We Are Monsters (29 page)

Chapter Fifty-Six

Bearman had to bend over and rest his hands against his legs. He was panting, his heart performing a drum roll in his chest. He couldn't catch up to the lady. She kept darting around corners, always down at the far end of the hall. The strange thing about it was that it didn't look like she was running. She appeared to be taking a casual stroll.

That little twerp was going to pay for this. He would be the one to take the fall. He would reinstate Eli until he found a more appropriate replacement. Of all the fucked-up things he had seen while running the board of a loony bin, this one beat them all.

He looked up. There she was, waiting for him. Sweat dripped into his left eye and he blinked it away. “Wait,” he wheezed, knowing she wouldn't listen.

I keep this up and I'll have a heart attack.
His shirt was completely soaked through.

But there's no one else here,
he thought, unbelievable as that was. And he was still shaken by the dream he had experienced while he was hypnotized. Or whatever the hell had happened to him. It was better to stay active, to keep his mind occupied, than to let it wander back to the hellish place it had been.

He pulled his right leg forward with his hands and lumbered on. As soon as he started moving the lady dashed around the corner. “Stupid bitch!” he yelled, and strode forward, bolstered by the resurgent strength of his voice.

A door opened halfway down the hall, and a doctor peeked out. He saw Bearman and his face turned stern. “What's the problem?” he said.

“The problem?” Bearman ran a hand through his sweaty hair, plastering it flat against his head. His laugh was like an engine revving, he was about to blow steam. “Where the fuck do you want me to start?”

The doctor straightened in surprise. He pushed his glasses higher on his nose and squinted, his upper lip rising like a rat's. “Excuse me?”

Bearman was several inches taller and was accustomed to using his height to his advantage. He looked down his nose at the doctor. “I've been all over this place looking for help for a good half hour now? Where is everyone?”

“I'm not sure what you mean. But you need to settle down. Come with me, please.” The doctor turned to walk back through the door.

Bearman grabbed his arm. “Wait a fucking minute. I'm talking to you. Who are you?”

The doctor eyed Bearman's hand until he let go. He pinched a name tag on his white lapel and angled it up for Bearman to read.

“Dr. Francis?” Bearman said.

The doctor offered a terse nod. “Come with me. I can help you.” He turned and walked back into the room before Bearman could grab him again.

Bearman balled his fists and followed.

It appeared to be an examination room. It was larger than he would have expected from the outside. A patient was lying in a contoured chair, restrained by rows of thick leather straps. A stool and instrument tray stood beside it. Low cabinets lined the walls, and two large orderlies loomed in the far corners.

“We're just finishing up here,” the doctor said. He walked to the head of the patient and pulled the instrument tray towards him, retrieving a tool that looked like a staple gun. The patient began whimpering, pleading in gibberish. A white foam frothed from his mouth.

“Hush!” Dr. Francis said. He reached down and grabbed something hanging from the back of the headrest and pulled it upwards as though he were closing the lid on a mailbox.

Bearman shifted his position for a better view. He gasped. His stomach roiled in revulsion.

The doctor had just replaced the man's scalp, covering his gleaming, blood-smeared skull. He held it in place with one hand while he pressed the staple gun against the seam and began stapling the scalp in place. The man screamed every time a staple was fired.

“Christ, man! What are you doing?”

Doctor Francis never looked up. He fired the final staple and began unstrapping the restraints.

Once freed, the patient crossed his arms across his chest and curled into a fetal position. He was trembling, mewling.

Doctor Francis motioned to the orderlies, who moved forward, pulled the patient from the chair and dragged him out the door.

“Have a seat, please, and tell me what's the problem.” Doctor Francis patted the chair. It left behind a red handprint strewn with a few strands of black hair.

Sweat trickled down the side of Bearman's face. He ran a hand through his damp hair and snuck a peek towards the door. Something was most certainly wrong here, but he wasn't sure what.

“What were you doing to that patient?”

Dr. Francis's face lacked expression. “Relieving him. Letting the demons out, you might say.”

Bearman smirked. “I didn't think Dr. Alpert approved of such techniques.”

“He may not. I'm not sure what that has to do with me.” His head tilted slightly to the left. “Is that one of the problems you need help with?”

Bearman could hear his own labored breathing, a thin wheezing from deep within his lard-covered lungs. He felt lightheaded and his thoughts were muddled. He tried to cure all of this by clearing his throat. “Look, who's in charge here? We have a situation.”

Dr. Francis furrowed his brow. He circled the bed and walked towards Bearman. “I thought you were in charge here.”

Bearman wanted to back away from the man, but stood his ground. He puffed out his chest. “That's right. I am.”

Dr. Francis put a bloodstained hand on Bearman's back and gently guided him towards the chair. “Here, rest for a minute. Let's get this all sorted out.”

