Disturb

I?”

“Bill, I’m sorry.”

“You grind up people’s brains to get the neurotransmitters. But memory is chemical. So you’re actually stealing their thoughts as well.”

Theena grabbed his hand, knelt down next to him.

“Bill, I swear. I only found out about Bitner’s death today. Albert told me in the car. He’s after both of us now.”

Bill looked at her as if she’d just sprouted horns.

“How could you? How could you do this, and still try to get the drug approved?”

“Bill…”

“Was it the money? You did it for the money?”

“It wasn’t for me, Bill.”

“Then who?”

Theena bit her lower lip. The tears streamed down her face.

“I did it for Nikos.”

“For your father?”

“He was more than my father.” Theena looked away, her face burning with emotion. “He was also my husband.”

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Theena focused on the floor, unable to bare Bill’s accusing stare. She could never make it up to him. She knew that. But at least she could offer an explanation.

“My real father had me late in life, when he was in his fifties. He died on my ninth birthday. Heart attack. It was sudden.”

Theena closed her eyes, tried to remember his face. The memories were elusive. She had a vague recollection of a dark, fat man, whom she and her mother feared.

“Nikos was my cousin. My uncle’s son, on my father’s side. After my Dad’s death, he began to see my mother. They eventually married. But there was a problem. I had a terrible crush on Nikos.”

Theena swallowed. She chanced a look at Bill. His eyes were far away, but he appeared to be listening.

“Nikos was everything my father wasn’t. He was my mother’s age, almost twenty years younger than my father had been. He was handsome. He was a scientist. And he treated me like a princess.”

Theena hadn’t spoken about this in over ten years, since she went to see that psychiatrist. He’d called it an Elektra Complex. The female version of Oedipus, being in love with your father. But Nikos wasn’t her father, really. He raised her, and acted like her father, but the incest taboo wasn’t there. In Greece, cousins are free to marry.

“Nikos loved my mother. He loved me, too, but not in that way. And I began to hate my mother for it. Can you imagine? Being jealous of your mom? But I was. I took up an interest in medicine, just so he’d pay attention to me. I knew I could win him over. And I did.”

Theena could remember the day clearly.

“I’d been terrible to him for many years. Teasing him. Leaving the door open when I showered. Walking around the house naked. Breathing in his ear when I kissed him goodnight. He always remained a perfect gentleman. Up until the day I graduated high school. That night, while my mother slept, he came into my room.”

It had been Theena’s first time. Recalling it still gave her shivers.

“We tried to hide it for a while, but my mother eventually found out. She left us. I begged Nikos to marry me. At first, he refused. He was becoming prominent in his field, and didn’t want the scandal. I convinced him, eventually, and we had a secret ceremony. But while in public, I had to be his daughter. I took the last name Boone, just so I could wear his ring.”

She smiled ironically.

“Here’s the funny thing. For years, I was always competing with my mother for his attention. And then, when she’s finally out of the picture, I had to compete with his work.”

She stared into Nikos’s eyes, wide open and dead. They looked at her with the same feeling as when he’d been alive.

“N-Som was his dream. His life. I became a neurosurgeon so I could be part of his dream. But he was never fully mine. He was married to science, not me.”

Theena lost her smile.

“I’ll never forget the first time he asked me to sleep with another man. A Senator, with a lot of money and power. We needed the government grant, so my father, my husband, pimped me out.”

The sobs came suddenly, racking her body. She’d never allowed herself to feel the shame before. Theena had always cited love as her motivation. She slept with other men because she loved Nikos. She worked with him on N-Som, knowing it was potentially dangerous, out of love. Love led her to betray her own mother. Love led her to bribe Mike Bitner and initiate a course that led to his death.

She hadn’t lied to Bill about that. She truly thought Bitner had left the country with a suitcase full of cash. But Rothchilde had used her, just like Nikos had. Theena had never been in control. She’d been fooling herself.

Theena sat on the floor; the guilt was so heavy she could no longer stand. Her nose was running. She could feel Bill’s eyes on her, burning like heat lamps. Theena wanted to run, hide someplace far away, where she could never hurt anyone again.

“I’m going to tell the media.”

Bill’s voice startled her. She didn’t look at him, but she silently agreed.

“The authorities will get involved, Theena. There may be arrests.”

She sniffled. “It’s the least I deserve.”

“I have one question.”

Theena didn’t know if she could handle it. But she nodded anyway.

“You’re trying to make N-Som out of Nikos’s brain. Why?”

“I think… I think Albert murdered him. This is the only way I can prove it.”

“You want to see your husband’s death? Feel his last thoughts?”

She found an inner reserve of strength and met his eyes.

“I have to. I have to know who killed him.”

Theena could sense Bill was struggling with it, figuring things out.

“I’m sorry I got you involved with this, Bill. My motives were selfish, and now you’re in danger.”

Bill walked over to her. He seemed more preoccupied than upset.

“How does N-Som affect a person in long term use?”

“We’re still not totally sure. Manny has become unbalanced, and there are some shadows on his CT that might be lesions. When they first appeared, I pleaded with Nikos to stop the experiment. But he and Manny insisted on continuing.”

“How about short term? Taking it once and a while?”

“I’ve taken it almost a dozen times. Not consecutive days, but every few. My last CT was normal.”

He squatted down next to her. Theena wanted, needed, for him to just hold her, but she didn’t dare ask.

“Is it safe to take it now, after you just took some at your apartment a few hours ago?”

“I’m not sure. But I’m willing to try it.”

Bill didn’t say a word for the longest time. Theena didn’t know what to expect from him. Was he going to spit in her face? Hit her? Call her names? That’s what men did. And in this case, she felt as if she deserved it.

But she didn’t expect him to hold out his hand. Theena took it, trying to keep her emotions in check.

“What now?”

Bill’s face softened, just a bit.

“I’ll help you prepare the drug. Can you make two doses?”

Theena squeezed his hand and nodded.

“Okay, then. Let’s find out who killed your husband.”

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Albert Rothchilde wanted to break something. On days when he leaned towards self-reflection, he knew that he was a tad spoiled, had a wee temper, and wicked little sadistic streak. The perfect solution would be to find a whipping boy. Someone that he could keep in a cage and beat whenever he felt lousy.

Perhaps someday in the future. When the billions started rolling in, there was very little you couldn’t buy.

But for the moment, all he had was Captain Halloran. He made do.

“You fat, incompetent bastard.”

Halloran’s face reddened. He cleared his throat.

“You should have told us to watch your people earlier.”

“You should have figured it out yourself. It’s your job, you pathetic prick. You should have put my people under protection after Nikos was murdered. Have you checked on Julia?”

“She’s at DruTech, with Theena and Bill. We’ve got men there, watching the place.”

Rothchilde drummed his fingers on his desk, thinking. Halloran’s men had found Dr. Townsend and Dr. O’Neil, both dead. They’d also gotten word that Dr. Fletcher had been killed near his home in Barrington.

These were people that he still could have used, alive. And the two people he needed erased, Theena and Bill, were now under this idiot’s protection.

“The plan has changed. I want them dead. Theena, Bill, Julia, and Manny, when you find him.”

Halloran narrowed his eyes.

“I’ve done some bad things for you, Albert. But I’m not a hired gun.”

“You idiot. I’m not paying you to kill them. I have people for that, people who won’t fuck it up like you would. You just need to turn the other way. Do you have any sway with the Schaumburg Police?”

“I know the Chief. We’re friends.”

“When all hell breaks out at DruTech, the Schaumburg PD may be called. How much will you need to buy me some time with them?”

“Some people can’t be bought.”

“You’ll convince him.”

“And if I don’t?”

Rothchilde smiled blandly. “While I find it amusing to see that you still have a little bit of backbone left, you’re in too deep to back out now. If those people aren’t killed, I’ll go down. If I go down, you go down. How are cops treated in jail, Halloran? The lifers will swap you for cigarettes.”

Halloran shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was frowning.

“I’ll need money.”

“Name your price.”

“Two hundred fifty thousand.”

The number elicited a guffaw from Rothchilde.

“A quarter of a million dollars, to bribe a stupid suburban cop?”

“Captain Drury is clean. I need a big number to tempt him. It may not even be enough.”

Rothchilde observed Halloran. They both knew the number was ridiculous, but was the Captain actually trying to scam him, keep some of it for himself?

Ultimately, it didn’t matter. It was pocket change to what N-Som was going to bring in.

“I don’t have that kind of cash here, and I assume he won’t take a check. Come back in an hour.”

Halloran shuffled off.

Rothchilde swiveled around in his chair and eyeballed his Miro.

After this was over, there would be an unavoidable delay in the schedule. He needed scientists, discreet scientists, to take over the N-Som research. The FDA was going to be a washout, so the smart thing to do was take production to another country. Mexico, probably. Not nearly the same regulations there, especially if you had money.

It wouldn’t be the same as selling the drug legitimately in America, but he’d still make a fortune through internet sales. It would take years before the US could ban it from importation, and by then he’d have enough money to buy the Presidency. Plus there was Europe, Asia, the world market to exploit. And of course, good old Uncle Sam.

The Army wanted twenty-four-hour soldiers. It wanted them badly, and was willing to pay for it. Rothchilde would be able to use much of the altered N-Som paperwork to close the sale, confidant that the military wouldn’t care in the least about the FDA setbacks.

The only possible hurdle was the dreams-some of those N-Som dreams were pretty disturbing, and Rothchilde didn’t want to think about some three star General trying out the drug and reliving someone else’s violent death.

But Rothchilde had already planned for that. While it had proven impossible so far to synthesize N-Som, the source could be changed. Rather than harvest the neurotransmitters from the brains of dead people, Rothchilde planned to use aborted fetuses.

A second trimester fetus had the same brain chemicals that were needed to make N-Som, but it didn’t have any memories. Dr. Nikos had given Rothchilde a sample to try, and the results were enthralling. Not only did the drug keep you awake and aware, but the N-Som dream was the most beautiful, most content, most relaxing thing Rothchilde had ever experienced. He had actually gone back to the womb. The feeling was so good, he could easily triple the price of the pill and people would still demand it.

Rothchilde stood up and pulled back the Miro. It swung away on hinges, revealing his wall safe. He dialed the combination and tugged the door open.

The current situation was a setback, but only a small one. Once the rest of the team was dead, he could rebuild.

Rothchilde took out five stacks of hundred dollar bills and set them on his desk. Then he picked up his phone.

“Yeah.”

“Theena and Bill are at DruTech. So is another doctor, a chemist named Julia Myrnowski. I want her taken care of as well. The guard at the desk has a security card. You’ll need it to get to the basement level. There’s a slot in the elevator.”

“Will the guard give it to us?”

“No. You’ll have to kill him, too.”

He heard Carlos sigh. “Why don’t we just set the whole building on fire?”

“Don’t fuck this up, Carlos. No more mistakes.”

“You’re asking us to walk into a public place and start wasting people.”

“You won’t have any trouble with the police. I’ve already taken care of that.”

“I still don’t like it.”

Rothchilde frowned. He’d have to talk to Gino about this guy’s attitude.

“Be ready to go in ninety minutes. You get this done, there will be a bonus.”

“How much?”

“Triple.”

Rothchilde could picture Carlos, adding up all that cash in his greedy little mind.

“We’ll take care of it.”

“I know you will.”

He hung up. Rothchilde looked across the office to a framed photo on the wall, of his father, Albert Rothchilde Sr. He’d been a pitiless, terrible parent, but his business skills were brilliant in their ruthlessness. In one of his rare kinder moments, he’d talked to young Albert about wealth.

“The key to getting it is taking risks. The key to keeping it is avoiding risks.”

Diversification. Never put all your eggs in one basket. Which was true, and which also led to his untimely death. As the elder Rothchilde watched his son grow, he saw in him the same lust for power that he had. He’d groomed his son to be his successor, teaching him the ins and outs of corporate domination. He taught him too well, in fact.

On Rothchilde’s twenty-first birthday, he got in touch with some of Chicago’s disreputable element, and for a small cut they permanently ended the career of Albert Rothchilde Sr. and his wife, leaving young Albert a fortune.

Rothchilde smiled at his father’s picture. “Should have diversified.”

Then he picked up the phone and dialed Gerry Smith. If Carlos and his dumb partner failed, he would make sure the FBI seals the deal.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

“Dr. May, let me introduce my daughter, Dr. Theena Boone.”

Dr. Nikos winked at Theena, a signal for her to turn on the charm. It was one of the few things she was good at.

“A pleasure, Dr. May.”

Bill shook Theena’s hand, returning the greeting.

“Please sit, Dr. May.” He pulled out a chair for Bill. “I have to be social for a little bit.”

Bill was in good hands, Nikos knew. She was a much better whore than her mother was.

The speech had gone as expected, the audience eating it up. He looked around for Manny, and found him shaking hands with one of the Governor’s aides.

“Can I speak to you a moment?”

Manny nodded. “Sure, Dr. Nikos. If you’ll excuse me.”

They walked through the banquet hall, smiling and waving at people. So many wanted their ear, it became obvious that privacy was impossible. Luckily, the washroom was empty.

“Did I do okay?” Manny was nervous, agitated.

Nikos looked at himself in the mirror and fingered his beard, smoothing it out.

“You did fine. But I need you to do something else.”

Manny tugged at his collar.

“I just want to get out of here. I don’t know how much of this I can take. I feel the walls closing in.”

“Take it easy. It will be over soon.”

“I need something, Dr. Nikos.” As if cued, sweat broke out on his forehead. “I’m about ready to tear my face off.”

“All I have on me is Compazine. You take one of those, you’ll act like a drooling idiot. I need you sharp. Did you see the back table? With all the military men?”

Manny nodded. Nikos had to admit, the guy looked close to cracking.

“I need you to go impress them. They’re the ones offering the defense contract.”

