The Empty (11 page)

It was then Shane knew without doubt that he should have fled when he had the opportunity.

There were five of them—four men and one woman, all very peculiar in their bearing, all staring at him with eyes that might just as easily have been pearls. In addition, the young man Shane had seen in the entranceway now stood behind him blocking his exit.

“These are my friends.” Gisele stepped away from Shane. “They are pleased to meet you.”

Terror seized Shane as he gazed from one to the other to the other and each stared back at him as a lion would an injured gazelle.

All were young. All wore loose-fitting clothing, nothing stylish, nothing that would draw attention to themselves. They were thin, hungry looking. A couple seemed too pale to be healthy. Of course there were the eyes, those strange, strange eyes staring at Shane through pupils barely larger than flecks of pepper. One of the males, an unshaven youth with straggly brown hair and a missing front tooth smiled at Shane from the old threadbare couch on which he reclined. “
Bon soir,
” he said. Good evening.

Eudo, Gisele’s “cousin” from the club, was the first to approach. He no longer wore his sunglasses and his white soapy eyes confused and frightened Shane. Eudo was not tall, nor was he bulky. Shane was athletic, and felt he may be able to “take” Eudo in a fair fight. But the odds weren’t fair, and Shane knew better than to aggravate the situation.

“This will hurt,” said Eudo. The voice was heavily accented and not without compassion. “I apologize.”

Shane made to move, to bolt from the scene, but the one in the doorway anticipated his move and grabbed him from behind in a fierce bear hug. Eudo stepped closer, his murky white eyes intent on Shane.

Even as Shane screamed and thrashed, Eudo seemed to contemplate his face, to study his features. “Gisele was right. I would like to have your face.” With an almost boyish smile he then extended his right arm, reached behind Shane’s neck. There was a sudden puncturing sensation, the quick snap and burn as something penetrated his spinal column…

And there was most definitely pain.

* * * *

Shane found consciousness a very dubious commodity. It would come, and then flee. It would tickle at the edge of his mind, but never come fully into being. It seemed red clouds swirled before his eyes, drawing near, and then dispersing into haze, then reforming at the edge of his vision, only to repeat the process. A single dull tone sat in his ears, neither increasing nor decreasing in volume, simply remaining, unceasing, maddening. Strange scents tickled at his nostrils, something of the sea it seemed, oysters perhaps. But no. Something more peculiar. Something unknown. His entire body ached. Even the slightest movement seemed beyond his ability. But worse, he could not…seem…to…stay…awake.

His eyes fluttered open, perhaps for the twentieth time. His stomach knotted. He retched, but there was nothing to expel. Someone sat beside him, patting at his forehead with a cool damp cloth. She came into focus. Gisele. But a different Gisele. Her eyes were as white as had been her companion’s. And her face was…different. Not much, just… The lips, perhaps a bit fuller, the ears, a tad larger.

Shane chided himself for stupidity. He was delirious. A person’s features don’t change. Not without surgery or with the passage of time. She patted his head again and smiled her black widow’s smile.
“Ca va?”
she asked. “How are you?”

Shane attempted to respond, but could accomplish nothing more than a grunt, which was probably for the best. For if he’d had the ability to speak, the words would have been less than gracious. Once again, she patted his forehead with the cloth, and then Shane was gone.

CHAPTER TEN

When Shane awoke next, Gisele was not to be seen. The scruffy guy with the missing tooth stood in the small kitchenette frying bacon—naked. The aroma was pleasing. Suddenly Shane realized how very hungry he was. How long had it been since he’d eaten? How long had he been here? Somehow it seemed it may have been several days—or had it been weeks? There were so many hazy half images, so many…memories? Gisele beside him talking, people in and out of the room, Gisele tending to him, coaxing him, muted conversations from just beyond the rim of reality. He blinked, attempting to bring his eyes fully into focus. Shane was on a couch. There was a plastic bucket on the floor beside him. It smelled of vomit. A wool blanket covered him, and…he was naked beneath it. What was going on here? Shane attempted to rise to a sitting position, but his muscles refused. There was a strange coppery taste in his mouth, and his head felt as if someone had dropped a building onto it.

