The Awakening

Chapter Eighteen

Morty's footsteps halted, and he whispered loudly, "Gaby?"

Collapsed on her side, moist dirt on her cheek and a multilegged bug nearing her ear, Gaby wet her lips. Her eyes burned and her heart ached for the possibilities ahead.

She had no one but herself to blame. She'd been greedy, wanting what she couldn't have. Father Mullond had told her many times that friendship was beyond her. It put her and others at risk. She had God's duty, and that should have been enough.

Idiot. Selfish, greedy fool.

But castigating herself would solve nothing. She had to put the pain aside and find some logic in this absurd situation.

Summoning great strength, Gaby struggled into a sitting position. The torment was so unbearable that she decided she'd kill Morty herself if he survived this. Through teeth clenched in pain, she said, "Shut the fuck up, Mort."

He went quiet—and crashed toward her, "Thank God."

Doing what few could, Gaby compartmentalized the pain and got to her feet. Her fingers dug into Mort's arm, hard enough to leave bruises that would linger for weeks.

"You will go back," she ordered. "Right now."

"No. I can't." Both his hands wrapped around her wrist, but he couldn't pull away her steely grip. "Gaby, please. I wouldn't be able to find my way out if I tried."

They were too close to the target. Morty might not hear it, but the sonance of inflicted misery clamored against her eardrums in a deafening roar.

The suffering of others made her ill.

She had a choice to make, and she had to choose the others. Mort would be on his own.

"Suit yourself," she said, and by sheer strength of will, she got her legs moving. Though she stumbled along like a zombie, Morty failed to keep up with her, and that suited Gaby fine.

She reached the isolation hospital with Morty trailing several yards behind. Eyes flinching, Gaby withdrew her knife and studied the graffiti-covered walls.

Bad premonitions vibrated from that structure.

In such close proximity, her highly attuned ears captured the perspicuous torment. Gaby found a jagged opening in the edifice by way of a boarded-up window. Termites had eaten through the broken wood slats. A rusted nail pulled free.

Holding her knife hilt in her teeth, sweat trickling down her temples, Gaby hoisted herself up to the ledge and looked inside. Oblivion greeted her. A great crepuscule of misery.

Then, as she stared with unwavering patience, a flicker of light in the distance caught her attention. Gaby used care as she brought up a foot to the ledge and levered herself into a sitting position on the treacherous sill.

A flashlight would have been a blessing, but she didn't dare, even if she had one. She would see what she needed to see, as God meant her to see it.

That's how it had always been.

Turning so her back faced the room, she slowly, inch by inch, eased down into the chamber. When she dangled by her fingertips and could still feel nothing beneath her, she gave in to trust and dropped.

Breath held, she fell for a few seconds and then landed a few feet lower with jarring impact. Her elbow collided with a hard edge, but she felt no added pain. Something toppled, metal clashed, and a cacophony of sound echoed garishly throughout the room.

Gaby froze, but just as quickly turned to access the damage.

Nothing moved. No one stirred.

The faint light was gone.

To use her intuitive sight, she had to have something to see.

Giving her eyes time to adjust to her tenebrous surroundings, her heart time to stop pounding, she waited.

As she quieted, another impression of Luther formed in her mind. Big and strong. Honest and good. Rather than discard the image, Gaby studied it, and saw woods surrounding him, a woman at his side.

Flashlights. Followers. Weapons.

The images of Luther possibly had significant meaning. If Morty had followed her, Luther might have followed him. He could be very close by.

Not that it could stop her.

Gaby opened her mind to her duty and knew what to do, where to go. As the blind might, she felt in front of her with each step and slowly dragged her feet to avoid stepping on anything sharp.

Shadows, made more vague by her perception of evil, indicated larger obstacles. Metal shelves. Tables. Objects cluttered the rotted floor, making progress sluggish. Somewhere outside, she heard Morty again whispering her name, and Gaby prayed she'd finish before he found her.

A light glimmered for an instant before snuffing out.

Ah. A tease. A taunt.

The doctor didn't realize that God guided her through such ridiculous stunts. True surroundings seldom entered into her navigation. She moved by premonition and divine persuasion.

