Torment (5 page)

Nosebleeds were a normal part of Markus’ life since
he’d been small. His allergies were bad, and considering that most remedies
caused dryness, the frequent occurrences were given very little thought.

That is, until his head began buzzing. He’d woken a
little past one in the morning, thinking his cell was vibrating. This
particular noise was much more consistent and notably louder than the phone. It
was so insistent that it was actually making Markus’ eyes water.

A brief, distracted search of his bedroom was futile.
All electronics were off. The mysterious hum was obviously coming from within.
Groaning, Markus walked to his bathroom, avoiding use of the lights. Instinct
told him that the illumination might make things worse.

He sat on the toilet clutching his head, leaning
forward slightly. Blood began running from both nostrils. Great. That was all
he needed.

Jamming both holes with tissues, Markus finished up on
the loo and risked switching on a low wattage light attached to the exhaust
fan. He gazed at the ghostly reflection staring back at him. It doubled
momentarily, then settled.

Blood was covering his upper lip. It had even gathered
on his chin and dripped onto his grey t-shirt. The toilet tissue was already
soaked through. This was the worst nosebleed he’d had in a long time.

Markus gingerly pulled the useless wads out, flinging
them into the sink. He expertly packed his nose with gauze. After examining his
work, he spat several times into the basin to clear the coppery taste from his
mouth. That was the worst part. He hated the thought of swallowing blood.

If only that damned buzzing would stop! It was
increasing, growing into a body wide vibration. The double vision returned,
ramping up to a hardcore level. Nausea reared its ugly head.

In preparation, Markus took a seat on his bathmat. He
had time to flip the commode’s lid before his late dinner came up. The packing
in his nose came free with the violence of his regurgitation, adding sickening
red cheeriness to the mess.

Eternal minutes later, he flopped over onto the
blessedly cool tile floor. The buzzing was slightly diminished, but
unfortunately not gone. Markus took what he could get, especially since the
nosebleed was dripping on.

In just a second, I’ll get up.
He thought lazily.
I’ll flush the pot and brush my teeth. I’ll pack up my
nose again and go back to sleep.

Instead, Markus spent the next six hours on the
bathroom floor. His brain had sent him into slumber shortly after this last
thought.

As he slept, curled in the fetal position on the thin
bathmat, something began moving under the skin of his right nostril. The
nosebleed, which had been drying up, kicked off again. A small silver tail
poked out for a moment, then attempted to bore back in, emitting a high pitched
squeal when it failed.

The house phone woke Markus just before eight. It
screamed shrilly, cutting into his aching skull, bouncing cruelly around the lobes
of his brain. He moaned aloud, covering both ears. Fresh blood squirted from
the right side.

Thankfully, his voicemail picked up after six rings.
It was just his boyfriend, Chuck, asking if he wanted to get some lunch later.
The very thought of food sent his stomach into a slow, oily barrel roll.

Executing an awkward lunge, Markus peeled himself up
off the floor. His entire left side hurt. Not quite as bad as his head, though
it was pretty close. He felt really disgusting. Sweat, blood, and puke stained
his night clothes.

Though the bathtub was right beside him, it seemed an
incredible feat to climb in. He did manage it, even leaning forward to turn the
water on. This provided him with a silly sense of triumph. Hey, when you feel
lousy, you take your victories where you could get them.

He was doing better after a vigorous scrub and soak.
Only an occasional drip fell from his nose. The horrendous vibration was down
to a dull drone. Funny though, his right nostril seemed to be twitching, like a
bug had crawled up it or something.

Grabbing a towel, Markus hurriedly dried off before
the spasm stopped. He cleared a spot on the foggy mirror. There was something
hanging out. It was too bloody to tell exactly what it was. He touched the
oddity carefully. A slight tremor went through his fingertip.

Was this the culprit? Had he snorted some object while
sleeping? It was unsettling to think about, but he’d read about it happening.
Supposedly, people ate spiders while they slept all the time. No matter, it was
coming out.