Sensing the movement, the naked fry cook glanced at Shane and smiled.
“Bonjour
.” Then, raising his voice, he shouted toward a bedroom door. The words were French, but Shane understood a reference to “the American.” A few moments later, Gisele appeared from beyond the bedroom door. She wore an oversized men’s polo shirt and nothing more. Shane recognized the shirt as the one he’d worn the night of his attack.

“Ah, you are awake.” She came forward and seated herself on the edge of the couch, placing her palm against his forehead. “Good. The fever is gone.”

Shane shook his head in an attempt to keep her from touching him. “What did you do to me?”

Gisele smiled. “All of that in due time. Now is the time to recover.” She turned and said something to the naked guy in the kitchenette. A moment later he was handing her a glass of water. “Here. Sit up just a bit. You need to drink much.”

Before Shane could respond, she had placed a hand behind his back, and gently pressed, helping him into a sitting position. Shane did not trust her, but he was thirstier than ever in his life, so accepted the water. It was lukewarm, slightly cloudy, but tasted like life itself. Gisele attempted to slow the rate of his drinking, but he shrugged her off, downed the glass—much of it dribbling onto his chest—and then said, “More.”

Gisele smiled, nodded, and then called her companion, asking for a refill.

Shane glanced at the approaching cook—at his state of undress—and managed to croak the word, “Naked.”

Gisele laughed. “My people are not ashamed of our bodies. They are to be celebrated. Not hidden beneath layers of fabric.” She paused, cocked her head, offering that wry grin of hers. “But you are uncomfortable. I will ask Alard to dress.”

She did so. Alard chuckled and pranced around playfully for a moment, brought Shane his water, and then disappeared into the same room from which Gisele had emerged.

There was a moment of awkward silence as Shane and Gisele were left alone in the room. Finally, Shane spoke. “You set me up. Your friends mugged me.”

Gisele shook her head. Her expression blank, unreadable. “Mugged? No. Something different.”

“You’re telling me that if I were to find my wallet right now, all the money would still be in there?”

“No. The money is gone.”

Shane gazed at her for a moment, studying her eyes. “You and all your friends—your eyes?”

“They are different. Yes.”

Shane nodded. Earlier, Gisele had made a reference to “my people.” Shane was coming to realize she wasn’t referring to the French. He was just about to comment on this when the front door opened. It was the other young woman Shane had seen in this apartment the night he’d been attacked. She had a young, eager-looking man on her arm.

At that same moment, Alard emerged from the bedroom and Eudo appeared in the doorway behind the couple, blocking the exit. Shane recognized the scene immediately and made to warn the young man. But he was too late. Alard moved swiftly. He smiled, said something in French as he reached out placing his hand on the back of the confused man’s neck. Then the man’s brown eyes went wide, his long limbs trembled and bucked. Alard and Eudo lowered him to the floor as his legs gave out, but never once did Alard release his grip on the back of the neck.

Shane began to scream in protest, knowing that this was exactly what had been done to him, but he was weak, his system still healing. As he tried to rise, a wave of vertigo overtook him. He would have fallen from the couch, but Gisele caught him, pressing him back down onto the frayed cushions and into a reclined position. Shane protested, but his strength fled him—consciousness as well.

* * * *

When next Shane awoke, there was no sign of the other victim. Had he been killed? Had they moved him to another room? What was happening? What were these people doing to him—and to others? How long had this been going on? And why was he still here? Why were they tending to him? If this was a mugging, why hadn’t they simply dumped him on a street corner and been done with it? Shane had the unsettling feeling that he’d stumbled into something very, very weird.

Voices intruded from the adjacent room. Shouting. A male and a female. The words were in French, and Shane could understand almost none of it. But there were continued references to
“L’Americain
.” Obviously, he was the topic of the debate. Shane shuddered at the implications. He’d witnessed the attack of another—he’d seen too much. He must be disposed of. The way he saw it, his only real chance of survival was to get out of the apartment before it was too late.

Slowly, very slowly, Shane rose to a sitting position. His head swam, and for several seconds he braced himself with the arm of the couch. He felt nauseous. His vision moved in and out of focus. There was still that low hum in his ears. But it seemed his strength was returning. Good for that. He needed it.