Grasping the knife tightly in her hand. Gaby went toward the light with anticipation.

Like a trail of bread crumbs, the nictitating illumination drew her out of the large room and down a broad corridor. Gaby's every step wrought a screech of protest from warped, moldered flooring. Like thready tentacles, cobwebs reached out to her face, sticking to her hair, tangling in her eyelashes.

A thick haze of dust choked her nostrils.

There, at the end of the corridor, a narrow line of light near the floor indicated an illuminated room beyond the door.

Gaby saw only a trap.

Whoever had led her here did not want her to reach that room.

Feeling behind and to the right of her, she verified clearance, flattened herself to the wall, and waited for proof of her suspicions.

Seconds later, a rush of wind passed close to her face as someone tried to attack her with a thick, blunt weapon.

Perfect.

So fluid it was imperceptible, Gaby countered the missed attack with a rapid slash of her knife. She kept the thrust agile, clean, meaning to wound, but without throwing herself off balance.

Her aim was perfect.

The blade sank home in spongy flesh, caught for a single breath of time against muscle and sinew, and then sliced a slick path before breaking free.

The deep gouge spilled forth a flood of blood, filling the air with the acrid scent of death. It spurted into the air, over Gaby and the walls and into those annoying cobwebs.

Shock sucked the air from her victim, then gave strength to a horrified, high-pitched scream that spurred hair-raising wails from others close by.

The corridor exploded with weak howls and pain-filled shrieks, overlaid with the thumping of heavy furniture and metallic clashes reminiscent of the raucous, fearful frenzy of animals caged in a zoo.

Doing her best to tune out the disturbing caterwauling, Gaby sidled down the wall several feet and went stock-still.

She trained her ears on the quieter sounds, the whisper of a small movement and the hushed rush of painful breathing.

The approach of evil.

Energy moved past her to the door where most of the noise emerged. As it pushed open, light spilled into the corridor.

Gaby opened her eyes and, with God's guidance, she faced the bogeyman.

Deep in the woods, mud clinging to his shoes, sweat and humidity gluing his shirt to his spine, Luther flicked the flashlight beam around the area. Swarms of mosquitoes followed the light, hungry for new blood. As far as he could see, tree trunks loomed like endless specters in the dank night. Eerie silence, but for the sounds of crawling creatures, mocked him.

He had to admit he'd gotten lost. "Damn it, Mort," he whispered low, "where did you go?"

Beside him, Ann breathed heavily and for the fifth time asked, "Are you absolutely certain we're on the right track, Luther?"

"Yes." He wasn't, not anymore, but he said, "I saw him come this way. I'm sure of it."

"There's nothing here," she complained. "Only poison ivy, hungry insects, and—"

Horrific screams carried through the woods, piercing the silence, rustling the brittle leaves.

The fine hairs on Luther's nape rose.

Beside him, Ann whispered, "Dear God in heaven."

Gaby. Luther shoved Ann behind him. "Backup should be here soon. Call in, then wait."

"Forget it. You're not leaving me here alone." She tangled a fist in the back of his shirt.

Luther didn't argue with her. Holding the flashlight out front, he broke into a run. He tripped twice over twining roots, taking Ann down with him. On his way back up, he cut his elbow on something disgustingly wet.

"Go," Ann said, reassuring him in the least amount of words that she was okay.

"Keep up." Losing sight of Morty was his first mistake—an error that could prove fatal. He didn't want to put Ann at risk, too.

As she hustled along behind him, Luther heard her talking into her radio. In the center of the dense woods, the cells couldn't get reception.

Crashing through the underbrush, shoving aside spindly tree limbs, he moved as fast as he dared. It no longer mattered if Mort knew he'd been followed. It no longer mattered if Gaby might be guilty.

Guilty or innocent, he wanted her alive.

In the distance, he heard the sirens of approaching cars. Almost at the same time, an awful stench, one he'd smelled before, choked him.

It was the smell of blood—and rotted flesh.

Something awful had happened here.

And somehow, Gaby was involved.