“I don’t know. I… I can try.”

Manny went into a toilet stall and closed the door behind him. Nikos frowned. Their prize pony wasn’t doing so hot. Trotting him out for the buyers might not be the smartest move.

Unfortunately, Rothchilde had insisted. Everything hinged on the military money. With unlimited funds, Nikos was sure he’d be able to develop a synthetic version of N-Som. He was morally compelled to. The experiments with fetuses were promising, but Rothchilde was already making deals with several South American countries…

The president of American Products wanted to finance baby factories; paying scores of impoverished women to get pregnant and abort. The whole thing left a bad taste in Nikos’s mouth.

A moan, from Manny’s stall.

“Manny? Are you okay?”

Nikos knocked on the stall. There was another moan, louder.

“Manny?” The door was locked. “Let me in.”

A scream, so shrill it pierced Nikos like glass. He took a step back and kicked the door in.

Manny sat on the toilet. His tuxedo was in shreds, and there was so much blood he looked like an autopsy in progress.

In his left hand was a scalpel.

“Manny!”

Manny fixed his eyes on Dr. Nikos. His gaze was malevolent.

“No. Not Manny. I’m his brother, David.”

Nikos took a step back. Manny’s voice, his posture, his demeanor-all had become threatening. He wasn’t acting like Manny at all. Nikos recalled the monkey experiments, and what long term N-Som use had done to their brains. He’d been deceiving himself about the drug’s safety, turning a blind eye to the truth, and now the awful realization of what he’d done was staring at him like a hungry animal.

“Manny, get a hold of yourself. You aren’t David. David died when you were kids.”

Manny stood up. His lips peeled back, revealing bloody teeth.

“I didn’t die.” He tapped his temple with the scalpel handle. “I’ve been up here all the time.”

“We need to get you to a doctor, Manny. I had no idea you were this bad.”

Manny took a step forward. “The name is David.”

Nikos felt fear. He was a big man, robust, but he’d seen what Manny was capable of. Manny could bench press three hundred and fifty pounds. Manny could punch through safety glass with his bare hands. And now, some internal switch had been flipped, and this unstoppable machine had become a full blown psychotic.

Nikos raised his hands in supplication.

“David is dead, Emmanuel. He committed suicide in juvenile hall. Don’t you remember? You told me yourself. Please, Manny…”

“Stop calling me Manny!”

The move was so quick, Nikos couldn’t even lift an arm to defend himself. All he saw was a blur, and then there was a waterfall of blood cascading down his chest.

Nikos clutched his neck, felt his fingers sink in to the trachea. He fell over.

“You killed him! You killed him!”

Nikos watched as Manny screamed at himself, turning the scalpel inwards and jabbing it over and over into his own chest. Eventually he collapsed as well.

“Dr. Nikos… I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop him.”

Nikos barely heard. He stared at the bathroom ceiling, knowing it was the last thing he’d ever see.

Theena’s mother was right. She’d always told him that all of his hard work would kill him.

He almost laughed at the irony.

I never should have left her, he thought. One of many mistakes he’d never have a chance to fix.

And then he died.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

David exited Route 53 at the Schaumburg off ramp. He’d always wanted a pickup truck. When he and Manny were kids, they shared a small die-cast toy. It was the only thing that stayed with them, from foster home to foster home. Their one constant. He even remembered how they lost it.

It was nearly twenty years ago. They were walking home after school, taking a short cut through a field. Manny began throwing stones at a bird’s nest, trying to hit the bleating chicks inside. David told him to stop. When Manny refused, David tossed their truck into the woods, never to be seen again.

Or was it the opposite? Had he been the one who was trying to hit the bird’s nest?

He shrugged it off. He had a real truck now. Full size, with four doors, all wheel drive, and a bumping stereo system.

The only drawback was the smell. David lowered the window another three inches. The truck’s former owner had voided his bowels when David stuck the scalpel in his neck, and he hadn’t found a suitable place to dump him so the body was still in the back seat.

The clock read just after five, and most of the DruTech employees would be going home for the day. David knew that the N-Som team always worked late. There was a good chance Theena and Dr. Myrnowski were still there, along with the FDA guy. Once those three were taken care of, David would finally be free.

He fought the departing traffic, inching his way through the parking lot until he found a space near the front entrance. When he turned off the ignition he noticed the bandage on his hand.

David was missing a finger.

When had that happened? He knew that he’d cut off Manny’s finger, to teach the coward a lesson. But had Manny somehow done the same thing to him?

The memory was hazy. He could picture himself, hacking at the joint, wiggling the scalpel to get through the knuckle. He could also remember a moment of white hot pain, but was that his pain or Manny’s?

He entered the DruTech Building, unable to figure it out. The answer was so close, tantalizing him, something he was almost on the verge of remembering.

The security guard, an overweight ex-cop named Barry, offered a curt nod.

“Good evening, Manny. Glad to see you’re out of the hospital.”

“I’m not Manny. I’m David.”

Barry raised an eyebrow.

“You feeling okay?”

Actually, he wasn’t feeling okay. The missing finger nagged at him. It meant something important.

“Who else is here?”

“Dr. Boone and Dr. May from the FDA. Dr. Myrnowski as well.”

“I don’t have my elevator pass to get down to the basement.”

“No problem, Manny. I’ll take you. Let me call down to Dr. Boone.”

David put a hand on Barry’s wrist, not allowing him to pick up the phone.

“I’d prefer to surprise her.”

He emphasized his point with a squeeze, feeling the wrist bones beneath Barry’s flab. The guard’s eyes widened.

“Sure, Manny. I’ll walk you to the elevator.”

David smiled and released his grip. The chubby man led him to the lift, his gait uneasy. He used his security pass in the slot under the call buttons. The green light went on, and the doors closed.

“You have something on your shirt.”

David looked down, and wasn’t surprised to see a large dried blood stain on his stomach. He had no idea whose it was. He’d killed so many people.

He touched the stain absently, and was startled to find a lump underneath. David lifted up his shirt.

Something that looked like a small plastic faucet was sticking out of a puckered hole in his belly. It protruded almost an inch. There was a fine mesh screen on the spout, leaking brown fluid.

Barry made a face.

“Ouch. A surgical drain. They put one of those in me when I had my colon operation two years ago. Keeps the swelling down after surgery. You should keep a bandage over the end so it doesn’t drain into your clothes.”

David touched it. He’d seen one before, on Manny, when he’d visited him in the hospital. But why did David have one? He pinched the end and began to pull.

“You really shouldn’t…”

Barry stopped talking, only able to stare. An inch of tube came out, wet and slimy, making a sucking noise like a worm crawling out of the muck. Then two inches. Four.

David continued to yank. The sensation was sublime, a soft finger moving through his insides. Almost a foot of tubing came out of his stomach before he reached the end.

He stared at the tube, curious. It was filled with foul smelling liquid the color of cola. The open end dripped onto the floor. David watched as the hole in his stomach closed like a tiny mouth.

Barry made a gagging sound. The elevator stopped and the doors opened.

“Thanks for the ride.” David smiled at Barry and handed the mute guard the drainage tube. Then he stepped out of the elevator.

The hallway was quiet, serene. Dr. Nikos sometimes piped music through the intercom speakers, but now the only sound was the hum of the neon lights.

David hated this place. It was worse than prison. Terrible as doing time was, it had a tangible ending. You could dream about getting out. Here, at DruTech, there was no end in sight. And the only dreams you had were of other people’s deaths.

David went into his room and took off his shirt. Finding Theena and Bill asleep on his bed was a delicious surprise.

He changed into a sweater and sat down next to Theena.

She was really quite beautiful. He could see why Manny was in love with her. David touched her smooth cheek, then let his hand slide down her neck, past her shoulder. He cupped a breast. Squeezed.

Theena didn’t wake up.

David took her pulse, watched her breathing. She was having a little N-Som siesta. Bill’s pulse was also weak, his wrist cool to the touch.

So… what-to-do, what-to-do? David took the scalpel from his back pocket. Two quick slices, and they would never wake up. He touched the blade under Theena’s chin. She whimpered, her eyes rolling back and forth under her lids.

Bad dream.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?”

He put the scalpel back in his pocket. This wasn’t the right time. David wanted her to be aware when she died. She had to know what was happening, and why.

“See you soon, sleeping beauty.”

He gave Theena a lingering kiss, forcing his tongue between her lips, licking her teeth. Then he got off the bed and left his room, on the prowl for Dr. Myrnowski.

The hallways hummed. David moved cautiously, even though he had no need to. It made him feel like some jungle beast, stalking prey. He was the master of his domain. The top of the food chain. Unstoppable.

He found her in the kitchenette. She was sitting at the breakfast bar, nibbling a bagel. Pudgy, blonde, shy Julia Myrnowski. He hoped she was enjoying her last meal.

“Hi, Julia.”

Dr. Myrnowski almost fell off her stool.

“Manny. You startled me.”

Why was everyone calling him Manny? Was there some big joke going on that he didn’t know about?

David sat next to her.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

She nodded, but her body language didn’t concur.

“You’ve tried N-Som, right Julia?”

The chemist shifted, leaning slightly away from him.

“Hmm? No, I’ve never tried it.”

David sidled closer. “Why not, it’s perfectly safe, right?”

Julia was visibly uncomfortable. She’d always been a real wallflower. He wondered if she were still a virgin. He wondered if he should check.

“Yes, I guess it’s safe. But I’m not big on taking drugs, I guess.”

“I see.”

Julia offered a meek smile, then got off her stool and put the remainder of her bagel in the refrigerator.

“I’m, um, going back to the lab.”

“No you’re not.”

Julia had no idea how to respond to that. She just stood there, stupidly, a deer in the headlights.

David was next to her in two steps. The chemist shivered, tried to make herself smaller. David fed on it like junk food.

“You’re afraid of me.”

A small whimper.

“You’re afraid, because you know what N-Som has done to my brain.”

“Please don’t hurt me…”

David let the anger wash over him. This feeble, cringing, pathetic creature was earning her salary by torturing him to death.

He put his arms around her, sympathetic. She started to sob.

“I won’t hurt you, Julia. Unless you think this hurts.”

The scalpel slid into her back, up under the shoulder blade.

Julia went rigid, and then collapsed onto herself like an old building.

A keening wail escaped her lips, and her arms flopped and twitched with a mind of their own.

“Well, I guess it hurts after all.”

David knelt next to her. He cradled her head in his arms and gave her the sweetest kiss, amused at how her lips trembled while he jammed the blade in and out.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Bill woke up first. This was the second time he’d undergone another person’s death, and it hadn’t gotten any easier.

The experience was so much stronger than normal dreaming. While under N-Som’s influence, Bill had not only relived Nikos’s final thoughts, but also the man’s feelings and senses. The bathroom smelled like lemon disinfectant. Nikos’s voice sounded different, because he’d heard it through the ears of the man speaking it. Worst of all, Bill felt the scalpel enter his neck, the blood leaking down his throat like hot acid.

No wonder Manny was so messed up. He’d taken N-Som how many times? Add to that the organic brain damage…

Bill knew enough psychology to be familiar with Disassociative Identity Disorder-what used to be termed multiple personality. He never bought it. Supposedly, children who were abused retreated into an alternate personality within their minds as a way of escape. Bill viewed it with the same disdain as so-called Repressed Memory Syndrome. A shrink could very easily, through inadvertent suggestion, implant these beliefs in a person’s head during therapy.

But Manny was something different. He’d been chowing down on brain chemicals for so long a schism had formed between his left and right hemispheres, dividing them. Through Dr. Nikos’s eyes, Bill saw Manny change into someone else.

And Bill was converted into a true believer.

He glanced at Theena, lying on the bed next to him. Her face was glossy with tears. He felt a knot of pity.

Not only did she experience her husband’s death, she was also privy to his thoughts about her. Thoughts that were neither loving nor pleasant.

Bill looked around the bedroom for a box of tissue. They were in Manny’s pseudo-apartment, the only place in DruTech with a bed. After extracting the brain matter from Dr. Nikos’s head and processing it into N-Som, they came here. Bill had almost balked at taking the drug; knowing where it came from, knowing what it did. But he wanted to learn the truth as much as Theena, and she had made trusting her impossible. So they’d taken the plunge together.

“Nikos…”

Theena opened her eyes. There was no Kleenex, but Bill found a roll of paper towels by the dresser. He tore one off and offered it.

“He thought I was a whore.” Her voice was soft, small.

Bill didn’t say anything. Theena had made some big mistakes, because of love. He’d been captaining that same ship for over a year.

“You saw what I saw.” Theena’s face flushed, and she hid behind the paper towel. “You saw what he thought of me. A man I devoted my whole life to. I was a regret. His last thought was regretting me.”

Bill juggled embarrassment and compassion.

“He didn’t think that. He regretted leaving your mother.”

“Same thing.”

“Theena…” Bill chose his words carefully. “Your husband, he wasn’t a very good man.”

Theena took a while to respond.

“I know. You won’t believe me, but I didn’t know anything about the fetal experiments. I also had no idea Manny was this bad. I showed him his CTs, tried to get him to quit. But Manny was just as obsessed as Nikos. Blind. Both of them were blind.” She let out a slow breath. “Me too.”

Maybe it was because he’d felt her husband’s thoughts, but Bill wasn’t angry at Theena anymore. He couldn’t condone what she’d done, but he hadn’t ever truly forgiven himself, either.

“You can make it right. We can make sure this drug is never put on the market.”

“We can’t go up against Albert. He’s too powerful.”

“He may have some friends in high places, but if we go to the media with this, the public will demand recourse.”

“How about Manny?”

How about Manny? He was truly screwed up, possibly beyond any help. Bill pitied him. But he’d also seen the cold blooded way he killed Dr. Nikos.

“We have to let the authorities take care of Manny.”

“It’s all my fault.”

