Pocket of Posies, page 2
“You’re about to suggest that we go down there, aren’t you?” Jezebel said, sounding both scared and resigned.
“We came here to look for people,” Annabel said. “Someone’s obviously down there.”
Henry cleared his throat. “I’m going to play devil’s advocate here and remind you that there are other things on this island.”
Images of the red clad spirits flashed in her mind. They were short lived, quickly replaced by the room. The makeshift morgue. She didn’t know if it was the Plague Doctors or the red ghosts that had stolen the bodies and replaced them with the crimson rose petals. Not roses, Annabel corrected herself. Roses don’t erupt into blood when you touch them.
“Any chance we can just go?” Jezebel asked. “We’re losing daylight and I have the sudden urge to get back to familiar territory before nightfall.”
The question had barely left her lips before another strike sounded. Annabel’s skin turned to ice.
“Are they trying to lure us down?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Jezebel breathed the word. Lunging forward, she grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut. “We’re going now.”
Neither of the others argued. It had now become second nature for them to move in formation. Like a flock of birds. They hurried back to the entrance, ignoring all of the other doors, keeping close to the far wall. Jezebel rushed forward and threw her weight against the door. It held in place, leaving her to stagger back with a pained cry. While Annabel checked that Jezebel’s bleeding nose wasn’t broken, Henry rattled the door.
“It’s locked,” he said.
“No kidding,” Jezebel said almost conversationally as she pinched the bridge of her nose.
It didn’t take long for the trickle of blood seeping from her nose to ease into a few random droplets.
“Who locked it?” Henry asked. He glanced between the sisters. “Right. It doesn’t matter. We just need to get out.”
“We might be able to find something to break a window with,” Annabel said.
They were long past the point of caring about destroying public property. There was nothing a court of law could do that scared any of them more than the creatures that could be lurking in the dark. But the hallway was completely empty. No chairs or gurneys. No TV mounted on a wall somewhere to placate the people forced to wait. Nothing but wood planks and bare walls. The sunlight was dying, allowing the night to creep in and create a stronghold. It was then that Annabel noticed what she hadn’t during their run to the door.
“The windows are boarded up,” she said.
“What?” Jezebel asked, her voice made nasal by her grip on her nose. “No. It’s just a trick of the light. Right?”
Henry stepped closer to the window. He directed the beam of his flashlight against the warped glass and his shoulders locked. “We need to get out of here now.”
Night set in quickly, rising up like a living beast to swallow the building. Their flashlights did little against it, revealing only small patches for their gaze. Walls. Floor. Windows blacked from the outside and doors that lead to the unknown. Searching for an exit felt like being forced to choose a way to die. They lingered in uncertainty, feeling the shadows against their skin.
“Who wants to pick a door?” Henry asked at last.
Jezebel took the lead, and picked the door the furthest to the right. As far away from the operating theater as they could get. Pausing to glance over her shoulder, seeking some assurance from the others, she flung the door wide open. Instantly, the two flashlights fixed onto the newly created space. Another hallway lay before them, this one far narrower than the one they were in. It steadily sloped down until it extended beyond the reach of their torch beams.
“It doesn’t seem like a hallway that should be in a hospital,” Jezebel said, carefully scanning the light over every inch she could.
“Maybe it leads to the morgue,” Henry said. “It would be cooler in the earth than it would be up here. And it doesn’t seem like electricity is plentiful in this place.”
“So we’re going to the morgue?” Jezebel asked.
Optimism fled from Annabel. What she had left was logic. “Not many people like seeing dead bodies.”
The look Jezebel shot her was almost comical.
“I mean, they would have a way for the mortician to discreetly remove corpses. Makes sense it would be connected to the morgue.”
“Alright.” Henry took a deep, sobering breath, and brought his light up to eye level. “I’m the fastest runner so I guess I’ll go first.”
Crossing the threshold was a struggle for Annabel. Her mind, still layered in a fog of mild concussion, still screamed at her not to move forward. The gradual slope felt like descending into a grave. Lacking any other option, she forced herself to fall into step behind Henry. Jezebel placed a hand on Annabel’s shoulder as she followed. A gentle reminder that she was there.