Expecting a monster of hideous proportions, Gaby instead witnessed the fearful limping of a wounded human, slumped against the wall, barely staying upright. Not a large, powerful man, but a woman.

A small woman.

Confusion kept Gaby immobile.

It didn't work like this. God showed her the heart of the demon, not the mortal body. The only time she'd ever seen beyond the haze of duty was… with Luther near her.

Oh God, oh God... Gaby looked behind her, but saw no one. If Luther did lurk nearby, she still had time.

Thank you, God.

Not yet daring to look into that room of torture, Gaby said to her victim, "You can't escape."

The woman turned her face, and all thought gelled.

Dr. Chiles.

The soft-spoken doctor. The defender of the indigent patients. The trusted one.

It suddenly made sense: The duplicity. The conniving. The ability to get close to Rose.

Only a slender woman would fit through the basement window of Morty's apartment building.

Dr. Chiles was both skilled enough to do deranged, sick, perverse experimentation on ailing cancer victims and inconspicuous enough with her gentle appearance to escape a brutal crime scene without drawing suspicion.

Furious with herself. Gaby cursed low. More than anyone else, she knew the unpredictability of evil. It didn't follow a pattern, didn't fit a profile.

She'd been sloppy. Unforgivable.

Ungluing her feet, Gaby tightened her hand on her knife and stepped away from the wall. "You deserve everything you get today."

"Freak!" the doctor railed at her, her voice barely audible above the commotion from the adjoining room. She pressed a hand hard to her side. "Look at what you've done, at all you've ruined! How will I continue my work? How will I find the cure?"

Her work. Teeth locked, Gaby glanced into the yawning space ahead. What she saw repulsed her.

Frankenstein's laboratory would look like a posh hotel in comparison to the makeshift lab the doctor had erected. Kerosene lanterns illuminated filthy glass jars overflowing with rotted flesh stacked on shelves, boxes, and crates.

Pilfered equipment, including instruments that could cut, saw, and clip, littered a section of sheet-covered floor.

Crawling with cockroaches, discarded food containers, blood-soaked rags, and soiled clothing cluttered each corner.

A half-dozen crude beds, made from cots, gurneys, and splintered boards, showed signs of unbelievable cruelty. Gaby made note of the thick straps, the raw rope and wires meant to restrain the bodies, and her skin crawled.

Only two of the beds were empty.

"You sick bitch."

Blood pulsed and gurgled from below the doctor's left breast, drenching the clichéd white coat, the pale blue scrubs, in sticky crimson. "How dare you insult me? Some day soon my work will produce a cure, and then the world will hail me."

Gaby shook her head. "You will never work again." Numb from her heart to her brain, she trailed after the doctor, metering her pace the same, stalking her. It wasn't easy, not with her perception of the desolated people around her, but she kept her focus on the doctor. "Tonight you die."

Doctor Chiles stumbled forward into the room and dragged herself between two rickety beds occupied by patients of indiscriminate age, in various stages of cancerous decay. At the intrusion, the wretched souls roused enough to lament their fates.

Their movements emphasized the doctor's debauched experiments. Exposed, bloody tumors riddled with pulsing veins, rough scabs, and blackened lesions, adhered loosely to sagging, puckered flesh. Faces, bodies, limbs—the cancer grew over all parts of the bodies.

Clutching her side in awful pain, Dr. Chiles demanded, "Look at them." As she spoke, she continued to inch away, keeping a distance between herself and Gaby. "They're the scourge of our earth, a waste of humanity. For years, they defiled their lives and the lives of those around them."

"I know." Gaby saw it all, the contaminated pasts and iniquitous souls. "Right here, right now, it doesn't matter."

"They're all alone," Dr. Chiles insisted. "No one cares what happens to them."

"I care."

Pain turned the doctor's lips white. "Damn you, I've given them purpose. Through me, their lives will have meaning."

Beside Gaby, a man with sunken eyes mostly hidden by great globules of cultivated growths gave a pitiful moan.

Gray, paper-thin skin lay over protruding bones. Without words, he pleaded.

He wouldn't live much longer, but every second brought him immeasurable agony.