“We can’t handle him ourselves, Theena. He’s too far gone, and too dangerous. You know what he’s capable of, physically. It would be like trying to catch the Terminator.”

“THEENA? BILL? YOU AWAKE?”

Bill jumped at the sound. A man’s voice, coming over the intercom speakers. Mannny. But Bill knew that even though the voice matched, this wasn’t Manny at all.

“YOU’VE GOT TWO WAYS OUT, THE ELEVATOR AND THE EMERGENCY STAIRS. I CAN ONLY WATCH ONE. SO HERE’S THE GAME. IF YOU CAN MAKE IT TO ONE OR THE OTHER, YOU’LL GO FREE. BUT IF I CATCH YOU… TELL THEM, JULIA.”

The shriek was the most frightening thing Bill had ever heard. It went on and on, raw terror and extreme pain, like the bleat of a tortured animal.

The awful sound was cut short with a gurgle and some bubbly coughing.

“IF I CATCH YOU, YOU GET TO JOIN DR. MYRNOWSKI HERE. THE CLOCK IS TICKING. GOOD LUCK.”

“Julia…”

Theena was two steps to the door when Bill caught her wrist.

“Hold it. We have to think.”

“He’s killing her.”

“She’s already dead, Theena. We go rushing blindly into the hall, we’re next.”

Theena’s face was distilled anguish. Bill could guess his expression was the same. They both fought to keep cool heads.

“Okay…” Theena’s brows scrunched up. “The elevator is down the hall, to the left. The emergency stairs are to the right.”

“Where is Manny?”

“He could be anywhere. Every room has an intercom next to the door.”

Bill looked around the room, saw the phone. Theena intercepted him.

“Doesn’t dial out. It’s a direct line to the lab.”

He took out his cell phone, but again Theena shook her head.

“Too far underground. No signal.”

“Are there any damn phones down here?”

“No. Nikos wanted us to be isolated, shut off. No interruptions.”

“How about security?”

“The lab has a link to the security desk, but Manny knows that too.”

Bill wanted to rip out his hair. “How about a fire alarm?”

“There’s a box in the kitchen. It can be pulled.”

“Then the fire department would come?”

Theena nodded, but neither of them moved. They weren’t anxious to go out into the hallway. Bill scanned the ceiling for a sprinkler. There was one over the bed, but he had no way of setting it off. For this first time in his life, Bill wished he smoked.

“Maybe I can talk to him.” Theena chewed her lower lip. “Manny and I have an understanding.”

“That’s not Manny.”

“I can try anyway.”

“First let’s do something about this door.”

Theena helped him push the dresser up against it, snugged tight underneath the knob. For good measure they put the desk behind that. Bill gave the door a firm tug, but it didn’t budge.

“That should be okay. Now what?”

Theena pressed the intercom button on the box next to the light switch.

“David? It’s Theena.”

“HI, THEENA.”

“We want to help you, David. We want you to get better.”

“I’M TOUCHED.”

“I mean it. I know that this experiment hurt you. It’s not your fault.”

“I’M GLAD YOU THINK SO. OPEN THE DOOR, WE’LL TALK.”

Theena threw Bill a desperate look. He joined her by the intercom.

“David? It’s Dr. Bill May from the FDA.”“

“HELLO, BILL. HOW’S THE INVESTIGATION GOING?”

“It’s over. N-Som won’t get approval in this country.”

“TOO BAD. WE’VE ALL WORKED SO HARD. MANNY WILL BE CRUSHED.”

“Can we speak to Manny?”

“I DON’T KNOW WHERE HE IS.”

Bill took a shot. “David, you’re Manny. He’s inside you. You’re the same person.”

No response. The silence stretched. Theena tapped Bill on the shoulder.

“Is it smart to confuse him like that?”

“As far as we know, Manny’s not a killer. Only his alter ego is. Maybe a catharsis will snap him back to normal.” Bill hit the intercom button. “Manny? Are you there? Hello? Manny?”

“I JUST PICKED UP A NEW CD. WANNA HEAR IT?”

A groan came over the loudspeaker. It was feminine, undeniably sexual, and Bill could identify it from experience.

Theena looked mortified. The female voice was joined by a male one, the sounds of two people making love filling the entire underground complex.

Bill was confused. Was it a recording? How?

“I REALLY NEEDED THAT.”

Theena’s voice. That was what she’d said after she and Bill had sex the first time. But the voice that answered didn’t belong to Bill.

“MARRY ME, THEENA.”

It was Manny. Out of breath, vulnerable.

“YOU’RE SO SWEET, MANNY.”

Theena blushed furiously. She lowered her head, refusing to look at Bill.

“PLEASE, THEENA. YOU’RE THE ONLY REASON I STAY HERE. THE N-SOM-SOMETIMES IT MAKES ME CRAZY.”

“YOU KNOW IT’S SAFE, MANNY. DR. NIKOS AND I WOULDN’T MAKE YOU DO THIS IF THERE WERE ANY POSSIBLE DANGER.”

Theena put a hand over her face. The playback ended, and the room got eerily silent.

“Nikos told me to sleep with Manny. To keep him on the project.”

“Even though it was hurting him?”

Bill felt bad right after it left his mouth. They both knew what her mistakes were, and he shouldn’t keep rubbing her nose in them. But hearing her with Manny stung. It was more than jealousy. Being with Theena had made Bill feel special, and he’d hoped the feeling was mutual.

She started to cry, but caught herself. Bill could sense the courage it took her to meet his gaze. “What you and I did, yesterday…”

“Theena, don’t.”

“I need to say it, Bill. For what it’s worth, no one made me do that. I did it on my own.”

They stared into each other’s eyes. Maybe it was ego, maybe it was gullibility, but even after being lied to so many times, Bill believed her.

“DO YOU STILL THINK THERE’S NO POSSIBLE DANGER, THEENA?”

Theena jerked her head up at the speaker, and then launched herself at the intercom.

“Manny, I know you can hear me. You and David are the same person. I know you’re inside him, somewhere.”

“IT SOUNDED LIKE HE WAS INSIDE YOU A MINUTE AGO. DID YOU ENJOY THE RECORDING? I GOT IT FROM THE LATE DR. FLETCHER. IT WAS MARKED ‘MANNY AND THEENA #7’. YOU SURE KEEP BUSY.”

“Dammit, Manny! You’re not a killer! You’re my friend, and you can fight this!”

They waited for a response. None came.

“Manny?”

Silence. Had Theena gotten through to him? Was he in some grand conflict with his other self, fighting for control.

BAM!

The knock on the door startled them both. They exchanged a frightened glance.

“Theena? Bill? It’s Manny.”

His tone was meek and submissive. Theena put her hip against the dresser and began to push.

“That’s him. We can open the door.”

Bill held her back. “He could be faking it.”

“How do we know?”

Bill wished he’d paid more attention to psych class in college. He knew that all DIDs had a core personality. Manny was the core. Did the core ever know about the other identities?

Bill didn’t think so. He recalled that old Sally Field movie, Sybil. She didn’t know that people existed inside her.

But it went beyond that-Manny and David thought they were separate people.

“If that’s Manny, how did he know we’re in here? David knows we’re in his room. But if Manny just woke up, he wouldn’t know what was going on. Right?”

Another knock. “Theena? Bill? I’m okay now. Open up, I’m scared.”

Theena edged the desk back into place.

“We can’t, Manny. We don’t know if we can believe you.”

The room shook with a massive WHUMP. Bill and Theena jumped back and stared with horror at the fire ax blade poking through the door. It worked itself free, and David winked at them through the newly made hole.

“Hi, guys.”

Bill spun around, frantically looking for something he could use as a weapon. He picked up a floor lamp with a heavy brass bottom, ripping the cord out of the wall.

David chopped away at the door, making fast progress. The upper half was quickly full of holes, and every whack connected more of them together. He soon had decent sized opening.

Bill moved closer, holding the lamp like a baseball bat. When David reached his arm through to push back the dresser, Bill swung.

He connected solidly with David’s shoulder, the metal lamp vibrating in his hands at impact.

David howled like a kicked dog, his arm snaking back through the opening. They watched him move away from the door, out of view.

Bill’s breath was coming out in pants. His whole body shook with adrenaline. Theena put her hand on his back and he jumped in surprise.

“I think he’s gone.”

Bill tried to open his hands, but they refused to let go of the lamp. He took a cautious step towards the opening, trying to get a better view of the hallway.

“Is he there?”

Bill couldn’t see David, but he wasn’t going to stick his head through the hole to be sure.

“I don’t know.”

“We should make a run for it.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“THAT WAS A NICE SHOT, DOC.”

Again, they both were startled by the intercom.

“I THINK MY SHOULDER IS DISLOCATED. IF I ASK REAL NICE, WILL YOU OPEN THE DOOR AND FIX IT FOR ME?”

Bill saw no reason to answer.

“I THOUGHT DOCTORS TOOK AN OATH TO HELP PEOPLE.”

Theena pulled a drawer from the dresser and moved to smash it against the intercom. Bill held her back.

“We may need it later.”

“I can’t take his mocking.”

“I know.”

She began to tremble.

“This is my fault. This is all my fault.”

Bill managed to set the lamp down. He reached for her and they held each other.

“WHY DON’T YOU JUST OPEN UP, GET IT OVER WITH? I PROMISE I’LL MAKE IT QUICK AND PAINLESS.”

David broke out in a hysterical giggle. It was the distilled sound of homicidal madness, and scared Bill out of his wits.

“WAIT, JUST WAIT A SEC, I KNOW I CAN SAY THAT WITH A STRAIGHT FACE.”

Bill closed his eyes. This was a nightmare. No-worse than a nightmare. You could wake up from those.

“LOOK, GUYS. NO ONE IS GOING TO HELP YOU. I’VE KILLED EVERYONE ELSE. DR. FLETCHER, DR. TOWNSEND, DR. O’NEIL… ALL DEAD. YOU’RE THE LAST ONES.”

“How about Barry upstairs?” Bill was running out of ideas. “Will he check on us when we don’t come up?”

Theena frowned. “Security is used to us staying down here overnight. David’s right. No one can help us.”

“YOU DON’T HAVE ANY FOOD, AND EVENTUALLY YOU’LL GET TIRED AND HAVE TO SLEEP. I DON’T HAVE THAT PROBLEM. JUST ACCEPT YOUR FATE.” Another insane giggle.

Bill held Theena tighter.

Theena’s voice was barely a whisper. “We’re going to die down here, aren’t we Bill?”

“No. Of course not. We’ll figure something out.”

But Bill had a horrifying feeling that she was right.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

The gun felt heavy in Captain Halloran’s pocket. It was an old Smith and Wesson Rimfire, a throwaway piece, untraceable. A 22 LR wasn’t his preferred weapon of choice-when Halloran walked the beat, he’d always used something with more stopping power. But at close range, it should be fine.

He was oddly at ease with himself for a man about to commit murder.

The way Halloran saw it, he had no choice. He was in over his head, much too far to back out. Rothchilde had put him in an untenable position. A man of his rank couldn’t allow himself to be connected with any of these murders. Prison terrified Halloran. Cons weren’t nice to cops on the inside.

So it was a matter of self preservation. Rothchilde was getting too careless, ordering murders like they were pizzas. He had to be taken down. The two hundred and fifty k wasn’t the motivating factor. It was just a bonus.

At least, that’s what Halloran kept telling himself.

He’d gotten into the mansion using the key Rothchilde had given him-the DruTech President didn’t want his servants to know how often Halloran came and went.

Rothchilde’s paranoia had served Halloran well. The icing on the cake was Rothchilde’s office-afraid of being overheard, he’d had it soundproofed. The guy was practically begging for someone to shoot him.

Halloran let himself in after a one-two knock.

“How did it go with the Schaumburg police?”

Classic Rothchilde. No greetings. No pleasantries.

“Fine. Where’s the money?”

Rothchilde offered one of his frequent condescending smiles. “It’s in my wall safe, of course. Do you think I’m going to let you just walk out of here with a quarter of a million dollars?”

Halloran didn’t like where this was going.

“How am I supposed to give it to him?”

“You don’t have to. I already made arrangements.”

The cop’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I called up Schaumburg myself. Strangely, the Captain there doesn’t even know you. But he was willing to look the other way for only thirty thousand.”

Halloran took out the piece. “I’m through messing around, Albert. Just give me the cash.”

Rothchilde continued smiling. “Frankly, Captain, I’m surprised. I didn’t think you had the stones to cross me.”

“The safe, Albert.”

“Isn’t it your intention to kill me anyway? Why should I also let you take my money?”

Halloran’s face twitched. He could feel the sweat climb down the back of his neck. The moment was getting away from him. Halloran had killed a man before, in the line of duty, clear self-defense. Killing in cold blood was a horse of a different color. If he was going to do it, it had to be now, before he lost his nerve. The money wasn’t the motivating factor. This was self-preservation.

Halloran thumbed off the safety.

“Before you shoot me, maybe you should know about my insurance.”

Rothchilde glanced up at the corner of the room. Halloran followed his gaze.

A video camera winked down at them from the corner.

“A rich man like me needs security.”

Halloran snarled. “Where’s the VCR?”

“I don’t think I’m going to tell you.”

It kept getting worse and worse. Halloran had spent his career talking to criminals who couldn’t understand how their careful plans had gone so wrong. He was watching the same thing happen to himself.

“I could make you tell me.”

“Perhaps. Or you could continue to work for me, and I’ll give you a nice bonus. Put away the gun.”

Halloran didn’t move. This had gone very sour, and the very last thing he wanted to do was give Rothchilde the upper hand again. But what else could he do?

Halloran shoved the gun back into his pocket.

“Good cop. I’ve got your bonus in here.”

