly intensify over the years. The medication will not help with that pain. We should start Markus on a pain management regimen as soon as possible. We don’t want to rely completely on drugs. We are going to use other forms of pain management, as well.”
“Thank you, Dr. Peterson.”
“Don’t give up hope,” Dr. Peterson said. “Evol is still considered to be a young pup and we are still growing, and miracles happen here every day.”
***
The lobby of Evol Headquarters was nearly empty, with only one receptionist and two guards watching the front entrance of glass. Though empty, the main lobby was far from quiet. The doors were not soundproof, and the roar of the outside protesters traveled easily through the wide-open room. Markus felt the vibrations as he steered his chair into the elevator.
Markus knew that the rest of the building would be nearly as empty. Any employees not assigned to Angel had been told to remain at home. The possibility of an aggravated outburst by the protesters made it necessary that only the bare essential staff were here, and most were waiting for Markus on the 38th floor.
Markus had come into the building by way of the subway entrance, positioned on the side, away from the view of the protesters. He had to use it because the front doors were to remain locked. The subway entrance was rarely used, and Markus was not entirely sure why it even existed. It required an I.D. card swipe, retina scan, and voice recognition to activate. With all the precautions, Markus could not help but feel a sense of impending doom, and it made him a little nervous.
With the tiny joystick on the armrest, Markus turned his chair 180 degrees to face the elevator’s panel. “Doors close,” he muttered, and once they had slid shut, he reached into the shirt’s front pocket for his I.D. card. Suddenly, his left arm began to tremble uncontrollably. His spine and left forearm filled with liquid fire. A harsh breath escaped him while the pain continued to flow and burn him on the inside.
The tremble in his arm became a familiar convulsion. Using his right arm, Markus clutched the other and forced it on to the armrest. Quickly, yet carefully, he managed to lock two straps across his left arm, keeping it secure.
Markus had taken his meds already. It was too soon to take them again. Opening a compartment in the top of the right armrest, Markus plucked out a vial tipped with a needle. Looking at his still-shaking arm, Markus knew that he would never hit a vein. He took several seconds to consider the options, and the overwhelming pain chose for him. Swiftly, he stabbed the needle into the side of his neck and injected it. The drug was cold as it spread out and doused the fire in seconds.
However, the shaking continued.
Swiping the I.D. card, mumbling, “38th floor,” Markus got the elevator to move, and he began to ascend the tower.
As Markus rolled from the elevator and into his lab, he noticed there were two groups of people waiting for him: the executive suits, and the lab assistants. The sum of them barely made a dozen. Millions of lives might rest upon this test, Markus knew, but only a handful of people would actually witness it. He wondered if this was how it felt the day that they tested the first atomic bomb, quiet suits and assistants willing to change the world.
“Big day, Markus,” CEO Stockholm said, his hair and his suit black.
Markus ignored the words as he glided past the tie-wearing men and women. He headed directly toward the row of windows behind his desk. Through the tall windows, Markus looked out across a sea of people that hated him and hated what he was trying to do. He could not help but hate them back.
The crowd had to be reaching close to a thousand or more. They did not block the streets, but instead filled Fruition Garden, a strip of land across from Evol Headquarters. Evol had bought the plot and torn down the abandoned hospital that had once sat there. Over several months, Evol covered the seemingly useless piece of Earth with soil and flowers and trees and sculptures of animals and people.
At the center of this beautiful garden was a giant marble fountain in the shape of the Tree of Life, streams of water flowing out from within the bark. Markus loved to sit and stare at the garden. He was reminded of childhood times with his grandfather. Now the garden may be forever tainted.
Forming a human barrier between the protesters and Evol Headquarters were the city police officers. And they were dressed in full riot gear. A precaution, Markus assumed. But the police presence at Kent State University in 1970 might have started as a simple precaution, as well.
Markus glared at the massive crowd. He was looking for a podium or a stage, any place from which Senator Long would speak.
And Senator Long would speak.
Markus knew that.
Giving up the search, Markus reached with his steady hand and slid the window open. A roar flooded into the once sound-proofed room.
“I want to hear them,” Markus stated. “I want to hear them all.”
Markus turned and once again wheeled past the suits, this time going to a large computer terminal. His assistants remained motionless, simply watching. Everything was already prepared, waiting for Markus to finish. They were merely present in case something went wrong.
“Your arm, Mr. Salinger,” assistant Ross pointed out.
Markus shook his head.
“Salinger. Password: Prometheus,” Markus spoke, bringing the computer screen to life. “Open Markus Salinger Mental Scan.” A virtual file appeared and then opened, spilling out images. At the top left corner was Markus, his full body profile slowly spinning. Next to his profile was a digital brain, spotted by blues and reds. Across the bottom, waves flowed from left to right. All of this was Markus, not the skin but the presence. Every neuron and cell and connection and misfire that was Markus Salinger had been mapped, scanned, and downloaded into this computer, faulty wiring not included.
Or so he hoped.