At Gaby's other side, a hairless woman jerked and flailed in futile rage. With each movement, a monstrous sac on her midsection recoiled with a life of its own.

Turning a slow circle. Gaby saw more of the same—until her gaze landed on the pile in the corner.

Decomposing bodies, overrun with maggots.

Failed experiments.

Patients whose usefulness had run out.

Knowing she'd allowed this to happen, angry tears burned Gaby's eyes. She wanted to kill the doctor now, this instant.

But as she breathed in the stench of decay and desperation, absorbed the misery in the frantic auras, their anguish became her own. The insurmountable burden bowed her shoulders and wrenched her heart.

She needed to kill them. All of them.

But for the first time, God made sure she saw things clearly… even through her blurring tears. They were all evil, and all human—capable of great suffering.

Gaby sensed the doctor moving toward her, along with other bodies. She recognized the danger, felt the encompassing evil.

Ready to fulfill her duty, she poised herself—and a gunshot rang out. The misfired bullet hit the wall, sending out a spray of splintered wood and plaster dust.

Shaken from her discipline, Gaby spun around and there stood Morty, shoulders back, chin up, arms straight out with the gun gripped tightly.

He took aim again and Gaby glanced behind her to see the doctor advancing, her lip curled in rage, her eyes hot with hatred. In her blood-soaked hand, she hefted a long surgical blade as lethal as Gaby's own knife.

The room echoed with the blast of another resounding shot. The doctor's body jerked at the bullet's impact, then crumpled to the ground, felled by a gunshot wound to the side of the face. No longer recognizable, Dr. Chiles now resembled the monster Gaby had anticipated.

Morty crept up beside her. "Oh God, Gaby. She's dead, isn't she?"

"Looks like." In the gray ugliness of the room, a blue glow floated around Mort. On the outermost reaches of the aura, the blue was quiet and calm, but closest to Morty, nearest to his heart, it shone rich and deep, indicative of a man who'd found his work in life.

Gaby couldn't quite credit Mort's transformation.

"Oh God," he said again. Trembling, he lowered his hands and gazed around the room in horror. "I'm sorry, Gaby."

"For shooting her? Don't be." Gaby had no regrets there. But now for the rest of them…

"No, I meant…" He swallowed hard. "Luther's not far behind me. Right before I came in here, I heard him in the woods. He's not alone."

Gaby tried to order her thoughts, but it wasn't easy. She had to contend with her ability and duty, and her own human emotions.

"He must have followed me," Mort rushed to say, "and there's no way he didn't hear those shots. He'll be in here any second."

"Which is why I avoid guns." Drawing in stale, odorous air, she forced herself to think. Luther's proximity no doubt had much to do with her altered state. His singular effect on her threw off her balance, robbed her of a much-needed edge.

She honestly didn't know if that was good or bad.

Either way, it was all too much, too discrepant from the bizarre reality to which she'd grown accustomed. Her stomach revolted and she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from puking.

Mort's voice tottered with fear, further bewildering her. "Gaby!" Looking beyond her, he stumbled back.

She followed his line of vision and saw two of the poor creatures, armed with crude weaponry probably used by the doctor to inflict her experiments, now descending on them. Rubber tubing trailed from one stooped soul, while remnants of torture discolored the other.

They both had the same bulbous fingertips and toothless, slathering mouths she'd seen before.

The doctor must have cut them loose before she attacked.

Vociferating in excitement and panic, they lumbered forward, starting a frenzy with the others who didn't understand. The noise grew deafening.

Disheartening.

In that moment, Gaby made up her mind. They all needed to die. Thanks to the doctor, they were barely human anymore. Their black souls, now disoriented with sickness, frightened by chaos, and maddened from pain, made them dangerous—especially to Morty. Besides, anything other than death would only cause them more cruelty.

Grabbing up the surgical tool from the doctor's limp hand, Gaby handed it to Mort. "Cut them all free."

"But… !"

"Do it, Mort. But be careful. Stay out of reach." The order had barely left her mouth before the first monstrosity fell against her, awkwardly stabbing. Gaby sidestepped, turned, and sliced cleanly across the throat, cutting the carotid artery. She shoved the pitiable creature aside.