Rothchilde opened his desk drawer and stuck his hand inside. Alarm bells went off in Halloran’s head. Rothchilde was moving too fast, and the expression on his face was wicked, almost bloodthirsty. Halloran dug back into his pocket, pulling at the 22, getting it caught on the fabric.

Rothchilde’s hand came out holding a large 9mm. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t talk. He aimed it at Halloran’s face and pulled the trigger.

Maybe he’s not a good shot.

That was Halloran’s last thought, and it went out the back of his head with a good portion of his frontal lobe.

Rothchilde watched the cop pitch over, a fine mist of vaporized blood settling to the ground after him.

It had been like shooting skeet at the club. Aim, squeeze, score. Easier, even; a clay pigeon was small and fast, not fat, stationary, and stupid.

Rothchilde stood up and walked around the desk, surveying the damage. There was a black, gooey hole where Halloran’s left eye had been. His other eye was wide open, still registering shock. It delighted Rothchilde so much that he located his Polaroid and took a picture.

When the novelty wore off, he realized that this had to be dealt with. There were stains, and as time wore on there was sure to be an odor. He picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number.

“Yeah.”

“Carlos, when you’re finished at DruTech, I need you and Franco at my place.”

“I got hit with a cactus.”

“I can’t say that I care. You both must come here when you’re finished.”

“Okay.”

Rothchilde frowned. Didn’t the man want to know why?

“I need you to dispose of something.”

“Okay. I said we’ll be there.”

Rothchilde tried to quell his desire to brag. This was his first kill, a symbolic rite of passage. He proved that he had the intestinal fortitude to get his own hands dirty-wet work, the mob called it. Carlos should have sensed that, offered to share their bond and welcome him as a member of the club. Instead, Rothchilde got blind obedience.

“How long will you be?” Rothchilde had to slip it in. “This body is doing terrible things to my carpet.”

“Should be soon. We’re pulling into DruTech right now.”

Was the man dense? Or was he so used to murder that it had become mundane to him?

“Fine.” Rothchilde sighed. “Keep me posted.”

He hung up, annoyed. Why did he care what Carlos thought, anyway? The man was a petty thug. Even worse, he was the hired help. Rothchilde would have to be content with keeping his victory to himself.

His spirits buoyed a bit when he noticed the hole in the far wall. Using his letter opener, he pried the slug out of the wood paneling. It was mashed on one side, like a small lead mushroom, still sticky with Halloran’s blood.

Rothchilde placed it in an envelope and locked it in his wall safe. If he couldn’t share the experience, at least he could keep a trophy.

Then he sat back at his desk and relived the whole scene in his head. The look on Halloran’s face was priceless. He wished he could do it all over again.

Then he remembered the security camera.

Excited, Rothchilde left his office, locking the door behind him. He moved at a brisk clip, down the grand staircase, into the library, through the keypad entrance where all of the security VCRs were located. Several minutes later he was watching the correct tape on his big plasma screen, mouth frozen in a grin and eyes wide as saucers.

It was hugely disappointing.

Rothchilde’s equipment was state of the art, but its purpose was to aid in security, not produce Hollywood blockbusters.

First of all, there was no sound. All of the delicious things Rothchilde had said-taunting Halloran, getting him to put away his gun, all of it was missing. And while the color was fine, the stationary downward angle didn’t show either of their faces.

But the worst part was the speed. The VCRs recorded in time lapse, so an entire twenty-four hour period could fit onto one eight hour tape. It only videotaped one frame every second, so things were ridiculously speeded up. From the time Halloran entered the office, until he was dead on the floor, lasted a measly eight seconds.

Rothchilde tried to watch it using the slow motion button, but the result was still jerky and unimpressive.

A pity. He would have given a lot of money to see himself in action. Too bad there wasn’t a way.

But there was a way, wasn’t there?

Rothchilde stood up, heart hammering. It might not work. He’d shot Halloran in the head. Perhaps he’d damaged the part of the brain that can be made into N-Som.

But it was worth a try, wasn’t it?

He bounded up the stairs, back to his office, and called Carlos. They would have to postpone the murders, until Rothchilde could force Theena to turn Halloran into N-Som.

The phone rang, and rang, and then he was connected to Carlos’s voice mail.

“Damn it.”

The dumb thug had turned off his phone. He was probably very close to killing them both. If that happened, it would be weeks before Rothchilde could find replacement scientists to do the work.

If it was one thing the rich hated, it was waiting.

Rothchilde hung up and dialed his pilot.

“Fredrick? I need you to fly the chopper over to the mansion, ASAP. I have to get to DruTech as quickly as possible.”

Fredrick complied. Rothchilde rarely used the helicopter, and it cost an extraordinary amount of money to keep it always on standby, but it looked like his indulgence would pay off today. Weather permitting, he could be at DruTech in twenty minutes.

But he had something to do, first. Rothchilde went to the kitchen and quarter-filled a plastic garbage bag with ice. Then he grabbed the largest butcher knife in the rack and headed back to his office.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Carlos didn’t like it.

There were unwritten rules for hits. That’s how he’d lasted in this business as long as he had. Bending the rules was asking to get caught-or worse.

The DruTech building was practically empty, but it was still a public place, and that went against the rules. Carlos wasn’t some inner city gang-banger who got his kicks doing drive-bys. Carlos was a pro, and he wasn’t being treated as such.

There were other rules being ignored as well. Never work with a partner, especially a dumb ox like Franco. Don’t do contract work for the corporate sector. And most of all, never return to a crime scene. He’d broken all of these in the last two days.

It got worse. That moron Rothchilde called a little while ago, bragging he just wasted someone, wanting him for yet another garbage run. The risk of cleaning up after amateurs was incredibly high. It just wasn’t right.

“You okay? Looks like you got a saggy diaper that leaks.”

Franco laughed at his own idea of wit.

“Stay sharp. This one feels like it could be messy.”

“I’m always sharp.”

Yeah, right. Sharp like a box of dumb bells.

Carlos parked where they couldn’t be seen from the front entrance, and again did the Fed Ex thing. The doors were locked, but one fat security guard was reading a paperback behind his stand in the lobby. Carlos knocked.

The guard made a show of walking over, pulling out a loaded key ring and fumbling with the lock.

“Late today.”

Carlos gave him his practiced ‘average Joe’ shrug. “Overnight guaranteed, even if there’s nobody here.”

The guard looked him over.

“You cut yourself shaving?”

Carlos seethed beneath his bandages. He’d spent twenty minutes in front of a mirror, pulling out cactus spines with tweezers, and he didn’t find it amusing.

“Yeah. I always shave my forehead.”

Carlos offered the clipboard for the guard to sign. Then he did a discreet screening of the perimeter before putting a bullet in the fat man’s temple.

The sound was deafening, but this was the suburbs-they weren’t used to hearing gunfire. No one would guess that’s what it was.

Carlos knelt next to the guard and did a quick frisk. He took the keys, his wallet, and found the elevator card Rothchilde had described.

Franco came up behind him, and together they hauled the body into the lobby and locked the door.

“How many guards are on?”

“Just the one. We can take our time.”

The elevator had a slot beneath the call buttons, and Carlos jammed in the card key.

Franco giggled in his girl’s voice. “Like James Bond.”

Carlos sighed. Maybe it was time to think about retiring. The mob didn’t offer a pension, but he had a few dollars socked away. Plus he’d put money in the 401k. Not enough to live like a king, but enough to get by.

When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, Carlos sensed something was wrong. Franco picked up on his vibe.

“What is it?”

“Not sure.”

Franco sneered and walked into the hall. He was completely unprepared for the maniac with the fire ax who came careening around the corner, whooping and swinging.

Carlos managed to get his gun out. The guy chopped away at Franco like a tree, sluicing the white walls with blood, his howls mingling with Franco’s wails. A scene from a slaughterhouse in hell.

Carlos had five shots in his Colt’s cylinder and he fired them all.

Three of the slugs buried themselves in Franco’s back, ending his misery. The other two took the psycho in the chest. At least, Carlos thought they did.

Franco dropped to his knees and slumped over, but the other guy ran back the way he came, not giving any sign that he was hurt.

Carlos stood there, stunned. The 38 Special was warm in his hand, a trail of smoke spiraling up from the barrel. Why didn’t that guy go down? Carlos was positive he’d hit him.

He thumbed the extractor and emptied his brass into his hand. Without needing to look, he located his speed loader in his pocket and nudged in six more bullets. Holding his breath, he strained to hear down the hallway. The only sound was the drumming of his own heart.

“YOU CAN’T KILL ME.”

A man’s voice, coming from everywhere at once. Carlos traced it to the overhead speakers.

“Come out and I’ll try again!”

“LET’S PLAY HIDE AND SEEK. YOU’RE IT.”

Carlos moved cautiously, keeping both hands on the gun. A trail of blood droplets glinted on the tile floor. He followed them, hugging the far wall as he turned the corner.

The loudspeaker giggled.

“GETTING WARMER.”

Carlos stopped. He was scared. Fear was an old, familiar roommate, but he didn’t show up too often.

The first time Carlos killed someone, as a green thirteen-year-old joining the Latin Kings, he was scared. Every time Gino made him deal with those crazy Colombians, with their dead eyes, he was scared. Years ago he’d gotten arrested, and some punk ass street cop, hungry for a promotion, beat Carlos with a phone book, trying to get him to squeal. He’d been scared then, too.

But this time the fear was different. Carlos felt like he was in a haunted house, waiting for some deformed monster to jump out and say boo. A bullet proof monster with an ax.

“DON’T STOP NOW. YOU’RE SO CLOSE.”

Carlos knew he should turn around, take the elevator back up, and get the hell out of there. Why walk willingly into a nightmare? He could come back with more men, take care of this the right way.

Gino wouldn’t stand for it. Franco was Gino’s nephew. He’d trusted Carlos to take care of him. If Carlos came back without avenging him, he was dead anyway.

He began to move forward again.

“Come out! Come out, I’ll finish you off!”

The hallway came to a division. Carlos looked left, and then right, searching for the blood trail. He went right.

“WARMER. WARMER. GETTING HOT.”

The door up ahead was ajar, a smear of blood on the knob. Carlos tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry.

“BURNING UP! YOU’RE ON FIRE!”

He kicked the door and went in low, gun close to his body. It was a small kitchen, something large and bloody slumped on the floor in front of him.

Carlos fired three times at the figure, four times, his brain registering that this wasn’t the guy, that this was some poor dead girl, but he couldn’t stop firing, he was too scared to stop, and when he was out of bullets and clicking on an empty chamber he felt movement behind him.

Carlos spun, falling to the ground as the man with the ax towered over him like an immense shadow. He had a sick, happy smile on his face, and there were two bloody bullet holes in the front of his shirt.

Why was this guy still standing?

Carlos heard a horrible scream, and realized that it was coming from himself.

Then the ax fell, and the screaming stopped.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

“We should go now, while they’re busy.”

Bill agreed. When they’d first heard the gunshots, he and Theena had held out hope for rescue. Their escape plans evaporated when they realized the two mob thugs had come to call.

But the situation had improved slightly. Close as they could figure, Carlos and David were in the kitchen. That meant the hallway to the emergency staircase was open.

Bill displaced the desk and Theena helped him drag the dresser out of the way. They had problems opening the door; the ax had done so much damage the mechanism was stuck. Bill gave the knob three solid kicks to free it up.

They pushed out into the hallway, liberated and frightened. Theena uttered a surprised gasp.

David was standing at the corner. He looked like a blood-drenched demon from hell, swinging his ax and staring at them like Satan coming to collect souls.

Bill grabbed Theena’s wrist and they sprinted in the opposite direction. His feet were fueled by terror, and they made it to the fire door and up two flights of stairs before Bill had time to even take a breath.

Two more flights, and they were at the lobby door. Bill wasted precious seconds fumbling with the dead bolt, and then they were suddenly through. They ran to the front doors and pushed against the glass.

Locked.

Bill stared at the keyhole, unable to comprehend it. He rammed his shoulder against the doors but they didn’t so much as shudder.

Theena came up behind him, holding a cylindrical chrome garbage can. She and Bill hefted it on their shoulders.

“Close your eyes.”

They rammed it into the glass door with all they had.

There was a loud clanging sound, and the can bounced off the glass. There wasn’t so much as a chip. What the hell were they making glass out of these days?

“There has to be a fire exit somewhere. Come on.”

Again he grabbed Theena’s wrist and they ran back behind the security desk, practically tripping over Barry’s body.

Theena screamed. The security guard looked like a dropped watermelon from the neck up.

Ding.

Bill and Theena turned as one and faced the elevator.

It was coming up.

Bill had no idea what to do. The DruTech Building was big, fifteen stories and hundreds of offices. Maybe they could hide somewhere, wait for help to come.

“Barry…”

“Barry’s dead, Theena.”

“He has a gun.”

Bill hustled back to the security guard’s body. Sure enough, there was a gun in a leather holster on his waist. Bill knelt down, fumbling to unbutton the clasp.

Another ding. The elevator doors parted like a stage curtain.

David smiled at them. There was a splash of blood on his face, matting one side of his hair. His shirt and pants were streaked with gore. He was leaning on his ax like a walking cane.

“Are you guys trying to get away from me?”

Bill tugged at the gun, pulling it free. He’d never held one before, and was surprised by its weight. This was a different kind of gun that Carlos had, not a revolver, but the other kind where you loaded the bullets in the bottom. He pointed it at David with shaking hands.

“Don’t come any closer!”

David stepped out of the elevator, swinging his ax.

“Are you sure you know how to fire that gun, Doc?”

Bill closed one eye, aiming at David’s chest. This whole scene was surreal. Bill didn’t want to kill him. The thought of killing someone scared Bill almost as much as getting hit with that ax.

“David, please.” Theena was on her knees alongside Barry. “We want to help you.”

“Sorry, Theena. I don’t have a choice.”