Their combined beams flicked restlessly over the walls as they walked, trying to catch sight of everything at once. It was an impossible task. Gradually, the slope of the floor grew deeper, the precise stones chipped and cracked, eroding into dirt walls that had been haphazardly gouged into the earth. A chill began to play across Annabel’s feet, climbing higher up her legs as they continued. Shivers curled down her spine as it touched her humidity ravaged skin. Despite her terror, she found relief in the icy darkness. A touch of frost against her blistered palms took the edge off the searing pain.
The change was so gradual that the trio had rounded a corner in the path before Annabel realized it was there. She chanced a glance behind to find that the exit had been lost into the darkness. There’s no retreating. Annabel swallowed thickly. We can only move forward. The air stirred. Barely a breath of movement but it brought Henry to a sudden stop. He whipped around, easily flashing his light over the girls’ heads. Everything became still. Silent. There was no way to keep the darkness from crowding in. Drowning them.
Jezebel’s body blocked the vast majority of Annabel’s vision. She could only wait. Straining to listen. Hoping both to hear something and desperately praying that they didn’t.
“Come on,” Henry whispered at last.
Jezebel started moving before Annabel did. They clashed together awkwardly before falling into an uneven stride. Stone gave way to dirt under their feet, the pliable surface trodden down by centuries of travel. Another curve and the walls closed in, compressing until both sides were visible in the edges of the torchlight. Broken earth that allowed a dozen hiding places for the shadows as they passed. The sensation of being watched rose the hair on the back of Annabel’s neck. She wasn’t the only one to feel it. Jezebel’s light swung wildly, searching the walls, the ceiling, the ground. The sensation increased. Closed in on them. Brought Annabel to the point that she swore she felt something breathe against her neck.
A footstep that wasn’t their own crunched on the dirt behind them. They all instantly spun around. The corridor was quiet. Empty. But there was a shadow. An inky embossment against the bare wall. A tall, cloaked figure. The shape seemed to darken as Henry and Jezebel directed their lights upon it. Annabel’s chest hollowed. Every molecule of air rushed from her lungs as she watched the walls begin to bleed. Little, bubbling streams. Thickening. Trickling down to the ground. Turning the dark mass into a figure of blood. Slowly, five weathered white peaks pushed out from the wall. The crimson liquid didn’t cling to them, leaving them bare and bright by contrast. Gradually at first, then with a sudden, violent thrust of movement, the skeletal hand shot out. The dry wall crumbled as the boney fingers gripped for purchase. Another arm appeared, reaching out to brace upon the other side. The river of blood bulged, forming a head, allowing the crimson specter to tear itself from the wall.
“Run!” Jezebel screamed.
Chapter 2
Jezebel kept one hand on her sister’s back, constantly pushing her, forcing her faster. The hallway was too narrow to lose her. Jezebel knew that. And yet she feared it, more than the monstrosity chasing behind them. Their torches streaked across the corridor, never staying fixed to a point long enough for her eyes to adjust. It turned the wall into a blurred, strobing mass. The turns came more often. Sharp corners that prevented them from being able to see what was coming next. Footsteps lumbered behind them. Uneven. A broken scrape. But it was fast, quickly closing in behind them as they sprinted down the corridor. They’re blind. The gasp of hope didn’t last long, destroyed almost instantly by the realization that it wouldn’t need to see in order to find them. There’s only one way to go.
The light had barely touched the door before Henry crashed through it; a hail storm of ancient rotten wood. Light burst forth. Pain sliced into Jezebel’s unprepared eyes and whited-out her vision. Her grip on Annabel helped her blindly slip through the gap, the mangled edges of the broken wood slicing across her shoulder. Her eyes had started adjusting to the brilliant light, but it was the smell that hit her first. Roses. The scent that came as an early warning sign of the Plague Doctor’s presence. Air rushed from her lungs as her body began to shake. The idea that they had followed them here brought a primal kind of terror. One beyond reason. Uncontrollable and consuming. That’s why the ghost let us pass it, her mind screamed in feral panic. It’s herding us to its master.