Bearman resisted, leaning back with all his weight, but still found himself taking steps forward, the chair getting closer. “Wait. Stop.” He tried to turn. He tried to get away from the doctor's gentle guiding hand.

“Don't resist. Just have a seat.”

Bearman's legs brushed against the chair. He grabbed an armrest and braced against it with both hands, pushing backwards. “I said let go of me!”

“A little help in here,” Dr. Francis said calmly, quietly.

The door flew open and the two large orderlies rushed through. Dr. Francis backed away and they grabbed Bearman by his arms, wrenching his hands away from the armrest and cranking them behind his back. They wrestled him onto the chair, holding him in place as Dr. Francis began clasping the leather restraints, starting near Bearman's feet.

“This is for your protection as well as mine,” he said. “I'll release them as soon as you've calmed down.”

Bearman looked like a riding bull whose flank strap had just been pulled tight. He wasn't close to calming down. “What the fuck do you think you're doing? I'll have your fucking heads!”

Dr. Francis made a grunting sound as he pulled another strap taut and clamped it down, this one around Bearman's bulging belly. His wrists had been secured in padded cuffs. Only a few straps remained before he was fully restrained, but he was already immobilized.

The orderlies released him and returned to their stations in the corners.

“There's no need to make such threats. I'm here to help you, remember. Please tell me what the problem is.”

The door opened. A woman walked through. Bearman's neck strained as he looked around Dr. Francis to get a better view. She looked fierce. Her pale-blue eyes locked with his, and he shivered. It was like falling through ice into frigid water. While he hadn't gotten a good look at her earlier, this was the woman who had been running from him. He was sure of it.

“Ah, just in time,” Dr. Francis said, cinching a strap against Bearman's chest.

It constricted his breathing. His arms were now pinned to his sides.

The woman smiled. It gleamed like the steel shaft of a knife. She was slight, but looked supernaturally strong. Her hands were like claws, with knotted knuckles and long, slender fingers tipped with sharp, talon-like nails.

“What's his condition?” She approached the chair and leaned over as though inspecting some strange and exotic bug.

Dr. Francis joined her, peering down, the impassive face of a professor beginning his lecture. “Well, he's sociopathic, for starters. He displays symptoms of grandeur and inflated self-importance. He places little to no value on others, seeing them merely as objects to manipulate or obstacles to overcome. He is the center of his own world, suffering from uncontrollable fits of anger, and is prone to extreme bouts of verbal and physical violence.”

The woman placed a hand on Bearman's meaty thigh and squeezed. “He's one sick puppy.”

Dr. Francis pushed his glasses up his nose and nodded.

She dragged her hand higher up his thigh, cupped his groin and squeezed. “Oh, and quite the man.”

Bearman's eyes flashed wide. “The fuck!”

“Such a foul mouth,” she said and tsk-tsked with her tongue. “No matter. He will do. He's the best we've found so far.”

“I agree. Not much more needs to be done with this one,” Dr. Francis said. “I'll prepare him, then.”

She leaned over and looked into Bearman's bulging eyes. “Don't you worry about a thing. I'll take care of you, just as long as you help me get what I need.”

Bearman's eyes narrowed. His face assumed the expression of hate that he had conditioned so exquisitely over time. “You have no idea how bad you have fucked up, you crazy cunt. I am the head of this hospital. If you don't unstrap me right this—”

She covered his mouth with one of her strong, bony hands. It was dry and cold. “My, my,” she said, “I wish we could do something about the language. It's just awful.”

“I could shut off his linguistic abilities.”

The woman seemed to consider this. “No, so long as it's not directed towards me, I think I can manage. We'll want him to seem like himself.”

“Right. Again, there's not much to change.”

She looked up at the doctor, her hand still clamped over Bearman's mouth. “Let's begin.”

Dr. Francis approached the instrument tray. He picked up an electric bone saw and turned it on. It whirred to life with a high-pitched whine, its serrated blades blurring.

Bearman tried to scream, but was stifled by the woman's hand.

Dr. Francis walked behind him. “Sorry, but we're all out of anesthetic,” he said. He smiled and began to giggle as he reached down to the mask around his neck and pulled it up over his mouth. “There aren't any nerves in the brain, however. So this shouldn't hurt…much.”

He lowered the saw to the top of Bearman's forehead. The blade sliced easily through his skin, ripping it wide.

The woman's blue eyes gleamed as blood and bone dust sprayed into the air. She removed her hand from his mouth and Bearman's voice commingled with the bone saw to create a single scream.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

The lights flickered. Shadows danced in the hollows of Angela's cheeks and the sockets of her eyes. “This isn't Sugar Hill,” she said.

Alex knew she was right, but wasn't ready to admit it.

The hallway shared the same general appearance as Sugar Hill, but there were vague differences, as those experienced in a dream. Only, now, they were obvious and felt more out of place. Most noticeable being the silence and absence of people.