He raised the ax up over his head.

Bill closed his eyes. This was not what it was supposed to feel like. All of those movies and books, where the hero nonchalantly blew people away by the dozens. That was garbage. This was real, and frightening, and so very final.

Worst of all, Bill knew what it felt like to kill somebody. Horrible, beyond words. He wasn’t anxious to relive the feeling.

“Bill.” Theena gripped him, trembling. “You have to.”

He bit his lip and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

“That’s a semiautomatic, Doc. You have the safety on. It’s that lever in the back.”

Bill’s fingers pushed at the little lever to unlock it. His resolve was slipping away. David seemed to know it, too, and found it humorous. He’d begun to swagger.

Bill forced courage. He pointed the gun again and fired.

Click.

“Nothing in the chamber, Doc. You have to work the slide. Don’t you watch TV?”

David continued towards them, grinning. He was less than five yards away, twirling the ax like a baton. Theena crouched behind Bill, her hands on his shoulders.

Bill pulled the top half of the gun back, and the mechanism loaded the round.

He fired.

The shot was wild, way over David’s head, and the gun bucked so hard it almost flew out of Bill’s hands. There was a jingling sound when the spent cartridge hit the terrazzo.

“Keep both eyes open, Doc. Squeeze the trigger, don’t jerk it. And you have to lean into it a little. Want me to show you?”

This was too much, having make the same horrible decision over and over. Bill took a deep breath and tried to keep his hands steady. David was less than ten feet away. He couldn’t afford to miss.

The ax cocked back. Theena screamed at Bill to shoot. He pulled the trigger.

The shot hit David high in the chest. He fell over, the ax skittering across the floor.

Theena cried out in relief, burying her face in Bill’s neck and holding him tight. Bill let out the breath he was holding and pulled her close. He felt a wave of sickness wash over him. The implications of what he’d done began to gnaw at him. He’d taken a life.

“Look at Manny!”

Bill spun around, half expecting to see the man back on his feet, like some unkillable Halloween monster. Instead he saw Manny cough, his chest rising and falling.

Bill’s hope soared. “He’s still alive.”

“Help him.”

Bill wasn’t sure that was such a hot idea. He was happy Manny wasn’t dead, but if he suddenly recovered Bill didn’t think he could shoot him again.

“Theena…”

“Bill, please. It’s not his fault.”

She was right. If ever there was a textbook case of insanity, it was Manny.

Bill went to him, felt the carotid. Pulse was weak but steady. He tore open Manny’s shirt and used it to wipe away the excess blood. There were three bullet holes, one in the sternum, one just above the belly button, and one through the right nipple. Incredibly, they were no longer bleeding.

“We need to get him to a hospital. Call 911. Get the police here, too.”

Theena nodded. Bill gently lifted Manny into a sitting position and examined his back. One exit wound, under the shoulder blade. The other two bullets were still in his body somewhere. Manny’s breathing was raspy, shallow. He laid him back down and put an ear to his chest. Collapsed lung.

“Get something to put under his feet.”

Theena finished the phone call and brought the chrome garbage can over. They placed Manny’s legs on top to help improve blood flow to the brain and stave off shock. All at once, Manny started to twitch and tremble.

Bill listened to his chest again. The arrhythmia was obvious. He guessed it was ventricular tachycardia-Manny’s heart had to be up near two hundred beats per minute.

“What’s happening?”

“He’s having a heart attack. A clot probably dislodged.”

“What can we do?”

Bill didn’t have an answer. In a fully stocked ER there was plenty he could do. But without drugs, all he could manage was keep CPR going until the paramedics arrived. Manny’s heartbeat, though fast, wasn’t effectively pumping blood through his body, and if Bill couldn’t get the blood to circulate, the man would be dead within minutes.

He raised Manny’s neck, opening the airway.

“Bill, there are drugs in the lab downstairs.”

“What kind of drugs?”

“Everything. We’re stocked for World War III.”

“Heparin? TPA? Streptokinase?”

Theena nodded.

“How about epinephrine and beryllium?”

“I’ll be right back.” Theena ran for the elevator.

“Hold on. You shouldn’t go down there alone. We don’t know if those two mob guys are dead.”

Theena’s face was frantic. “I can’t just let him die, Bill. It’s my fault this is happening.”

Bill thought it over, then handed her the gun. “Don’t take any chances. And don’t forget the syringe.”

Theena took off. Bill stared down at Manny, watching his face contort in pain. His legs thrashed, kicking the garbage can across the lobby. He’d gone from V-Tach to V-Fib, his heart playing an erratic game of stop and go, beating without coordination. He’d also stopped breathing.

Bill raised both hands over his head and brought them down hard, giving Manny a precordial thump on the chest. The object was to restart the heart’s electrical current and override the arrhythmia. A defibrillator would work better, but he doubted even Theena’s well stocked lab had one handy.

He checked Manny’s heartbeat and hit him again. Then he did a quick mouth sweep and tilted Manny’s head up, giving him the breath of life. Bill fell into the familiar rhythm of CPR, putting one hand over the other and pressing on Manny’s ribcage, feeling the heart spasm under his palms.

A sound, from outside. Bill turned to look through the doors, continuing his chest compressions.

A helicopter was landing in the parking lot.

Before Bill had a chance to laud the incredible speed of Schaumburg paramedics, Albert Rothchilde climbed out of the bird and ran to the front doors.

Bill gave Manny another breath, wondering what to do. Why was Rothchilde here? To see if his goons finished the job?

Rothchilde unlocked the front door and entered the lobby. He held a glistening black garbage bag. He approached Bill with an expression of quiet amusement.

“Dr. May. So good to see you. Is Theena still with us?”

Bill punched Manny’s chest again.

“We need to get this man to a hospital. Help me with his legs, we’ll use your chopper.”

“Sorry, but I don’t think so. In fact, why don’t you just stop trying to help him.” Rothchilde produced a gun from his pocket. “Now, please.”

Bill continued the CPR. Rothchilde might hire guys to do his dirty work, but Bill didn’t think him the type to do it himself.

Rothchilde aimed and fired, putting another bullet into Manny’s gut.

Bill jumped back, raising his hands. So much for his character assessment. He looked down at Manny.

Manny twitched twice, and then was still.

Rothchilde was all smiles. “Much better. Now where’s Theena?”

Bill felt anger clogging his throat, making speech difficult. “You bastard.”

“Dr. May, I have no time for games. Don’t make me ask you again.”

“You’re going to kill me if I help you or not.”

“True. But if you don’t help me, I’m going to shoot you in the kneecap. It’s supposed to be excruciating. Shall we see?”

Bill mulled it over. Theena was one of the reasons he was in this ridiculous mess. Why should he suffer, especially since Rothchilde would inevitably find her anyway?

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let this megalomaniac find her, even if it meant pain. Bill was confused about his feelings for Theena, but if he could protect her he would.

“Those thugs you hired shot Manny and took her away.”

Rothchilde squinted at him. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“They said they wanted to find out what she knew. That it was worth a lot of money.”

A flash of panic swept over Rothchilde’s face.

“Do you know where they took her?”

“Back to her apartment.”

“And why aren’t you playing hero and trying to save her?”

Bill tried to sound cold. “I don’t owe that bitch anything.”

Rothchilde smiled. “She is quite the little charmer, isn’t she? Did you find out about her and daddy yet? And he’s the one that sent her to me. There’s enough in that relationship for a lifetime of therapy.”

Bill had to get him out of here. Theena could be coming back any second.

“You’d better go. The police are on their way.”

“No, they aren’t. I’ve taken care of that.”

Rothchilde moved closer, his focus intense.

“Move your arm, please. I want a clear shot at your heart.”

Bill knew with absolute certainty that he was going to die. This was more than Rothchilde simply needing him out of the way. The bloodthirsty bastard actually wanted to shoot him. He was practically drooling.

Bill grasped at a straw.

“I’ll take money.”

“What money?” Rothchilde laughed.

“Half a million.”

Rothchilde rolled his eyes, obviously enjoying himself. “And why would I give you half a million?”

“For the FDA to approve N-Som.”

The smile faded and Rothchilde raised an eyebrow.

“An interesting proposal. But I don’t think you’ll do it. You’re too honest.”

“You could keep men with me until it’s finished. We could have all the paperwork done by the end of the week.”

Bill watched him think it over. He could almost see the little balance scale in Rothchilde’s head, weighing the pros and cons.

“You’d do it for a measly half a million?”

“Half a million, plus my life.”

Rothchilde pondered for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he grinned.

“Deal.”

Ding.

They both looked off to the side.

The elevator was coming up.

Bill fought panic. As soon as Theena stepped out, Rothchilde was going to catch the lie and kill him.

“Ready to go?” Bill took two casual steps towards him. Rothchilde bayed him with the gun.

“Hold on. I want to see who’s in the elevator.”

“It’s probably Dr. Myrnowski. I asked her to bring me some medicine for Manny.”

“We’ll see in a moment, won’t we?”

Ding.

The doors opened. Bill tensed.

There was no one in the lift.

No… there was something crouching down. Something unbelievably bloody.

Rothchilde cocked his head, looking like a confused dog. “Carlos?”

The lump raised his arm. It ended in a gun.

Bill dove to the side when the shooting began.

Rothchilde danced back and forth, firing with insane glee, the muzzle flashes lighting up his eyes.

Carlos was a ruin, not even recognizable as human. He was barely able to hold up the weapon, let alone aim.

Bill took off. The front door was unlocked, the portal to freedom open. But Theena was still in the basement.

He headed for the emergency exit.

Bill threw a glance over his shoulder and watched Rothchilde stand over Carlos and pump round after round into his extremities, the mobster wiggling like a worm on a pin. The look on Rothchilde’s face was rapturous.

Bill ducked through the doorway and took the stairs down two at a time. When he reached the lower level he screamed out Theena’s name.

“Bill?”

She ducked out of the lab, her arms filled with drugs.

“The gun! Quick!”

“What about Manny?”

Bill grabbed her arm, bottles toppling to the floor. “Your boss showed up, he just killed Manny.”

“Albert? I don’t believe…”

There was a distant bell. The elevator was coming down.

Bill pivoted back towards the staircase, then hit the brakes.

Was Rothchilde really in the elevator? Or did he just send the elevator down to force them up the stairs, where he was waiting?

“Dammit. We have to hide. The gun.”

Theena handed it over. Bill ushered Theena back into the lab. He needed a vantage point, a place where he’d have a clear shot. There were three large counters, lined up in rows, each running half the length of the room. Bill pulled Theena behind the corner of the farthest one, crouching behind the built-in sink.

“Albert really shot Manny?”

“While I was giving him CPR. Then that mob guy came up in the elevator, and Rothchilde shot him in the arms and legs.”

“Why would he do that? I thought they worked for Albert.”

“To be honest, I think he did it because he liked it.”

Bill fumbled with the gun. He found the button that released the clip, and was shocked to see there was only one bullet left. That plus one in the chamber. Two bullets didn’t seem like a whole lot.

“Should I use the intercom, try to talk to him?”

“I don’t think it will help.”

“So we should just wait here and shoot him when he comes in?”

Bill jammed the clip back in. “That’s the idea.”

He rested on one knee and kept a bead on the doorway. The adrenaline was wearing off, and Bill tried to come to grips with their situation. He was planning on killing someone. It went against everything he knew, everything he was. His education, his sheltered upbringing, his lofty morals, his profession; none of it mattered any more.

After Kristen’s death, he’d made an oath to never hurt a person again.

I don’t have a choice, he told himself. Rothchilde was going to kill them both. If it didn’t happen today, it would happen soon enough. The man had too much to hide, and murder was his only out. Plus, the son of a bitch enjoyed it.

Self-defense, self-defense, self-defense. It echoed in Bill’s head, his mantra. But he kept seeing Manny after he shot him, falling to the ground, gasping for air. Then he saw Kristen, her vitals slipping away moments after he gave her the injection that was supposed to heal her.

There was a noise in the hallway. Footsteps.

Bill no longer wanted to hold the gun. He wanted to drop it and run away.

The door opened.

Theena nudged him. Rothchilde stuck his head in the door and took a cautious look around.

Bill knew he couldn’t do it. Maybe his morals were too strong. Maybe he was afraid of the guilt. Rothchilde was only ten feet away, a sitting duck, and Bill’s hands shook with effort but he couldn’t kill the man like this.

He fired a bullet into the ceiling instead.

Rothchilde dropped to the ground and rolled behind the opposite counter.

“We’ve both got guns.” Bill’s voice was wavering as much as his hands. “There’s no way to get out of this cleanly.”

“Exciting, isn’t it?”

So exciting that Bill wanted to retch.

“Theena? Are you with Dr. May?”

Bill put his finger to his lips, but Theena was too angry to hold back. “You’re a killer, Albert.”

“I know. It’s very empowering. Listen, darling, I need your help. I have a… specimen, and I need you to make some N-Som out of his brain. If you do that, I’ll let you both go.”

“It’s over, Rothchilde!” Bill tried to sound confidant. “Just walk out of here. You have time to get out of the country before this story breaks.”

“Theena, honey. Listen to me. This can’t end peacefully, but I promise you’ll survive. You have my word. Take Bill’s gun away from him. Just take it away, sweetie. He won’t fight you.”

Theena grabbed the gun and pulled. Bill had been gripping the weapon loosely, and she pried it away before he could react.

He looked into her eyes, unable to speak. The depth of her betrayal left him devastated.

Theena raised the gun. Her face was so sad, the saddest thing he’d ever seen.

“Bye, Bill.”

Then she sprung up over the counter and launched herself at Rothchilde’s hiding place.

Bill reached out, realizing her intent too late, trying to stop her. He watched her disappear behind the next counter.

The gunshot was deafening.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Albert Rothchilde felt incredible.