“This way!”
Annabel’s scream waved through Jezebel’s mind. Coaxing her body to move even as her mind continued to break apart. Protect your little sister. The words her mother had often spoken when Jezebel was a child reared up in her now. An order. A mantra. Back then, it was their father who Annabel needed to be shielded from. The monster might have changed, but Jezebel’s driving need was the same.
Protect Anna.
Jezebel surged forward, her fingers tightening around her flashlight, her other hand searching for her sister, striving to regain contact. The floral scent seeped into her pores and made her mind swirl. She staggered, groping at the air until she found Annabel. Twisting her hand in her tunic, shaking out half a dozen scarlet petals from their resting place on her shoulder.
A sizable generator was pressed against the opposite wall. It rumbled like a sleeping beast, rattling as it worked. Thick black cables connected it to a series of tripod spotlights scattered throughout the room. No matter where she looked, their glare hit her eyes. Squinting past it, she got her first real look at the room. Like the operating room, one she had never seen before, but the purpose was undeniable. A morgue. Her heart pounded violently as she studied the narrow tables that lined the far wall. Set on thin metal frames with large spoke wheels, each was drenched with crimson rose petals. Each pile having a distinct human shape, as if the person who lay there had decayed into vegetation. Stray slips of red toppled over the edges of the tables. They fell like petals, but landed like liquid, bursting to create an ever-growing pool of blood.
Shuffling across the room, Jezebel and the others were now in the middle of a large, thin ring of roses. Annabel was leading them to a door, this one made of a dull, rusted metal. The flowers blocked their path. None of them wanted to touch them. Choking down a string of whimpers, Jezebel looked over her shoulder, back to the door they had entered. Barely more than the edges remained. The hollowed-out center showed nothing but darkness. Easy access for the creature that followed them.
It didn’t appear. Jezebel strained to hear the tell-tale shuffle of the creature’s approach but the generator drowned it all out.
Henry leaped over the ring of rose petals and grabbed for the door handle. It wrenched open before he could touch it. Retreating, the heel of one foot crushed a stray petal. It popped, spraying steaming blood a few feet. As one, the other petals followed, a giant eruption that doused the room in blood, creating a river strong enough to force the girls back a step. Jezebel tried to shield her face from the spray. It wasn’t possible. Drenched head to toe in thick, warm blood, she couldn’t even keep the droplets from trickling into her mouth. She spat out the sharp copper taste.
Before she could think of seeing who stood in the doorway before them, a flash of movement drew her attention behind. The ghost clawed into the room, moving with a disjointed, broken thrash. The trio backed up as it twitched towards them, one skeleton hand reaching for them, the color of its cloak a perfect match to what now painted the walls.
Henry shuffled between the approaching ghoul and the sisters. The ghost lunged for him first. Then stopped. Brought to a sudden halt as if it had hit an invisible wall. Jezebel only had a split second to register the fact before she felt the air move behind her. She turned, looking over her shoulder.
Arms wrapped around her, preventing her from seeing her attacker. One arm crushed her back to a broad chest while the other pressed a cloth over her nose and mouth. A bitter, chemical stench burned her nose and made her gag. She thrashed. Kicked. Raked her nails over every bit of foreign flesh she could find. A deep, human, growl of pain met her ear and she was pulled by her feet, dragged backwards towards the door, away from the ghost. In the wild flashes of movement, she saw the ghost follow, clawing its way ever closer but always just out of arm’s reach. Her body felt weak. Her eyes grew heavy. The door closed, sealing the specter off from them as the chemical delirium forced her to the edge of unconsciousness.
The rag was taken away before she could completely topple over the edge. It left her in a no-man’s-land between sleep and wakefulness. Distorting and spiraling her vision. Severed her from her body. All that was left was to breathe, slow and deep, as she was hoisted into someone’s arms, dangling between the bracing arms like a ragdoll. She couldn’t hold up her head. It flopped back, swaying with the motion of her abductor’s strides. Hallways passed across her vision. A blur of rich earth and exposed gnarled roots. Light splashed across her eyes. Every color was pushed to painful extremes. It blurred her vision and twisted up her dampened mind. It was the brush of warmth against her skin that made it click.