Just wait until you see the ones who
are
here,
Alex thought.

Then, they heard the scream, faint and horrible. A howl, more animal than human.

Angela grabbed Alex by the arm so hard it hurt. “Okay, maybe we should go back.”

“That's the same howl I heard last time I went out. Right before the woman started chasing me.”

Angela began backpedaling towards the door, dragging Alex with her. When they reached it, she turned and pushed it open. It led into the cramped quarters of a patient's room. Her head was on a swivel. “Where's the conference room?” she said.

The howl came from a distance, reverberating off the walls. They both spun back around.

“I don't know,” Alex said. “It never should have been there in the first place. We're in a different part of the hospital.”

“What do you mean?”

Alex shrugged. “Just what I said. I don't know how to explain it.”

He pulled his arm free. His hand was tingling from lack of circulation. He shook it out as he started back down the hallway. “No sense in staying here. Besides…” he turned back and tried to smile—in the flickering light, it was a crypt keeper's grin, “…it's all just part of our imagination, right?”

“If this is what our patients go through, I regard them with a whole new level of respect. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take.”

“I think we're just getting started,” Alex said. He waited for her to join him, and then they shuffled down the hallway side by side.

Angela's legs were shaking. Her voice trembled. “Mind if I hold on to you?” She grabbed for his arm again.

“Just as long as you let some blood through.”

She eased her grip and they shuffled along. Ahead was the nurses' station. They stopped to take a look.

Alex showed her the abandoned cups and the coffee that was still warm. He pointed towards the door halfway down the hallway. “That's where I saw the patient and the nurse. The one with the burns.”

Angela's grip tightened again and Alex gasped. “Sorry,” she said. She eased her grip, but remained frozen in place.

“Come on. Let's check it out.” Alex pulled her forward. Reluctantly, she followed.

They came upon the door from the side. There was a window in its front that they couldn't yet look through. In order to peer in they would have to risk being seen. They crouched down and duck-walked underneath it, then pressed their ears to the door. They couldn't hear a thing.

“I'll check,” Alex whispered. He took a few silent breaths and then started to rise.

Angela stopped him.
No,
she mouthed, shaking her head. She brought him back down to her level. “I need to break through this fear. Let me.”

Alex held out his hand as though to say
by all means.

Angela let go of his arm. She balled her hands into fists, her face grew stern. She was nodding her head, psyching herself up. She began to rise, slowly, neck craned back in order to peek over the window's lower lip with the least amount of her head exposed.

She was just below the window when the booming voice echoed down from the far end of the hallway. “Hey! Where'd you guys go? I've been looking all over for you?”

Angela lost her balance and landed on her butt.

Alex almost sprained his neck from turning his head so fast.

Bearman was at the other end of the hallway, obscured by distance and shadow. But his voice was unmistakable.

Angela sat up. “Thank God,” she said.

Alex marched forward, staying hunched over until he was past the door, and then he began speed-walking away. The air felt cold behind him. He expected the door to swing open any second.

Bearman stayed put, waiting. “I found help,” Bearman said. “They're this way.” He pointed towards the turn.

“Thank God!” Angela said again. Alex heard her footsteps behind him as she started jogging to catch up. It looked like Bearman was holding something by his side. Something small, with a sharp, clawed end like a pickaxe.

Good, he has a weapon,
Alex thought.

Bearman retreated as Alex drew closer, sinking deeper into shadow. He was but a black outline against the darker shade.

Alex slowed and stopped several steps away. “Who'd you find?” he said.

“Come here and I'll show you.”

Angela's footsteps slapped against the linoleum floor as she arrived. “What's the plan? Did you call for help?”

“This way.” Bearman pointed down the hallway leading off to his right, his other hand holding the object down by his side. “It's Crosby who's doing this,” he said. “We have to find him. You need to help us.”

Alex took a step closer. There was something wrong with Bearman's face. It looked wet, like he was bleeding. “Wait, help who? We need to get help back to Eli and the others.”

“Stop with the fucking questions and get over here! I'll tell you what we need to do!”

Angela flinched from the outburst and took a step back. “We need to stay calm,” she said.

“I'm telling you to get over here right fucking now,” Bearman said. It sounded like a growl.

Alex took a reflexive step forward, and Bearman pounced. The dim yellow light illuminated his face. It was a mask of blood streaming down from a ragged wound running across the top of his head. It had been crudely stitched together with staples, the skin was rippled. Blood seeped through yawning gaps. Only one eye was open, gazing through the red sheen; his mouth was a smeared snarl.

Alex tried to scramble backwards, pinwheeling his arms. But Bearman grabbed him. He spun Alex around, curling an arm around his neck, and brought the sharp end of the instrument to the front of his face. It scraped against his cheek, just under the eye, drawing blood.

