Making Monsters (8 page)

The smell of rotting flesh wafted to her nose, and she gaged. Vile, pungent water rose from
her stomach, filling her mouth and pushing past her cracked lips. She spewed the contents and it
landed on the torso of her bedmate. Large drops of liquid fell from the corpse, only to roll down
the plastic beneath them and pool around her head. She shifted, and the slimy mess flowed to her
ear.

Quickly swallowing, she placed a palm flat in the fluid, minute globules splattered around
her hand. Her muscles bunched. The veins in her wrist and forearm rose in stark relief from her
skin. With a grunt, she shoved herself up and wobbled in her seat. She took in her surroundings.
At one time, the room must have been used for surgery of some sort, based on the machinery
scattered about the chamber. Five gurneys, separated by sheer curtains, were spread amongst the
equipment, crowding the room. Three of the narrow beds held incomplete bodies.

She leaned forward and gripped the metal bar under the mattress to slide off the bed. As she
stood there, weaving, she searched for the exits. The bright red lights above a single door drew
her attention, but the exit was on the other side of the room. She singularly focused on the color,
seeing her way out in tunnel vision. Malia closed her eyes. She had to find Paul. Blood seeped
from her wound, and she knew she was light headed from the loss. Damn that bitch, Victoria.
There would be hell to pay, and she would dole it out before she moved onto the next
life. She lumbered forward and reached for the cabinet next to the bed, tipping the metal tray on
it. Items tinkled as the instruments crashed to the floor, and she jerked her hand back.

A long
squeak
ripped through the room. A triangle of florescent light sliced across gurneys
and equipment. Malia scuffled back, her butt brushing the cold, plastic encased mattress. Huh,
she hadn’t moved as far as she thought. Then, a shadow bisected the light, and she patted the
pallet behind her and latched onto the decomposing body. Her fingers sank into its soft tissue.
She fought her gag reflex and held tight to the corpse, pulling herself up onto the bed.

Vomit coated her shoulders and dampened her hair. She swallowed and closed her eyes,
tightening her hands into fists at her side, and then relaxed when she remembered she was
supposed to be dead. Footsteps echoed in the cramped space; the sound of wheels squeaked as
equipment was pushed aside. She felt a moist palm caress her cheek.

“It’s a pity that such a beautiful specimen has to be cut up.” Fingers combed through the
tresses that fell from her forehead.

 

Malia stayed still and held her breathe.

 

“I bet you were a real handful when you were alive,” the deep voice continued.

 

There was a clanking of metal and then a scrape below them. “What the hell? How’d this
shit get on the floor?” The voice sounded perplexed and rose from beneath her.

She took a risk and opened one eye. A hand lay splayed in a spot close to hers, and a scalpel
was half hidden under the stranger’s digits. His head bobbed as he retrieved the tools, the pieces
tapping her leg as he tossed them up next to her. The last item being some sort of rotary tool; it
bounced against her fingers before settling next to her knuckles. She inched her hand over to
cover the small, round knife. Grunts and mumbled cuss words filled the room. She turned her
head and caught a glimpse of the man’s hunched back. The bed shook, and a scraping noise rose
to her ears.

With her hand wrapped around the cool textured metal handle of the rotary scalpel, she
waited. Sweat peppered her face, and the smell in the room burned her nose with each inhale.
Finally, after a few grumbles, she heard further movement and peeked beneath her lashes. A fat
man in a dirty lab coat placed both palms on the side of the mattress, huffed, and tried to get to
his feet. She gripped the handle as tightly as she could. Half rising, she lifted her arm. When he
looked up in surprise, she cut through the air and sliced across his throat as she fell back. Blood
spurted everywhere as he rose to his feet, released the bed, and grabbed his neck, backing away.
She looked at the cutter in her hand and watched it spin. The crash of trays tumbling to the floor
drew her attention back to the guy, and she turned her head to see him stumble as he tripped over
the obstacles now littering the floor. He crawled, when he could no longer walk, until he fell flat.
A growing circle of blood surrounded his torso. She grabbed the scalpel lying just within reach,
and pain ripped through her side as she struggled to sit up.