The other reached out, and Gaby sank her knife into its heart, twisted, and dragged it out again. The body dropped hard to the ground.

One by one, she dispatched the tormented souls.

Without God's intervention.

Without His purer vision.

She saw them all for what they were, and though she had a paladin's power, she acted out of her own conscience, not divine instruction.

One of the more weakened patients offered no more than garbled pleas—for a cessation of suffering.

Gaby made his death quick and painless by cutting off life support. She severed IV tubes and disconnected an oxygen tank.

"Luther will be here soon." She sensed it. But by the time he and his fellow officers ordered medical care, the bodies would be at peace.

"Go," Morty whispered to her, his voice barely audible over the now blaring sirens. "Find a back way out. If Luther catches you here…"

"He'll arrest me," Gaby finished for him. She had always understood that. "What about you?"

From a distance, Luther shouted, "Gaby! Where are you?"

"Go," Morty begged. He waved the gun at her. "There's a door at the back of the room. Go through there. Find a way out. I'll stall him."

Still she hesitated, unable to make the decision—unable to abandon him.

Morty hauled her close and gave her one bumbling kiss, startling her senseless. His aura burned bright with determination. "You're important to the world, Gaby. You have a purpose. You have to be free to do what you can." His crooked smile wavered. "And finally, I think I found my purpose. For once, I get to be the hero. Now go."

"Gaby!" Luther's voice echoed down the corridor. The beam of a bright flashlight hit the walls.

He was only a few yards away.

Gaby turned and fled. On her way across the room, she spotted a fresh corpse, unmarred with disease. Given the bright, suggestive clothing, it had to be the prostitute Rose.

Poor Bliss.

Gaby found the door and went through it with no idea where it led. She trusted God to see her safely outside. As the door shut behind her, impenetrable darkness closed in.

She crawled forward, feeling her way…

And that's when she heard the doctor speak. "You let her do this."

Gaby's heart dropped. Dr. Chiles wasn't dead!

Luther shouted, "No, Mort. Drop the gun. Now."

"I can't."

The doctor laughed.

And a final shot rang out.

Unable to bear it, Gaby turned back, frantically retracing her steps. If Luther wanted to apprehend her, she'd somehow talk him out of it. Or she'd find a way to evade him.

But she had to know if Morty was safe. He'd come to help her because he cared; she couldn't just abandon him.

Reaching the door she'd gone through, she opened it a mere crack and saw Luther bent over a supine body.

Morty.

He wasn't moving.

A scream crawled up her throat, but before Gaby could get the sound out, several things seemed to happen at once.

She saw the doctor drag herself upright against a rickety table, her mouth twisted in wicked delight. She held Mort's gun.

Luther pushed to his feet and faced her.

The badly wounded doctor stumbled, and a kerosene lantern crashed into one of the oxygen tanks.

An explosion rocked the building, shooting flames everywhere.

The door blasted shut on Gaby. She tried, but it wouldn't budge an inch. Something must have collapsed against it, blocking it. She listened hard, but all she heard was the snap and crackle of hungry flames devouring the carnage.

"No!" Gaby pounded her fists on the door, but it didn't matter. No one acknowledged her calls, and the door didn't dislodge. Smoke seeped into her darkened room, bringing with it the caustic scent of burning wood, cloth, and… flesh.

Gaby tried kicking the door with her feet, but the smoke grew thicker, burning her eyes and throat, reminding her that despite being a freak, she was still all too human. She finally had to move away.

Heart pounding hard, silent prayers running amok, Gaby crawled and crawled until she found a hole in an outer wall that led to the swamp.

She stumbled out, fell onto to her back in the prickly weeds, and gulped in great gasping breaths. When she could breathe again, she faced the destruction. The flames didn't seem to spread, but with how that room had exploded… could anyone make it out of there alive?

Gaby didn't realize she was crying until the sirens began winding down and she heard her own sobs. The weakness so enraged her that she shook a fist at God.

"This is why I can't be friends with people? This is it? Is this my fucking lesson?"