Shane wasn’t given the chance to flee. For it was then that Gisele and Eudo strode into the room. Eudo glared at Shane as he sat there on the couch, a blanket covering his nakedness, his limbs still quivering from the ordeal of sitting upright. There was something about the man’s face, something strangely familiar. He was still Eudo, yet there were subtle changes which Shane knew he should key in on. Still the truth of it evaded him. He knew those features, but not as they were. The face was similar to, but not the same as… What? Who? It seemed so obvious, and yet so distant. Shane scowled in frustration. Did Eudo now resemble Shane’s younger brother, Chris?

Gisele gazed from one man to the other, and then said something to Eudo in French. Eudo seemed to contemplate for a moment, and then marched silently to the front door and out of the apartment.

“Time to dispose of the witness?” asked Shane with some bite to his voice.

“You are perceptive.” Gisele stepped forward.

Shane’s stomach dipped and spun. It was one thing to contemplate the worst, it was another to hear it confirmed. He began to rise as she approached, but even as he got to his feet, he fell back onto the couch.

Gisele chuckled. “Silly Shane. I am not the threat.” She sat beside him on the couch and laid her hand on his kneecap. “But, yes. You are a concern. It was never intended that you be here so long, or for you to see what you have seen.”

“The other guy, the one Alard attacked, is he dead?”

Gisele shook her head. “No. Like most, he handled the process well. Alard and Eudo were able to leave him unconscious at on a public bench. He will not know what was done. Within a few days he will feel entirely himself again.”

“And me?”

“You did not respond well. Your system rejected the process. That is why you are still here. It is very fortunate you survived. But now you present a larger problem. You have seen enough to become a danger to us. What are we to do with you?”

Shane stared at her for a moment. “Tell me what’s happening here. What ‘process’ are you talking about? What did you do to me? Maybe if I understand, I won’t be as much of a threat as you think.”

Gisele glanced at the door where Eudo had exited, and then back at Shane. She sighed, placed a hand over his, and then she told him of a strange species known as the reyaqc, of their need for “essence,” of how they rob genetic information from their victims in order to survive. Oh, and if Shane thought Gisele and her companions were inhuman, then he’d best pray he never encounters those known as molts, for those…those were something altogether different.

* * * *

Several days later, Shane was finally off of the couch and standing before a cracked mirror in the tiny bathroom adjacent the living area. His hair had turned gray, or more accurately, white—the stark pure white of a cotton ball. Not the slightest hint of color. Twenty-eight years old, and he had the hair of a centenarian. And all because of this…genetic theft! Eudo had taken something from Shane—DNA, stem cells, something. And that process had gone awry. It had somehow damaged Shane, nearly killed him. But he was better now. Much better. His strength was returning. Except for the occasional swirl of lightheadedness, the vertigo was gone. He still had the low tone in his ears, but it had become less troublesome. But his hair! The shock to his system had apparently been too much.

Shane was still coming to grips with the reality of the reyaqc. That such a species could live alongside humanity, unknown, undiscovered, except by a select few, seemed amazing to him. Yet, he had no alternate explanation for what he’d seen and experienced. Apparently, this entire apartment building—all four units—were occupied by reyaqc. They came and went from one unit to another. Some were more or less permanent residents, others only occasional. According to Gisele, the place was owned by an old and wealthy reyaqc who offered it as a safe haven for his kind. She and her companions had taken to luring potential donors to the place, usually young men and women seeking a night of excitement. As best they could, the reyaqc would perplex the victim as to the true location of the place, infuse the “essence” from the people, and then dump them someplace where they would awaken, weak, but essentially unharmed. Wallets and purses would be gone. The victims would assume it had been a simple, if not elaborate, mugging, and go on with their lives. Many were so embarrassed by the foolishness of walking into the trap in search of sex, that they never even notified the police.

Things had not gone so simply for Shane. His system rebelled—he’d nearly died. From what Gisele told him, Eudo had wanted to dump him in the English Channel and be done with it, but Gisele had argued that Shane was a foreigner, an American, and should his body be found, there would be increased scrutiny. She’d promised to nurse him back to relative health, after which, they could deposit him on a bench somewhere, none the wiser. But Shane had seen things. He’d witnessed an attack. Eudo worried that this information might interest the authorities should Shane report it.