Malia dropped back against the cadaver, and nausea roiled in her belly. She pushed to a
sitting position again and looked over at the man she’d cut. He twitched, and she waited until he
stopped moving. Time seemed to stand still. Red bubbles formed near his throat, he shuddered
once more, and went completely still.

With her hand firmly wrapped around the handle of the slim knife, Malia struggled to move.
She rocked back and forth, using the momentum to propel herself forward. It took effort to swing
her feet down and beat back the bile rising in her throat. She used her toes to kick at the
stranger’s leg. Blood, the color of crimson, reflected the pale, yellow light. She eased up to stand
and groaned. Sticky, dark red fluid coated her palm when she grabbed her side. The urge to
scream boiled up in her throat. She folded her lips, biting down into the sensitive tissue to stifle
the cries of pain that threatened to overtake her. Tears poured over her cheeks, sliding across the
firm line she’d made with her mouth. The taste of salt seeped through the corners. She hobbled
the few feet to the cabinet and yanked out drawers. She needed two things—a bigger weapon and
a bandage—she didn’t care about making noise. Hell, they probably thought it was the fat
bastard sprawled on the floor.

In the last drawer she found gauze and tape. Malia felt like she was dying, but before she
went, she had every intentions of taking Victoria with her. She picked the supplies up by the
handful and dropped everything on the counter, and then eased her shirt over her wound as she
rifled through the items. The slick sound of the tape was loud in the room as she pulled strips off,
awkwardly attaching them to her body while trying to keep the thick cotton in place. Grabbing a
scalpel, she squared her shoulders, dismissed the pain, and moved toward the door. Hopefully
luck was on her side and she’d come across another one of the bitch’s henchmen. Maybe he’d
have a gun.

She limped toward th
e door. Try as she might, she couldn’t make herself move any faster.
At the rate she was moving, all she could do was pray she wasn’t too late, and that Paul was still
safe

***

Paul’s tongue felt thick. He worked the muscle over parched lips and tried to
lift his hands
to his face. Realization hit him; his arms were trapped at his side. He wiggled his foot and felt
tight bindings cutting into his ankles. With no other option, he opened his eyes. The straps
holding his wrists in place snapped with his movements. He turned his head and the thumping
started, as if someone was using a chisel and hammer on his brain. The jabbing pain competed
with the throbbing in his arm. He inhaled, and the smell of antiseptic wafted to his nose. Clinical
white walls and cabinets surrounded him as he angled his head to get a better understanding of
his environment.

A new scent mixed with the medicinal one, a perfume he knew well. Victoria appeared in
his line of vision. He narrowed his eyes and worked his mouth. The words he tried to speak came
out as hoarse noises with no meaning.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Victoria spoke in a syrup sweet tone. “You may have a hard time
speaking. I’ve only ever given a killing dose of my poisonous concoction, so I had to guess at a
nonlethal dosage.”

Paul swallowed and choked from the lack of moisture in his mouth.

 

“For heaven’s sake.” She fingered the bed’s remote inserted in the side rails. “I can’t have
you choking to death … at least not yet.”

His body slowly rose, the whirring of the be
d’s old motor drowning out the rest of her
words. He turned his head as the room came into view. Lightening flashed in the high windows
above them. He surmised he was in one of the surgery chambers of the old emergency center.
Next to him was a wooden chair with various wires running through it. Leather straps with shiny
silver buckles were attached to the leg’s posts and arm rests. A helmet, shaped like a shallow
bowl of thin metal with electrodes connected to it, lay on the seat. Paul pushed against his
bindings to get a better look, and his head fell forward, the muscles in his neck still not strong
enough to hold him up.

“You like my electric chair?” she whispered before she licked the shell of his ear. “It’s
amazing what you can buy on the internet these days.” Her face appeared in-front of his with a
peculiar smile, exposing all her teeth. “And, the shipping was free.” She tipped his head back to
rest against the mattress.

Victoria placed a straw to his lips. He dragged his mouth away with a turn of his head.

 

“Really? You have to be dying of thirst. Take a sip. I promise there’s nothing but water in
this glass. I’m not ready to kill you, yet.” She returned the straw to his mouth.

 

He pressed his lips together in a firm line.