Before Markus could continue, a voice boomed from outside. “They want us to shed our skin,” Senator Long began, his powerful voice filling large speakers. “They want us to give up the very gift that God has given us. Our flesh. They say that they can make us live a longer life, possibly forever. No more sickness or dying. What about our souls? They say that we are nothing but firing neurons. But are our souls nothing but neurons? No. Our souls are more. Our souls are our one true link to the Lord above. And they are treating it as just another computer glitch. Who do they think they are? God? No. They are not God.”
“No!” over a thousand mouths replied.
Markus had heard enough.
“Activate Angle One Program,” he proclaimed.
***
“Soldier refuses cybernetic legs,” a voice said from the television, causing Markus to halt his pen tip and look up from his desk. As usual, CNN4 was on the television, mainly for background noise. Markus knew the voice to be Alan Cummings. “Colonel Arthur Long, a soldier with the United States Army, and his unit were ambushed by a group of hostiles during a daily patrol yesterday. After nearly an hour of exchanging bullets, Colonel Long managed to fix a broken radio and call for reinforcements. But while reinforcements were en route, an explosion hit Colonel Long, damaging both of his legs, to the point that they had to be removed.
“Since the colonel was a decorated soldier wounded in the line of duty, the government was willing to pay the bill for a pair of cybernetic limbs. The legs would work and feel like his own legs, along with the sensation of touch and pain. But Colonel Long turned the offer down.”
Markus’ hand tensed and his grip tightened around the blue pen.
“When asked why, Colonel Long had this to say…”
Colonel Long appeared on the screen, “It is God’s will that I lost my legs. I don’t feel that it is my right to try to replace them with metal ones, even if that means that I have to spend the rest of my life in a chair. That is God’s will.”
God’s will? Markus grew angry. He looked around his tiny office, remembering why he was at Evol and all that he wished to accomplish. The hard work. Two college degrees. The debt. The nerve of that man. How could anyone turn down the chance to walk, the chance to run alongside everyone else? Markus pointlessly hurled the pen at the television screen and watched it harmlessly bounce off.
***
Markus returned to consciousness and was immediately confused. He didn’t remember falling asleep. He was lying on something hard, possibly metal, and it was giving him sensations in his spine, but for the first time in many years, it wasn’t discomfort. It wasn’t… pain. It was some other kind of sensation. He couldn’t place the feeling. It was different.
Another set of sensations called for Markus’ attention, not because they were different, but because they should not exist at all. He could feel his legs, both of them.
Opening his eyes, Markus was bombarded by light, which was overwhelming for a second, but quickly focused. Rising to sit, Markus turned to let his feet fall and touch the floor. The floor held a chill, the most wonderful chill that he had ever felt.
Markus was in his own lab; he knew that much. At once, Markus saw himself, still in the wheelchair, and staring back. There were others in the room as well, also staring. For a moment, he was startled, but then he realized what must have been taking place.
Markus was now Angel.
Angel saw that he was naked except for a pair of white boxer-briefs. He admired himself. He was perfect. Every inch of his new skin was flawless. He was muscular, like the statue of David. This was him now, he knew. And he loved the idea.
The roar continued to pulse throughout the room, and Angel, after removing a few wires that were stuck to his shaved skull, went to the open window to peer down upon them. He ignored the CEO, who tried to speak to him. Angel was only interested in the protesters. He could see them clearly, every head, every hair, each and every smirk, as if they were inches away.
Angel could also hear them individually, instead of in an overwhelming bundle. He could especially hear Senator Long, who continued to preach. Angel isolated the voice. He might be able to follow it.
Without warning, Angel broke out the window’s screen and leaped through. He allowed the Earth to pull him, but only briefly. The fall was incredible. Angel felt the rushing air brush every inch of his skin. Pleasure signals sped throughout his body. But the exhilaration of the plunge was short-lived. Angel’s wings opened. He felt the feathers grab the air.
The sky was a clear blue.
A nice day for a flight.
Following the voice of Senator Long, Angel flew toward a short podium sitting beside the Tree of Life. Angel could clearly see Long, in his permanent sitting position, gripping the microphone as if he were speaking to the entire world. In some way, he might be.
One-by-one, people in the crowd began to notice Angel. Their alerted heads shifted in a massive wave.
“They have done it!” Senator Long screamed into the microphone. “They have dethroned God! They have damned us all!”
Swiftly, the crowd imploded. The police had no choice but to respond. Angel was stunned at how immediately the violence came. Why couldn’t they understand? Didn’t they see the perfection?
But then something went wrong. Both of his legs began to twitch and then shake before going completely numb. “No,” Angel grunted. His brain had been scanned, but the underlying problem, the one that Markus had been convinced had been left behind with the flesh, still existed. It had been more deeply rooted than Markus had realized.
Angel cursed and damned his creator.
His right wing went limp, sending him spiraling toward the crowd. He fought, left wing flapping crazily, but he landed nonetheless.
The crowd of suits turned to Markus to shake their heads. They had watched the rise and the fall from their tower.