He thought he knew power. Rothchilde grew up ordering servants around. He was a corporate hot shot who planned hostile takeovers for the thrill of it. A wall street maverick, with long term investors from around the world following his lead time and again. A man to be feared, by his competitors, his employees, the prostitutes he beat up.

But he hadn’t known true power until today.

Firing people, hurting people, crippling them financially, all of that was child’s play.

Murder was the ultimate rush.

It made everything pale next to it, the feeling of taking someone’s life. Better than sex and money and drugs. Better even that the billions of dollars he’d earn with N-Som.

His gun, a 9mm Sig-Sauer that he’d only previously used to shoot targets at firing ranges, felt like an extension of his body. Killing Halloran was just a taste. Shooting Manny and Carlos made him realize what an intoxicating addiction this had so quickly become.

Now, crouched behind the counter in the lab, in an actual gun fight, Rothchilde felt like a god.

He was caught completely by surprise when Theena jumped in front of him and fired.

Missing.

The bullet passed so close to his face he felt the breeze. The sound was thunderous, both terrifying and exhilarating. He sat there, transfixed, as Theena pulled the trigger again and again, the gun clicking harmlessly, her expression changing from anger, to confusion, to fear.

The smile slithered across Rothchilde’s mouth like a snake.

“Out of bullets?”

Theena raised the gun to strike him with it, but she was a mere mortal. Rothchilde was a greater deity. He gave her a firm punch in the nose and she fell backwards, her black mane falling over her face when she landed.

There was blood on his knuckles. Her blood. He anointed his forehead with it, and then stood up.

“Come out, Dr. May. Or I kill her.”

“Don’t do it, Bill!”

Rothchilde reared his hand back to strike her. She stared at him defiantly, her jaw thrust outward, her eyebrows furrowed in anger. It turned him on a great deal.

“Okay, Rothchilde. You win.”

Bill stood up from behind the counter, his hands over his head. The look on his face was pure defeat. This was a man with no hope left.

Delicious.

He wanted to feel Bill’s fear, know his defeat at the hands of a superior male. A chest shot should do it. Or perhaps he should shoot his legs first, have him crawl around and beg for his life.

Rothchilde brought the gun around.

“No!”

He glanced at Theena, amused.

“Don’t tell me you have a little crush on Dr. May. I didn’t think you were capable of feelings.”

“You kill him, I won’t help you.”

“I think I’ll be able to convince you.”

“I can’t make N-Som by myself, Albert. It’s a two person job.”

Rothchilde hesitated. He knew nothing about the manufacturing process of drugs, and had no idea if she was lying of not. If he killed Bill now, he’d be able to relive the whole gun battle. But if Theena really needed two people…

Rothchilde stared hard at Bill. Shooting him would be so sweet. He’d heard the term ‘itchy trigger finger’ in countless old westerns, and fully understood what it meant.

“I can still push N-Som through CDER. You’d have approval in a few days.”

The President of American Products frowned. He normally didn’t deny himself pleasure, but the hassle he’d save himself if the FDA accepted N-Som was greater than his bloodlust.

“Fine.” He lowered the weapon, exercising his absolute self control. “I have a head in this bag. How many doses can you extract from it?”

His little wench had gone submissive, pouting. “Ten to twelve.”

That was perfect. Rothchilde could envision an N-Som cabinet next to his wine cellar, vintage Cabernets alongside the last thoughts of the dozens of people he would kill. Like a personal collection of snuff films that he alone could savor.

“Get started. I don’t have all day.”

He tossed the garbage bag to Theena. Her repulsion was priceless.

Rothchilde sat in a chair and kept a bored eye on the doctors while they set Halloran’s head in a vice.

They were all too busy to notice the EEG machine sitting on a table in the back.

Manny’s EEG machine, scribbling down a continuous jagged line of Beta waves on an endless ream of paper.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Manny opened his eyes to pain.

It was an alarming experience. Not the pain-he was used to that. But the feeling of waking up. That was something he hadn’t done in a long time.

He looked around and discovered he was in the lobby of the DruTech Building. There was blood all around him. When he tried to sit up, he realized the blood was his.

“You don’t look so good.”

David was staring at him, reflected in a chrome garbage can that had fallen over.

It was one of those moments of instant clarity, like a fog lifting. All at once Manny understood.

He only saw David when he looked in a mirror.

Manny had seen David at Dr. O’Neil’s place. He’d gone there to warn the doctor, to tell him he had to hide. But David had gotten there first. The apartment looked like a slaughterhouse. David had been sitting on the sofa, eating a box of chalk.

Manny had tasted chalk, too.

He tried to remember prior conversations with David. They all involved a mirror of some kind. Through the vanity mirror in Townsend’s bathroom. In his bed back at DruTech, which faced a dresser with the oversized mirror. Was there a mirror at the hospital?

“The window, next to your bed. You could see my reflection in there.”

Manny stared at the garbage can.

“I’m you.”

“Don’t act so surprised. This is news to me, too.”

“You’re not really my brother. You’re me.”

“We’re two sides of the same coin, Manny. This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. This is what that drug has done to us.”

Manny closed his eyes, tight as he could. He tried to remember the night of the banquet, when David killed Dr. Nikos. But the memory didn’t exist. He remembered going into the bathroom, seeing David, and then nothing else.

“That memory is mine, Manny.” When David talked, it was like a speaker emanating from the middle of Manny’s head. “It’s like we’re two people, sharing one body. I have my thoughts, you have yours.”

Manny began to shake, the tears streaming down the sides of his head.

“How many people have we killed, David?”

“Do you want to see?”

He didn’t. God help him, he didn’t want to see.

“I think I can show you the memories. They’re yours, too. We’re of one mind.”

“Please, don’t.”

The feeling was similar to deja vu, like suddenly remembering something that you’d known all along, but many times stronger. The memories flooded into his head all at once, overpowering him. He saw everything… Dr. Nikos… Dr. Townsend… Dr. Fletcher… please make it stop… Dr. O’Neil… Dr. Myrnowski… no more oh god there’s more… a big man with a gun… and then a smaller man, the ax chopping and chopping…

Manny threw up. He watched David throw up as well.

“How about Theena?”

“She’s in the lab, downstairs. We were going to kill her, too. But we’ve been shot a few times.”

Manny touched his chest and David let him see the shots, relive the experience. The small man, Dr. May, Albert Rothchilde…

“We should be dead.”

David agreed. “But we’re not. We can’t die. Not like before. I won’t die again like before.”

Manny had been in gym class when the assistant principal pulled him aside, gave him the news that his older brother David had killed himself at the juvenile correctional institution. The institution he’d been sent to because Manny tattled on him.

“You’re not really David. David’s dead.”

“His body, yes. But your memories keep him alive. Your guilt made him grow. And the N-Som-well, you know what a bad deal that turned out to be.”

Manny could remember his reaction to David’s death. How he became withdrawn, violent. Almost as if he was filling the void created by his brother’s absence. Manny became the one who got into trouble all the time. Trouble that continued into adulthood with, arrest after arrest.

But never murder.

Manny bitterly laughed, the action causing the pain in his chest to flare.

“I should have killed you when you asked.”

“It’s too late now.”

Manny shook his head. It wasn’t too late. The next chance he got, he was ending it.

“Won’t work, Manny. First of all, we don’t die easily. But mostly, I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it? It’s my body.”

The face reflected in the garbage can changed. At one moment, Manny was looking at David’s reflection. Then there was a shift, and he could sense that it was David who was looking at him.

“I’m in control now, Manny. You follow my will.”

Manny experienced a feeling of isolation, darkness. He tried to cry out, but he kept getting smaller and smaller, his vision dimming. His own mind was trapping him, shielding him from his own senses. He tried to scream, but nothing came out.

A moment later, he was gone.

David sat up. He could feel Manny inside him, struggling to free himself, like a tiny fly in a web.

It was a strange experience, but an understandable one. The mind was a mysterious thing, but science was demystifying it a bit more every day. David knew enough to grasp what was happening to his.

Memory is chemical. He could remember an early lecture from Dr. Nikos, talking about experiments with flatworms. They could be taught simple stimulus/response reactions, and these reactions could be passed on from Group A to Group B by feeding Group B the brains of Group A.

In his free time, of which he had a lot, he’d read about the collective unconscious, and inherited memories known as archetypes. These were common in animals. How could horses walk minutes after birth? How did salmon know to travel upstream to spawn? It was called instinct, a genetic imprint passed on to offspring. A form of inherited memory.

But it was so much more than memory. Every thought was a chemical reaction happening in the brain. Movement, speech, emotion, motor skills; these could all be removed with a scalpel or overridden by an electric probe.

Even the personality was nothing more than a complicated exchange of neurotransmitters. Drugs can alter mood and control behavior. A blow to the head could turn a nice person into a permanent jerk, and a lobotomy could tame even the most savage psychotic.

David was simply a result of complicated chemistry and brain damage. Every time he took N-Som, a residual amount stayed in his brain-a stockpile of other people’s neurotransmitters. It literally took root, changing his chemical structure, allowing Manny’s violent thoughts to grow until they’d taken over the core of his personality.

A maniac is born.

David sat up, ignoring the pain. He no longer needed thoughts of revenge to compel him to kill. The compulsion existed without logic; it was an emotional response. And David’s overriding emotion was hatred. He didn’t question it. He just went with the flow.

David got to his feet, wobbling a bit. A coughing fit brought up quite a lot of blood. He took a few tentative steps until he was sure he could trust his legs.

His ax was waiting for him, near the security desk.

Then he headed for the emergency staircase.

“A hunting we will go.”

He was just opening the front door when he saw someone walk into the lobby.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Special Agent Smith didn’t consider himself crooked.

He’d entered the Bureau out of college, young and full of energy. The FBI had been his dream job. The pulse-pounding training he’d gotten at Quantico promised him a career filled with thrills and shoot-outs and manhunts and TV interviews.

But real life conspired against him.

He broke his ankle tripping down a flight of stairs just one week after graduation.

Three operations later, Smith still didn’t have full use of his foot. He was assigned to the Chicago office, riding a desk. Smith had become a bureaucrat, which was a fate he’d been purposely trying to avoid when he joined the Feds in the first place.

So he pushed papers for three long years, secretly jealous of the agents around him who saw action. Agents who actually got to draw their guns on the job. He debated the pros of drinking himself to death versus the cons of eating himself to death. It was during the mayor’s holiday party, while Smith was attempting to do both, that he met Albert Rothchilde.

Smith knew from the start that he was being fleeced. Rothchilde was looking to buy a friend in the Bureau, and Smith was the perfect candidate; pathetic, angry, needy. The president of American Products pushed Smith’s buttons with the skill of a cult guru; asking questions, listening closely, offering praise and reassurance.

Rothchilde sent him Cuban cigars, expensive wine, concert tickets, high priced call girls. He invited him to the country club, took him golfing, let him use his condo in Florida for vacation. Smith was courted by Rothchilde for almost two months before the man asked him for a tiny favor-some information on organized crime that only the FBI was privy to.

Smith provided the info. Not because he felt he owed Rothchilde for his kindness, or because he was under the spell of his Svengali-like manipulation. Smith did it for a single, selfish reason; it was exciting.

Being bribed to steal FBI documents was a thrill, like being a double agent. The extra money was nice, but Smith would have done it for free. The more outrageous Rothchilde’s request, the more fun Smith had figuring out how to pull it off.

What began as simply buying information had become much more dangerous. Smith routinely sent agents out into the field to secretly run Rothchilde’s errands. Only Smith knew the true reasons behind the missions, and he’d climbed high enough within the Bureau to be able to cover his own tracks.

It was like a chess game. Smith stopped drinking, lost weight, and actually began to enjoy work again.

But everything in the past paled next to that moment, the moment Smith entered the DruTech Building.

This wasn’t just stealing files and sending agents on fake missions. This was the real deal. Smith was actually in the field himself. When he saw Rothchilde’s chopper outside, he got even more excited. His mind filled with fantastic scenarios, saving Rothchilde in a hostage situation, neutralizing the targets, being able to actually shoot somebody.

Smith couldn’t run the hundred in less than thirty seconds, but for the very first time he felt like a real Fed.

He scanned the lobby, overhead, then at eye-level, and finally sweeping the ground. His pulse broke into a rumba when he saw the guard’s body. Smith moved in for a closer look, favoring his good leg. He wanted to shout out in excitement when he saw the head wound.

This was it, what he’d waited his whole life for. Real danger. He knelt down next to the corpse and felt for its pulse, knowing he wouldn’t find one, doing it anyway because that was what they always did in the movies. He could imagine telling this story later, people hanging on his every word.

“He’s dead.”

Smith spun, knees bent in a crouch, both hands on his weapon in a perfect Weaver stance. Just like he’d practiced a hundred times. But none of his training prepared Smith for what was standing fifteen feet away from him.

At first, he thought he was looking at a corpse. The man was caked with dried blood, which seemed to streak out of the four bullet wounds in his torso like fireworks. Any one of those wounds should have been fatal, but the guy was standing there, obviously alive, with a goofy grin on his face. And an ax.

Smith went by-the-book. “Drop the ax! Hands on your head, get down on your knees!”

The man lifted his hands above his head, but he raised the ax with them.

“Drop the ax!”

The man didn’t drop the ax. He did something that Special Agent Smith wouldn’t have ever expected. He held it like a lumberjack and threw it.

Smith’s reflexes took over. If he were a seasoned pro with plenty of field experience, perhaps his first instinct would have been to fire the gun. But since he wasn’t, Smith did what anyone would have done when an ax came at them. He put his arms over his face and ducked.

The ax handle hit him across the forearms, sending his gun flying.

Smith got up out of his crouch and was seized by an overwhelming feeling of giddy delight. He’d been absolutely sure that the ax was going to bury itself in his head. The fact that he’d escaped with only bruised elbows was amazing.