“You too, darling,” he said to Angela. “You're both coming with me.”

Alex felt his stomach churn and his bladder loosen. More than fearing for his life, he prayed he wouldn't pee.

“Wait, wait. What are you doing?” Angela said, her hands held out in a defensive posture. She was backing up.

“There's evil here,” Bearman said. “We need to get rid of it.”

“Okay, look. We can help you. But this isn't the way.”

“I'm not going to fucking tell you again!” He pushed Alex forward, still holding the instrument against his face. Both of their faces were now running with blood.

Alex tried to speak, but Bearman squeezed his neck harder so that all he could do was gurgle.

A door opened down the hallway. Angela turned.

Bearman hesitated.

The burned nurse walked out, the patient with the frizzy, blonde hair followed. “Get away from him,” the blonde lady said.

“Don't listen to her,” Bearman said. “Who knows where the fuck they came from.”

Angela was caught in another nightmare.

On one side of the hallway was Bearman, who looked like he had just been lobotomized by some psychopath. On the other were too wraiths: a woman so severely burned she was hardly recognizable as human and another whose skin was the ghostly shade of blue seen only on the dead. But Bearman seemed like the more hostile of the two options.

He wiped blood from his open eye as he shuffled towards her. It was wide and deranged.

“What happened to you?” Angela said, still retreating. “What happened to your head?”

“I needed it. It helped me to understand.”

“Hurry! Come with us!” the women called.

Bearman was closing the distance on Angela as she considered her options.

“We can't let him get too close!”

Bearman picked up his pace, pressing forward. Blood pattered from his face to the floor. The woman with the burns broke away from the other and rushed towards Angela. She was trapped, being descended upon by two monsters.

Angela froze, and then backed up against the wall. The burned nurse was closing the distance. Her unblinking eyes were staring up towards the ceiling.

Angela covered her face. She was too scared to scream.

Bearman was just steps away. Alex was backpedaling with his feet, trying to slow him down. But Bearman kept barreling forward. He removed the pickaxe-looking instrument from Alex's face. Grunting, he swung it towards Angela's head.

She was nearly yanked off her feet; her shoulder broke free from its socket. The pickaxe breezed through her hair and crashed into the wall where her head had just been. Chunks of stone went flying.

Now Angela screamed, but mostly from pain. Her shoulder socket was on fire.

The burned woman pulled her arm again to get her moving, then pushed her from behind. Together, they ran.

Bearman was screaming behind them. Angela looked to find him lurching forward, but fading into the distance.

They reached the blonde woman and Angela almost collapsed in fear. Her face was webbed with black veins, her skin blue, almost purple. Her eyes were covered in a milky film.

She looked more closely at the burned woman. Her eyes were blind too.

They're dead,
she thought.
Both of them, dead.

The blonde woman grabbed her by her good wrist. Angela's other arm dangled uselessly by her side. It sparked fire with every step. The three of them ran past the nurses' station. They turned the corner and sprinted to the end of the hallway.

They stopped and the two women stared at Angela with their unseeing eyes. “Open it,” the burned woman rasped. It was like wind rustling through reeds.

“It's a dead end. A patient's room.” Angela was fighting back hysteria, struggling against shock.

“Not anymore,” the patient said.

“What?” Angela said. “No, wait. What about Dr. Drexler?”

Bearman's shout came from around the corner, as though in answer. “You go with them, you die!”

What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

“Please open it. It has to be you.” The woman's lipless mouth was charred black on the inside.

A shadow approached from the other end of the hallway. A writhing, shuffling mass—Alex in front, Bearman behind. Bearman's shadow looked misshapen. Long and hulking, with an oblong head and loping arms. He screamed again, but it sounded more like a howl.

“It's happening. Please, you must hurry.”

Angela tried to raise her right arm, but it wouldn't budge. Pain streaked down her side. “I can't,” she said, stifling a sob.

“Yes, you can.
We
can't.” It was the blonde woman. She pressed her hands on her hips and shifted her weight as though mildly impatient. “But if you want to get turned into one of them, be my guest.”

Bearman turned the corner. He still had Alex by the neck. Both of their faces were a bloody mess.

Seeing Angela trapped at the end of the hallway, Alex braced his feet against the floor and began pressing backwards, trying to block Bearman from advancing.

Bearman arched his back, lifting Alex's feet off the floor. Then he raised the pickaxe into the air and swung it into Alex's unprotected stomach. It sunk in up to its hilt, and Alex collapsed to the floor. Bearman leapt over him and began running their way, snarling, blood spraying from the ragged gash on his forehead.

The blonde lady began tapping her foot.

The burned one pleaded with a sigh, “Pleaaasse.”

Angela grabbed the door handle with her left hand. She pushed it open and fell inside. The women squeezed in behind her.

The door slammed shut with a bang.