 

“Fine!” She pulled the straw from the tumbler and took a long swallow of liquid. “See,
“Fine!” She pulled the straw from the tumbler and took a long swallow of liquid. “See,
O.” She thrust the cup at him.

He stared at the straw for a long time, trying to work through the haze of his muddled brain.
What she offered would go a long way in easing the soreness of his dry throat. True enough, if
she’d wanted to kill him she would have done so already. He opened his mouth and accepted the
straw. The cool liquid flowed down his esophagus, soothing the parched passage.

“That’s a good boy. You kno
w, for a minute, you had me worried. Then, you appear here
like a gift, all wrapped and tied with a pretty little bow.” She pulled the glass away and set it
down on the counter behind him.

As she moved, he tracked her position in the room. Victoria lifted the strange helmet, and
after brushing the seat out with her hand, she lowered herself down on the edge. Crossing her
legs, she set the headdress on her knee and angled her body in his direction.

“Paul, I have to say I was upset when you figured out the
connection with the ambulatory
services. I had to scramble to take care of things. Then, escaping not only the police, but my men
at that motel… I honestly thought you were on to me.” She rubbed the smooth wood of the
chair’s arms.

“Why?” He croaked, happy to finally be able to speak.

“Selling body parts to the rich is a very lucrative business. I’ve been doing it for years, but
then I had an idea. I’m single, pretty, and wealthy; but it seems the man I want doesn’t want me.
For years I’ve waited for you…”

“Me?”

 

“…yes you. For years I waited for you to get rid of that bitch you live with and recognize
that I have feelings for you. I’m tired of waiting, so I took matters into my own hands.”

 

“How?” His voice strengthened, rising to a whisper.

“Why, by
recreating you of course. When my original head was ruined I had no choice
except to find a replacement. You—showing up here—was a gift from God.” A wide smile
slowly blossomed on her lips. “To have a little piece of you on the man I created will make him
perfect.”

“But it wouldn’t be me.” His vocal cords burned from use.

 

“Close enough. With your head I can pretend, and with your brain … well, even a monkey
can be trained.”

 

He snorted.

“Think what you like. It doesn’t really matter anymore. I have the m
ayor and police chief
thinking you’re public enemy number one. I’ve had my boys leave clues about your involvement
in a body part ring. Actually, I made you the leader. I thought that was actually more apropos.
You’ll disappear.” She cackled. “Get it; you’ll be around thanks to this, baby.” She pounded on
the arm rest with a fist. “And the little drug concoction I created.”

“What drug?”
“Oh a little of this and a dose of that; too much can kill you. I gave you less than a quarter of
the syringe, and you’ve been out for almost three hours.”

 

“It won’t work.”

“But it will, honey. It will. I took only the best parts from specific men. These men were
handpicked by me, because after much thought and effort, I finally figured out a combination of
pieces that would work as long as I had your head—or at least the equivalent.” Victoria
shrugged. “And if the men weren’t sick, I just gave them a shot. It’s amazing how accepting
someone becomes when you tell them it’s a flu shot.”

“You have lost your fucking mind.” His voice drifted in and out, taking some of the venom
from his words.

“You say that now, but after tonight it won’t matter.” She rose from her seat and strutted to
him. Trailing her fingers along his thighs, she stopped to cup his limp member. “You will be my
walking, talking puppet. My own personal, custom built lover and I intend to use you like I paid
for you.” She squeezed his cock

Paul strained against his restraints. The rails quaked, and the nylon straps tightened with
every tug.

“Hmm, I thought
my fondling you would give you an erection. I should note that the drugs
affect the libido, too.” She ran her hand along his shaft to his nuts and back. “Somehow I thought
you were bigger.” She sighed. “It’s a good thing I had the forethought to have a back-up penis.
You girlfriend’s friend … I can’t remember her name. But her husband was huge.” Victoria
rambled on. “With his cock, I’m positive you will give me hours of pleasure. Oh yeah, one more
thing.” She met Paul’s gaze. “Do you eat pussy, or will I have to teach you?”

“Malia was right. You are fucking cracked.”

“Tsk, tsk Paul. After everything I’ve gone through to ensure we’re together you should be
more appreciative.” Victoria moved to a tray and picked up a syringe. “You just need to sleep a
littlelonger, and then when you wake up you’ll be good as new.”