But it wasn’t over yet.

The bloody man was walking towards him, his arms wide open. Like a giant bird of prey, swooping down.

Smith knew he needed to find the gun, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the spectacle before him. When he returned to his senses, it was too late. All he could do was run.

But Smith and running weren’t good buddies.

He took off through the lobby in a comical hobble, his bad ankle unable to fully bear the weight of his body even after all of the therapy. It was like trying to run with a ball and chain on his leg. Smith pushed past the pain of bones rubbing against each other, but it just didn’t work right.

He chanced a look over his shoulder and saw the bloody man following in a brisk walk. Not even running, but quickly gaining ground. He’d picked up the ax.

Ahead of Smith was a dark hallway, doors at the end. He was sweating now, fear and pain pushing out his prior thoughts of glory and excitement.

“What’s wrong with your leg?”

Smith concentrated on the doors. If he could just make it there, maybe he could lock them somehow, keep the bloody man away. It wasn’t that far. Smith forced himself to move faster, ignoring the fire in his ankle, pushing himself harder than he ever had in his life.

He made it! The bloody man was only a few steps behind him now, and Smith grabbed the door handle, turning it, pushing forward with his shoulder.

Locked.

But it wasn’t over yet. He still had his training. Hand to hand combat. Martial arts. He hadn’t practiced regularly, because there hadn’t been a need. But he still knew enough to defend himself, even if his opponent did have an ax.

Special Agent Smith spun around, feet planted a shoulder’s width apart, arms out in a defense stance.

“Keeeyaaa!” Smith’s battle cry echoed down the hallway.

The echo lasted longer than he did.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

“Is it damaged?”

Rothchilde was referring to the thalamus, hypothalamus, corpus callosum, and other parts of the brain that were harvested to produce N-Som. In the head he’d brought, all of these parts were intact. The bullet had only done damage to the motor cortex, central and longitudal sulcus, and occipital lobe.

“It’s fine.”

“There’s enough to make N-Som?”

Theena nodded, removing a section of the medulla oblongata. Bill raised an eyebrow at this, but kept his mouth shut. Theena was grateful for that.

They ground up the tissue with a mortar and pestle, and then began the laborious task of making it into a pill.

Theena didn’t bother with precise measurements this time. She also abbreviated the suspension in the acetonitrile and eyeballed the amount of the dimethylformamide dispersant. Rothchilde didn’t know any better.

Since DruTech contracted out for the actual pill manufacturing because it was a complicated process, the way to make ingestable N-Som in the lab was to simply add some hydroxypropyl methylcellulose and sodium starch glycolate, then spoon the mixture into empty gelatin capsules.

The work, although forced, had a calming effect on Theena. This day had been a trip to hell, with no end in sight. She was happy to lose her mind in a familiar chemical procedure. But as it neared the end, she began to worry about what would happen next.

“Those don’t look like N-Som.” Rothchilde was eyeing the capsules suspiciously.

“We can’t make tablets here. We don’t have the proper equipment.”

Rothchilde pointed the gun at Bill. “Take one.”

Bill shrugged, reaching for a capsule. Theena had a terrible moment of mind-bending panic, and made her decision immediately.

She grabbed a capsule first.

Rothchilde gave her a disapproving glare. “I was talking to Dr. May.”

Theena knew she must look like hell, and she couldn’t recall a moment where she’d ever felt less sexy. But she’d been manipulating men all of her life, and for the very first time her life depended on it.

Theena smiled as seductively as possible, and brushed up against Rothchilde with a smooth roll of her hips.

“You killed this man, didn’t you Albert?”

Albert met her gaze, trying to look nonchalant. Theena lowered her voice, breathy and soft.

“I want to see it.”

“Really? You’re a fickle one, aren’t you?”

“Just because I want to be on the winning team?” Theena pouted slightly, a move that always worked for her. “You won’t let me share your victory? Share your power?”

She placed a hand on Rothchilde’s arm and caressed it. His face softened.

“Maybe we could try it together.”

Theena nodded, putting the capsule between her lips. She held it there, like a cigarette, teasing. Rothchilde raised a hand and plucked it out.

“Not now. Later. We have other things to do now.”

Theena struggled to hide her relief. Rothchilde turned his attention back to Bill.

“You’re still interested in pushing N-Som through the FDA?”

“You’re still willing to part with half a million?”

Theena eyed Bill. Had Rothchilde actually been able to bribe him? Or was Bill planning something else?

Rotchilde nodded his head. “We’ll give it a try, then. Let’s gather up your things. You know I’ll need to hold you someplace until all the paperwork goes through.”

“I’d want assurances that I’d be released when it happens.”

“Of course. You’re sure it won’t bother you allowing N-Som on the market, after seeing what it did to poor Manny?”

“I’ll live with myself.”

Rothchilde’s mouth twisted. “Yes. You’re good at that, aren’t you? Gather up your things, we won’t be coming back.”

Bill nodded, and as he turned, Rothchilde shot him in the back.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

The feeling was similar to a muscle cramp, multiplied by a hundred. It hit Bill like a pick ax in the right shoulder, the pain flaring across his back and extending down his arm.

He pitched forward, vision blurring, bouncing on the unforgiving tile floor.

“I watched your extraction procedure, Theena. You’ll be able to do it yourself next time.”

Bill felt a hand on his back, directly on the wound. Theena, trying to stop the bleeding. It amplified the pain and he saw stars.

“No more killing, Albert.”

“Theena, dear, you don’t think he’s really going to approve our drug, do you? He’s just buying time.”

Bill tired to gauge how bad the wound was, but he couldn’t without seeing it. He could breathe okay, and bend his arm. His best guess was the bullet broke his shoulder blade.

“I don’t want you to kill him.”

“You said you wanted to be on the winning team. I’m the winning team.”

Rothchilde held out his hand for Theena. “Come on. You can process his brain and we’ll relive his death together.”

Bill knew it was over, and the thought didn’t bother him too much. His quality of life hadn’t ever been what it was when Kristen was still alive. He didn’t like dying at the hands of a bastard like Rothchilde, but it was probably a better way to go than being hacked to death by David.

Theena met his eyes, and he nudged her, trying to get her to save herself.

She took Rothchilde’s hand, got daintily to her feet, and punched him between the legs.

Rothchilde doubled over, still gripping the gun. Theena launched herself at him, both hands locking on his weapon, kicking frantically at his legs to get it away.

“I’M BACK.”

The voice boomed over the intercom, unmistakable. It infused Bill with a fear that made his pain seem minor. Somehow, David was still alive.

Bill rolled over and saw Theena and Rothchilde topple to the floor, his hand entwined in her hair. Bill managed to pull himself over to them, adding his good hand to the wrestling match for the gun.

Rothchilde was thin, slight, and not much of a fighter. Theena clawed at his eyes and face, and sunk her teeth into his wrist.

He screamed out a slur and let go of the gun.

Bill grabbed it and had a momentary tug of war with Theena, who was too enraged to notice he’d joined the fight.

Rothchilde, both hands free, managed to scramble to his feet. He grabbed a handful of the N-Som Theena had produced, then ran out the door.

Theena managed to pull the gun away from Bill and she fired two wild shots after him, ready to squeeze off a third.

“Save the bullets!”

She stopped, looking at Bill with confusion, and then relief. Without thinking, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, causing him to yelp at the pressure.

Theena relented and hurried to a medical cabinet.

Bill managed to sit up. “David’s still alive.”

“First things first.” She hurried back to Bill with a large metal case, and unsnapped it. Using scissors, she cut away the back of his shirt.

“I’m giving you a shot of morphine first.”

“Not morphine. I need to stay alert. Do you have any Novocain?”

“How about lidocaine?”

“That’ll work.”

Bill felt a prick in his shoulder.

“I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE. YOU’RE IN THE LAB.”

“How long will it take to numb you?”

“We don’t have time to wait. Just do it.”

“This is going to sting.”

She emptied a bottle of alcohol on the wound, and tears squirted out of Bill’s eyes.

“Here, bite this.”

Theena handed Bill a roll of gauze. He’d barely gotten it in his mouth before something sharp went into the bullet hole and began to poke around.

He moaned, his nervous system lighting up like a Christmas tree. Theena dug deeper, and deeper, and then there was a small sucking sound and a tremendous feeling of relief.

“I got the slug. You need stitches.”

“We have to get out of here. Dress it.”

Theena slapped on some cotton pads and taped them to Bill’s skin. The lidocaine hadn’t completely numbed him, but it was taking the edge off the pain.

She helped Bill to his feet. He was woozy.

“Can you walk?”

“Watch me.”

They were halfway to the door when David filled the entrance.

“Hi, Theena. Dr. May. You’ll be happy to know that Manny and I have resolved our differences.”

He swung the ax.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Theena jumped back. The ax cut the air inches before her face, ripping out a few stray strands of hair that didn’t move as fast as she did. Her butt hit the counter behind her, and David lifted the ax again, his eyes shining with a madness she knew all too well.

“I don’t want to kill you, David!”

Her grip on the gun was tight, certain. David advanced.

She shot him in the thigh, and he folded in half and hit the floor, still clutching the ax.

“Go ahead, Bill! I’m covering him!”

Bill had a moment of uncertainty, then he stepped around David and fled the lab. Theena kept the gun and both eyes on David, following Bill’s route. David’s eyes tracked her every step, a cobra poised to strike. He had one hand clamped over the wound on his leg, but already the bleeding was slowing down.

“We have to get out of here.”

Bill turned for the elevator. She caught his arm, holding him back.

“You need a key card.” Theena fished it out of her lab coat. He eyed her strangely when she offered it to him.

“How about you?”

“I have to contain David. If we leave, so will he.”

“But we’ll be safe.”

“He needs help, Bill. I owe him that.”

The look he gave her was priceless, a cross between bewildered and resigned. He was such a good guy. Maybe when this was over…

She pushed the impulse away. Theena couldn’t think about happily ever after. She knew she didn’t deserve it.

Bill let out a long breath. “What do you have in mind?”

“We can tie him up. There are jump ropes in the gym.”

“Lead the way.”

They jogged down the hall and turned left. Blood was spattered over the floor and walls, and many of the overhead fluorescent tubes were smashed. The remaining lights flickered and hissed, erratic strobes throwing crazy shadows. A portion of Theena’s resolve eroded with every step. Her sense of responsibility was slowly being overtaken by her fear. David seemed to be hiding in every corner, ready to leap out and mutilate all of the people that hurt him.

And she was the last one.

The gym was a decent replica of a modern health club; too bright, completely encircled with mirrors, and crammed with stacks of machines that looked like torture devices. For some insane reason, the equipment locker had a padlock on it. Theena shoved the gun in her pocket. She unclipped the overhead T-bar from a lat-press and wedged it in the latch. She twisted, her muscles bunching with effort. The lock was bending… bending…

SNAP!

Theena tugged open the locker door and snagged five jump ropes, shoving them under her armpit.

“Theena!”

She turned at Bill’s voice, followed his frightened gaze.

David was in the room with them, leaning on the ax like a cane. He grinned.

“Is the Stairmaster free?”

Theena drew the gun.

“Drop the ax, David.”

“This ax?” With a violent jerk, David thrust the ax into the mirror alongside the doorway, smashing glass with an ear-bursting crash.

He shifted and swung in the other direction, shattering a reflection of himself, droplets of his blood peppering the glinting shards that fell at his feet.

Theena took careful aim and shot him in the leg again. There was a small eruption of blood, and his knees buckled, but he somehow managed to stay on his feet.

She shot twice more, the first bullet missing, the second taking off part of David’s calf.

He still didn’t go down.

“Hold your fire!”

Bill threw himself at David, a fifteen pound barbell in his good hand. He connected solidly with David’s chest. There an audible thump, and both men toppled over.

Theena was there in three steps, kicking away David’s ax. He was flat on his back, arms and legs akimbo. His eyes were open but unfocused.

The time to act was now, but she didn’t want to take the gun off of him to tie him up. Bill managed to get to his feet, wincing. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be much help in the knot-tying department with a broken shoulder blade.

“Take the gun.”

Bill hesitated, then accepted it. Theena wasted no time, winding a jump rope around David’s ankles, cinching the knot so tight her arms burned.

“Theena!”

Bill’s warning came too late.

David jackknifed into a sitting position and batted her across the face. She fell to the side, just as David was rolling in the opposite direction.

Towards his ax.

Her vision cleared in time to see David grip the handle, lift it back to swing at her.

“Bill!”

He fired.

The gun offered an anticlimactic CLICK. There were no bullets left.

The pain was as blinding as it was sudden, an explosion in her right side just above her hip. Theena stared down at the thing buried several inches in her side, unable to fathom what was happening.

An ax. She had an ax sticking out of her.

She touched it, fingers trembling, blood bubbling up and swallowing the blade.

There was a sucking sound, and suddenly the ax was out. Theena watched her life spill out of the hole in a gout of blood.

She stared at David, lying a few feet away from her, lifting the ax for another blow.

Then everything went black.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

“You killed her!”

Manny had been watching everything happen in mute terror, unable to stop it. He was a passenger in his own body, unable to control his muscles, his actions, his intent. David had banished him. All he could do is scream out his feeble protests to deaf ears as one atrocity after another was committed by his hands.

But when the ax hit Theena, the balance of power shifted.

Manny’s rage inflamed his brain like a fever, forcing David back. He stared at the ax and willed his hands to open. They did, the ax falling to the ground.

His eyes scorched Bill, the cords in his neck bulging. He forced out the words.

“Pick… up… the… ax.”

Bill remained rooted, jaw agape.

“Give it up, Manny.” David’s voice echoed in his head. “You can’t win. I’m going to bury you so deep in our mind, you’ll never come back out again.”

Manny pleaded again. “The ax…”

“Look! Theena’s still breathing! Why don’t we crawl over there and finish the job?”