We’re outside. Where are they taking us?
She strained, battling with every lax muscle to catch sight of their abductors. The ghosts wouldn’t do this. The thought passed through her head, but she couldn’t grasp it. Who? By the glow of a dozen small lights, each one pulsing against her drug-abused eyes, she caught a glimpse of the townsfolk. Then there was darkness and the lingering scent of flowers.
The world existed in flashes. Moments of time that lingered before she was pulled back down into oblivion. The sound of crunching earth. Shoes on gravel. The golden burn of open flames. Hushed whispers. Dozens of them, talking over each other in a meaningless parade of syllables. The creak of a door. The chill of another tunnel. It repeated and churned in her mind until she couldn’t tell the order of events. Time became meaningless. Floral scents hung thick in the air, lining her stretched throat with every shallow breath.
She blinked. Time rushed around her like a stream. A physical presence. A tangible entity. It washed across her fevered skin and rolled within her skull. An eternity within a second. Her senses dulled. Her breathing evened out and the lingering chemicals flooded her veins, working the tension from her bones.
Her nightmares rose up with grasping hands, trying to drag her down into sleep. Screams, crashing waves, the snap and crunch of the boat being ripped apart. The feel of water. In her eyes, her lungs, pushing her down into the ebony abyss. Blood and broken bones. Rotting flesh. The slow, repetitive wheeze of a lady with a punctured lung, struggling to breathe. Towering well walls and the filthy water within. Crawling through the labyrinth of tunnels that stemmed from the well, knowing every second that something was with them, following them, chasing them down.
Jezebel snapped back to reality with a jerk. Tremors racked her body as the swirling memories brought forth the image of the Plague Doctors. If there was any humanity left in their faces, their demonic bird-like masks hid it completely. Their eyes glowed like embers in the utter darkness that shrouded them. Vacant. Unmoving. Seeing everything.
Jezebel whimpered as she squeezed her eyes tight. We got away. Reassuring herself brought on a new wave of nausea. They took so many others. She shuddered. We left others behind. Tears burned her eyes. Pain rattled through her as her strained and exhausted muscles struggled to shake. It’s too much. The truth opened a pit of dread in her stomach. Pushed too far. Witnessed too much. Fissures had formed in her soul. She could feel it. Lines of icy tar. Just stay here, a voice in her head whispered. Just keep your eyes closed and stay still. It could all go away.
The world was silent. Warm light kissed her cheek and a sheet, warmed by her body heat and the Mediterranean air, covered her. Perfume lingered around her, delicate and sweet. She filled her lungs with the beautiful scent. Then her muddled brain made the connections. Flowers.
Jezebel lurched up, almost falling off of the narrow pew. She gripped the back of the long seat, steadying herself. The sudden motion seemed to send her brain sloshing about her skull. Fragments of understanding rose up from the havoc. Blood. Her skin squirmed under the memory. Her body thrashed as she tried to look at every inch of herself at once. There wasn’t a drop on her. Her borrowed shoes and pants were missing, but she had a tunic. It still carried the scent of the soap the town’s people used to wash their clothes.
Moving her arms made her skin glisten, and she realized that it wasn’t her struggling eyes. Oil? Still gripping the back of the pew with one hand, she lifted her free forearm to her nose and sniffed. Lavender. Night blooming jasmine. Cinnamon. Herbs and spices in a cocktail she couldn’t begin to dissect. She was completely anointed. Every inch of skin. Every strand of hair. It left her cold.
Forcibly shoving aside her rising panic, she looked around, taking in the room for the first time. Light drifted through the high open windows, tinged with the sunrise, casting an amber glow over the warm stones. A wooden roof towered high above her, broken apart in places to allow an almost steady rain of leaves to topple down. She sat on the last pew, the one furthest away from the crumbling alter. A church? Vaguely, she could recall a small church in the center of the town. But the dimensions of this room didn’t match what she remembered. This building was far too big.