“Angel One… failure,” Markus told the computer. The screen was already filling up with data being thrown back to them from the fallen Angel. What had been the mistake? Markus would know soon enough and then he could fix it, then he could move on to Angel Two.
It took God six steps to make the world, but maybe it would only take Markus two steps to change it.
Black Ice
I HAD BEEN on the road for over five hours before I finally decided to pull over to take a piss. I was making good time, but I couldn’t wait any longer. My bladder was full of Monster, along with other assorted caffeinated beverages, and the bastard was screaming at me to release the pressure. At that point in my travels, I was in between major highways, and I wasn’t sure when I would come across another gas station, or bathroom of any kind.
No big deal, I figured.
Urinating at the side of the road would work. Nature would have to be my bathroom. Luckily, it was the middle of the night and traffic had been nonexistent for some time.
I would have hated for a cop to come by and catch me dangling in the wind.
I quickly swung my car into the first dirt pull-off I came across and slammed it into park. I left the motor running, as I opened the door and jumped from the vehicle. There wasn’t much light in the middle of nowhere and I would need my car’s headlights to see. Ain’t nothing more dangerous than pissing in the dark. You never know what you might hit when you can’t see shit. You might even hit yourself by accident. And I wasn’t trying to smell like piss the rest of the way.
I guess I could’ve changed into one of the other pairs of my jeans I had stuffed into the back of my car, if need be, but why take unnecessary risks?
A blast of icy air struck me as I got out of the car and immediately made my bladder scream even louder. No. It hadn’t been screaming at that point. The bastard had been howling, like a cold dog howling at the moon. Jogging to the other side of my car, I swiftly unzipped my jeans and ignored the full-body shiver that hit me when I exposed myself to the cold night. The mixture of warm piss and cold air caused me to feel contradicting sensations in my nether regions. I closed my eyes and I let out a loud sigh of relief as my bladder began to empty.
Once I was finished and tucked away, I didn’t at once rush back to the warmth of my car. The chill wasn’t bothering me as much and I decided to take a moment to enjoy the peaceful quiet of the night.
I peered down from the top of a steep embankment and out over a dark valley. Filling the valley was a thick forest that appeared to stretch on for a few miles. From where I stood, I couldn’t see any lights, not from houses or businesses or other possible forms of civilization. I was in no man’s land. Or at least I would have been until I eventually met up with State Route 33, a four-lane highway that would take me the rest of the way. There also didn’t seem to be a whole lot of movement or normal sounds coming from the trees, either, except for a low serenade from a far-off owl.
Maybe, since an inch or two of snow covered everything, the forest animals had decided to chill out for the night. All except for that single owl who just kept singing on and on.
It had been snowing most of the day and into the night, until finally stopping about a half-hour before. Thankfully, it had been the light, fluffy stuff that doesn’t stick well to the roads. If it had been that heavy, slushy shit, then it would have slowed me down and pissed me off.
I always hated snow, but for some reason I have always lived in places that get a shit ton of it every winter.
With everything around me being still and tranquil, it helped to temporarily calm my constantly racing mind, which had been a welcome change. I had done nothing but hurry, hurry, hurry for the prior few days and it was nice to just stop for a minute to breathe.
My marriage had fallen apart, to put it mildly. To put it honestly, my marriage had exploded like the fucking time bomb it had always been. Four years of building pressure, like piss in a bladder, until it finally went… boom. I let her have whatever she wanted, because I just didn’t care. There hadn’t been much to fight over, anyway. We didn’t own a house or have kids, thank God. We had a tiny, ugly dog, but that had always been her baby. Not mine. I hated that dog. In the end, I managed to walk away from the devastation with what I could fit in my car.
And having your entire life fit into a blue Chevy Impala can put things into perspective, let me tell you.
When I was 18, like most naïve assholes, I couldn’t have run away from home fast enough. I had dreams to chase, mistakes to make, and a crazy bitch to marry. But when the dust settled on my marriage, that was where I was headed back to. Home. My real home. And I couldn’t get back to my parents and the town I grew up in fast enough.
As I continued to peer into the distance, I could see the black outline of the Appalachian Mountains standing tall on the horizon, barely visible against the night sky. Black on black has a way of blending together. With the mountains in my sights, I knew that my destination was only a few more hours away.
A pair of headlights suddenly pulled me from my thoughts, two bright orbs coming down the stretch of road I was standing beside. They were headed in the direction I had been coming from. Damn. The vehicle’s high beams momentarily blinded me, but I threw both of my hands up real quick. I was able to partially block out the bright light until it shifted away from my eyes and I could see again. When the headlights from my own car fell across this new arrival, I could tell that it was a car smaller than my Chevy.
A compact.
Possibly foreign.
Dark blue.
My Impala’s headlights also fell on something else, a massive patch of ice on the road. The spot of ice was several yards long and wide enough to take up an entire lane of the road, while still having enough width to spill over into the other lane, as well. Normally, black ice didn’t scare me. It wasn’t the evil villain some people made it out to be. Yet, by how clearly the surface reflected the moon, which had finally found a space between clouds from which to peek out, I could tell that the ice was thick and solid.