Manny rolled onto all fours against his will. But his voice was still his own.

“The ax!”

Bill bent down and took the ax in his good hand. He held it away from his body, as if it were a poisonous snake, a stricken look on his face.

“We’re going to snap her neck.” Manny began to crawl to Theena. Every inch was a struggle, and it was a struggle he was losing. “I’m going to let you feel the bones break beneath her soft skin while you’re squeezing.”

“Kill me!”

Manny’s hand shook, but he couldn’t hold it back. It was reaching, reaching for Theena’s throat. Manny felt himself being pushed back again, back into the dark space, David muscling him down and taking over.

“PLEASE KILL ME!”

His hands reached Theena’s thin neck, and began to squeeze.

THUNK!

The ax hit him in the small of the back, pinning him to the floor.

There was no pain. Just a spreading warmth that was almost pleasant.

The struggle was over. The conflict in his mind and body seemed to have ended. David’s voice had lost its anger. It was quieter now, almost peaceful.

“You finally did it.”

Manny saw David, in his mind, but he was a kid, no more than nine-years old. And Manny saw himself, a year younger that his older brother. They were sitting together on the porch of their house, sharing an apple. A happy time, before the State took their mother away. Before foster homes, and juvee hall, and suicide.

“I didn’t want to kill you, David.”

“I know. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No, Manny. I shouldn’t have killed those cats. It was wrong. You did the right thing to tattle on me.”

“But juvenile hall…”

“I was never going to be happy, Manny. That’s how it was for me. It wasn’t your fault I ended it. It didn’t have anything to do with you.”

“I wish things turned out better.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

David took something out of his pocket, handing it to Manny. It was small, yellow, and seemed to shine with its own inner light. A die-cast pickup truck.

“I love you, David.”

“I love you too, Manny.”

The warmth was all around him now, covering him like a blanket. It was different, so different than all of the other times he’d died taking N-Som. There was no fear, no pain, no emotional turmoil. Manny was infused with a deep and calming peace, which welcomed him into the thing he wanted most of all.

Everlasting rest.

Emmanuel Tibbets let out a gentle breath, closed his eyes, and went to sleep for the last time.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

“Theena.”

Bill knelt down next to her, gently taking her hand off the wound.

“Bill…”

It was bad. The tear was ragged, ugly. The ax had penetrated the dermis and subcutaneous tissue, neatly severing her external obliques. There was a lot of blood. Deep inside, he caught a glimpse of liver and ascending colon.

Bill placed her hand back over the injury, keeping pressure on it. Her pulse was weak, but rapid, her skin clammy to the touch. The onset of hypovelemic shock, brought about by massive blood loss. This was turning into a repeat episode of what happened with David in the lobby.

He wouldn’t fail this time. He wouldn’t let her die.

“I’ll be back.”

“Don’t go.”

Bill ran out of the gym, trying to remember the direction of the lab. He found it by noticing all of the medical supplies Theena had dropped in the doorway. Bill scooped them up; streptokinase, atropine, epinephrine, beryllium, an IV drip and a bag of saline. He then entered the room and picked up the bottle of alcohol and the syringe Theena had used on him, as well as the metal first aid box.

When he arrived back in the gym, Theena was in V-Fib.

Bill hung the IV from one of the nearby exercise machines and threaded the needle into her wrist. She wasn’t breathing, and her heart was in chaotic arrhythmia, shaking and trembling in her chest. Bill hit her chest as hard as he could, sending shock waves of pain through his injured shoulder. Then he titled up her head, pinched her nose, and filled her lungs with his breath.

Into her IV he injected a syringe full of epi. He began chest compressions, both arms rigid, bending her rib cage to force her heart to pump blood. He could only keep it up for thirty seconds before the ripples of agony in his back made him close to passing out. Bill forced his breath into her, and gave another thump on the chest.

Her pulse was still erratic.

“God dammit!”

Bill wouldn’t let it happen. Not again. He couldn’t lose her, too.

He drew a 500 milligram dose of beryllium, a powerful anti-arrhythmic, into the syringe and injected the bolus in an IV push. After another thirty seconds of CPR, he checked her heart.

A normal rhythm had returned, but it was too slow, much too slow.

“I won’t let you die.”

Bill administered a dose of atropine, and the effect was almost instantaneous. Her heart rate rose dramatically.

Bill checked her carotid. Pulse still weak. She didn’t have enough blood in her system to raise the pressure. He had to close up that wound.

In the med kit was a box of single use Ethilon needles, pre-threaded with black monofilament. He tore open a pack and then dumped rubbing alcohol over his hands and a pair of scissors.

Theena moaned when his fingers entered her. The blood flow had slowed considerably. He tied off four veins, and then gently tucked her ascending colon back into her muscle wall. Then he sutured the subcutaneous tissue back over the oblique, and closed her up with twenty-eight stitches across the epidermis.

His back was on fire when he finished, his forehead sopping wet. Bill checked her pulse.

Strong and steady.

“Bill…”

Her eyelids fluttered. Bill felt his chest well up, emotion threatening to choke him.

“Theena.”

Pain be damned, he bent down and held her. In that single moment, the only thing that mattered in the whole world was the woman in his arms. Alive and breathing.

He hadn’t let her die.

Bill gave her a shot of lidocaine near the injury to help with the pain, and then located the elevator card.

They weren’t completely out of the woods yet. Theena was still in critical condition, and needed to get to a hospital. Plus there was the danger of Rothchilde coming back. Bill needed to get them out of there, along with enough evidence to make sure N-Som was never approved and Rothchilde was implicated to the fullest extent of the law.

Bill took the elevator to the lobby and used the phone to dial information. He got the number for the Hoffman Estates Police Department. After several minutes of convincing them that he’d already tried the Schaumburg PD and they hadn’t come, they promised to drop by. Bill reminded them to bring an ambulance.

Then he went back into the bowels of the building to find the N-Som file he’d gotten from Mike Bitner’s place. It seemed like an eternity ago.

The file was where he’d left it, in the conference room. Inside was enough information to expose the truth about N-Som. Hopefully this, coupled with Theena’s testimony, would be enough to put the DruTech President away for a long time.

It was the very least the bastard deserved.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

The only drawback to flying by helicopter was the noise. Unless Rothchilde wore one of those ridiculous radio headsets, he had to yell for his pilot, Frederick, to hear him.

The bird banked left, Rothchilde’s dinner almost leaving his stomach from the maneuver. Below them, streetlights and headlights sparkled like stars, competing with the real deal overhead. The Chicago skyline could be seen in the distance, anchored by the blinking antennae of the Sears Tower and the Hancock Building.

Rothchilde decided it might be prudent to leave the country for a few weeks. He wasn’t sure how this whole DruTech mess was going to resolve itself. The best scenario had Manny killing Theena and Bill, and then dying himself. But things seldom ended neatly.

The smart thing would be to send in his own troops and clean the place out-bodies, evidence, everything. Unfortunately, Rothchilde had murdered both of the people he could use to do that, Halloran and Carlos. Their bodies would be found, and Rothchilde wasn’t anxious to answer persistent questions from either the police or the mob.

So he would go on vacation. Let things settle down. He’d get his lawyers on it, extricate himself from the situation, and get everything back on track. The military contract should still hold up, and he already had some places picked out in Mexico for N-Som production.

Rothchilde yawned. Before he could do anything, he had to take care of Halloran’s headless corpse, decaying in his office. Messy. Rothchilde tried to think of someone he could call to assist him, someone who would ask no questions. But he didn’t place his trust in many people.

His servants would to it, if ordered to. They feared him. Maybe he could have them wrap up the body, haul it someplace secluded, and then Rothchilde could kill them, too. No witnesses. The only problem was replacing them; it was so hard to find good help these days.

Rothchilde rubbed his eyes. Exhaustion seemed to settle on him like a thick blanket. Sleep now wouldn’t be wise. He needed to be alert and focused to deal with everything happening.

There was N-Som back at the mansion. He hadn’t taken any since the day before, so he was ready for another dose.

But he didn’t have to wait until he got back home, did he?

Rothchilde stuck a hand in his pocket and pulled out the capsules Theena had made from Halloran’s brain. He’d killed the captain just a few hours ago, but already the memory of the act was fading.

Maybe what he needed right now was a refresher.

He opened the onboard cooler and took out a Perrier. The pill went down easily, bubbles mixing with a pleasant tang of residual blood, and he settled back in his seat, ready to re-experience his first murder from the victim’s point of view.

Rothchilde closed his eyes, a sweet smile settling on his face. The anticipation was exquisite. Better than the Christmas Eves of youth, waiting for Santa.

The first effects of N-Som were sensory. Sounds became blurry, touch was muted. Opening the eyes yielded a dark, fuzzy world, which dimmed as the drug took hold, eventually spiraling the user into blackness. Then the dreams began.

But Rothchilde felt nothing.

He waited. Normally, he’d have been under by now. Was it taking so long because the sample was fresh? Theena mentioned that she didn’t have all the equipment to make pills at the lab, and so she’d given him a capsule. Did the fresh stuff take a longer time to get into the bloodstream?

Minutes passed. His smile faded. He began to wonder if the little whore had duped him.

A moment later, he realized just how duped he had been.

Albert Rothchilde had forgotten how to breathe.

He thought he was unconsciously holding his breath at first, tense because the N-Som hadn’t kicked in. But when he tried to inhale, he found that he just couldn’t. His lungs refused to obey.

His eyes flapped open and he tensed, the first stirrings of panic building inside him. This was impossible. A person just didn’t forget how to breathe. Breathing was automatic. He opened his mouth and sucked in his stomach, trying to fill his lungs. It didn’t work.

Had Rothchilde known anything about anatomy, he might have noticed that Theena hadn’t harvested the parts of Halloran’s brain normally used for N-Som production. Instead she’d gone deeper down, into the brain stem, and taken sections of the medulla oblongata.

These fibrous neurons housed a very primitive part of the brain; the reflex centers. They controlled a person’s swallowing, sneezing, heartbeat, blood pressure, and breathing.

Just as a regular dose of N-Som overrode a person’s thoughts, this refined dose was overriding Rothchilde’s instinctive knowledge of how to breathe.

Rothchilde began to see red. His lungs screamed at him, begging for air, but his brain was full of reflex neurons that had frozen in death.

His heart stopped next, in mid beat. The pressure in his chest was excruciating. Every nerve cell in his body fired, sending out distress signals to the brain in the form of pain. Rothchilde’s brain responded by ordering the release of adrenaline, which did nothing but heighten his awareness of his terrible situation.

Rothchilde thrashed in his chair. Every muscle in his body burned, starving for oxygen. Black spots mingled with the red in his vision. He tried to scream, but nothing came out.

The pilot, Frederick, couldn’t have done anything even if he’d left the controls. All of Rothchilde’s systems were crashing. The reflex center of Rothchilde’s brain was convinced it was dead, and it was just following orders.

Rothchilde went rigid as he was seized by a spasm of pure agony. He voided his bowels and bladder. His vital organs began to shut down. Rothchilde was helpless, and aware that he was helpless, and the frantic struggle for breath coupled with the body-wracking pain was more than his mind could handle.

The neurons in his head all fired at once, and during that microsecond they burned into him an eternity of torture without escape.

He was no longer rational at this point, or he might have seen the irony. He had, after all, wanted to experience Halloran’s death.

Frederick began emergency landing procedures, but there was no hurry.

The president of American Products was dead long before they touched the ground.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

“The ambulance is on the way, Theena.”

Theena didn’t respond. She looked terrible. Her face was pale, waxy, and her jowls seemed deflated, hanging limply on her face. But her pulse was strong, and she was awake and aware.

Bill touched her cheek. “Are you thirsty?”

She shook her head.

Eventually, Bill would have to go upstairs. He wanted to be there to greet the authorities. But he still had reservations about leaving Theena alone. He’d started her on a streptokinase drip to prevent blood clots from clogging her heart. It was a risky move, considering her injury, but that was looking surprisingly well.

“Where are we?” Her voice was hoarse, low.

“DruTech, the lower levels. In the gym.”

Her eyes swept the room, coming to rest on Manny. The ax was still buried in his back.

“Manny’s dead.”

“I’m sorry, Theena. I didn’t have any choice.”

Theena’s shoulders began to shake. She was too dehydrated to form tears, but she cried just the same. Bill held her, sharing some of her grief.

He hadn’t wanted to kill Manny, but at the same time he knew it was the right thing to do. Not only did it save Theena, but in a strange sort of way it had saved Manny as well. Bill hoped the man was finally at peace.

“I’m going to check on the cops. Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

Theena didn’t answer. She just stared at the puddle of her own blood, congealing on the floor.

Bill kissed her forehead, then got to his feet and grabbed the N-Som file. The rubber band broke, spilling papers all over the gym floor.

He bent over, the pain flaring in his shoulder, and began to gather them up. Every single sheet was important. This was more than just proof N-Som was dangerous. This was evidence of murders. Many murders.

His hand closed around one of Manny’s CT scans, a three dimensional picture of his brain. It was labeled Day 45. There was so much scar tissue it was surprising he had lived up to that point.

Bill examined the picture closer, reading the handwriting on the margin. His stomach clenched.

This wasn’t Manny’s scan.

He searched through the papers until he found the log. Written in Dr. Nikos’s hand. A day-by-day account of the second clinical test subject. Someone else, besides Manny, who’d been taking N-Som and hadn’t slept in over one thousand hours. Someone else, whose brain was just as fried.

Bill heard movement behind him. He spun around, his head swimming, shocked beyond words. How could this be so? How could he have missed this? He remembered when he first met Theena, her telling him about another test subject.

“Theena…”

She stood over him, her face oddly calm. Her eyes were distant, unrecognizable.

“My name isn’t Theena.”

And then she hit him with the ax.