Her raw voice competed with the sounds of chaos, echoing in hollow dismay over the surface of the swamp, emphasizing the futility in all that she did, all that she'd dared to do.

More emergency personnel arrived. Police, firefighters, EMTs. More voices. Enough lights to brighten the woods and send eerie, dancing shadows everywhere.

Drawn to concealment against her will, Gaby got to her feet and moved out of the open, choosing a position behind a copse of trees where she could watch the busy swarm of police and medics, and still escape if anyone spotted her.

The hot tears continued to fall unheeded down her cheeks as she hunkered down, praying to see Luther or Mort in one of the bright emergency beams trained on the building. So much pain filled her that she wanted to curse and wail. She wanted to scream out her anger.

But doing so would accomplish nothing more than her capture. She'd screwed up enough already—no need to add to it.

Doing her best to tamp down emotion and heighten awareness. Gaby waited as professionals got the fire under control. Soon, the thick smoke subsided and only choking odor billowed out the windows and a busted door.

Please, she prayed.

Seconds later, her heart thumped in relief as a tall, familiar form emerged.

Fingers locked together at the back of his neck, Luther stepped away from the destruction. The female detective, Ann, stood close beside him.

"I don't fucking believe this," Luther cursed.

Appearing dazed, Ann put a hand to her stomach. "They're all dead, Luther. I don't… I don't even know what they are. Human?"

"Fucking experiments." Luther dropped his hands and punched the damaged door hard enough to break knuckles.

Glued to the sight of him, Gaby winced in sympathy for his pain, both physical and emotional.

Cuddled up to him, Ann pleaded, "Don't be a caveman, please. I'm too shook up to take it."

"Sorry." Luther flexed his hand. "It's just… I know the guy who killed them all."

Gaby's stomach hollowed out. Surely, Luther didn't believe that Morty had done the deed? That was too absurd.

As Gaby's thoughts tumbled, Ann hugged herself up to Luther. "Why do you suppose he did it?"

Slinging his arm around her and pulling her close, Luther said, "God only knows, Ann. God only knows."

Gaby turned her back on them and buried her face against her knees. Yeah, God knew. But He wasn't about to share with the likes of them.

If only she'd gotten that damn door open, if only she hadn't left Morty in the first place, then… Luther would have locked her up.

For the sake of humanity, it was better this way.

But then why the hell did it hurt so much?

With nothing else to do, she used a rough tree trunk to pull herself to her feet and, in the near silent way of wraiths, exited the woods. She had to disappear, and if she didn't hurry, Luther would catch her in the act of packing up the tools she used to write and illustrate her graphic novels.

Nothing else mattered. Not any more.

Feeling an awful twinge in his heart, Luther pressed a fist to his chest.

Ann grabbed him. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." But he wasn't. It felt like someone had just ripped out his soul. He'd thought for sure that Gaby would be here, in the middle of the awful destruction.

But so far, there'd been no sign of her.

Duty demanded that he couldn't leave yet, but damn it, he needed to find her. He wasn't sure why, but it felt crucial.

As paramedics carried Mort out on a gurney, Luther had them pause. "One second."

"We need to move."

"Yeah, I know." Luther touched Mort's shoulder. "Mort, where's Gaby?"

Faint and rilled with pain, Morty whispered, "Luther?"

"Yeah, it's me. Was Gaby here with you? Is she hurt? Where is she?"

Reddened from smoke and blurry with pain, Mort opened his eyes and looked at Luther. "No."

Frustration threatened to implode. "No what?"

Mort pressed his lips together. Flames had singed parts of his hair. A hastily bandaged wound in his side still oozed blood. Various scrapes, bruises, and burns discolored his fair skin. "Gaby's not here, Luther," he said. "She was never here." And then he passed out.

The paramedics hurried on their way.

Sensing a betrayal, Luther watched as Mort was loaded into the ambulance, and he stood there as it drove away, stood there even as the lights disappeared from sight.

Morty had appeared too sick and hurt to lie.

But then, maybe he was too sick and hurt not to lie.

Luther needed to figure out which it might be.