From a drawer, Markus retrieved tweezers. They proved
unable to get a good grip on the invader. Undeterred by this, he walked out to
the kitchen, rummaging in a hodgepodge tool kit for a set of needle nose
pliers. The slight buzz was increasing. It was as if the thing could tell he
was trying to get rid of it.

Back in the bathroom now. He took a deep breath and
seated his makeshift surgical device firmly on the object. Wincing against
anticipated pain, Markus began to pull.

It came out easier than he’d thought it would. Soaked
with gore, the foreign material clinked solidly into the plugged sink. His eyes
watered. Pain lanced up. After a few moments spent with his eyes closed,
getting a handle on the hurt, he wiped his face with his a washcloth.

While the aftermath of the procedure was unpleasant,
just having that damned thing out made it worth the trouble. Markus carefully
picked up the source of his torture. It was tiny, roughly the size of a small
vitamin tablet, but much thinner. He began to run water over the thing, washing
it gently. Each layer of goop that ran off brought with it a growing sense of
unease.

The small object had a rough surfboard shape, deep
pink in color. Small metal legs, six in total, jutted out on either side. They
wiggled slightly. It vibrated softly against his palm. Something on its
underside was pinching at the skin.

Dumping the contents of a small travel sized sewing
kit, Markus brushed the thing into it. He didn’t know exactly what the plan was
for it yet. Maybe taking it to his ear, nose, and throat doctor would be the
best idea. Dr. Patel could send it away for testing. He needed to get his nose
looked at, anyway.

He was making an appointment when the doorbell rang.
Anticipating a sales person or a religious huckster, he chose to ignore it.
However, his caller had a different idea. Whoever it was went from pushing the
button to knocking. A rapid, professional tempo.

Deciding that the visitor might be someone more
important than an Avon lady, Markus went to answer it. At the very worst,
Chuck, who was prone to overreacting, may have called the police to come check
on him. He gave a quick apology to the ENT receptionist and hung up.

Sure enough, the peek he took through the peephole
revealed an official looking woman in a neat black suit. A badge was hanging
around her neck on a lanyard. Big round sunglasses obscured everything from the
nose up. Dark, curly hair bracketed an unblemished, spray-tanned face. Wherever
she’d gone to get the latter done, they’d bypassed a normal bronzed flesh tone
for an almost Oompa Loompa orange.

Markus opened the door. He tried to smile in spite of
his rough morning. “Hello. Can I help you?”

“Are you Markus Peter Sanders?” The woman asked,
dictation rapid fire. In fact, the voice coming out of this petite lady was so
robotic it was actually a little unnerving.

“Yes. May I ask who you are?”

Rather than answer, she stepped forward into his home,
holding up her badge. He allowed this automatically, not thinking to protest.

“Turn and face the wall. Now, please.”

“Why? What did I do? What’s this about?” He was
feeling somewhere in between offended and angry. “You have no right to handcuff
me without explaining what’s going on first!”

The woman’s thin lips formed a heavy frown. She
grabbed his shoulder, trying to spin him toward the wall. Violently, they
struggled for long moments, the woman attempted the same hold over and over.
Markus was no expert fighter, but the move was so amateurish that he was able
to avoid it easily.

What’s more, the efforts seemed to be completely
exhausting to her. She was almost panting with strain. Markus didn’t even have
to put much effort into resisting. The whole time, he kept trying to talk to
her, even making an effort to be as calm as possible,
a
nearly unthinkable feat considering the circumstances.

After one last ditch attempt at a tackle, the inept
official fell face first onto the floor. Her wig tumbled off onto Markus’ feet
like a spider. She rolled over, narrow chest heaving.

It was then he began to scream.

Glasses gone, the woman’s large green eyes burned up
at him. They were a solid color, no pupil to speak of. The odd skin tone he’d
noticed through the peephole had rubbed off during the fight, revealing a
pink-grey that didn’t belong on anything human.

“Quiet, Mr. Sanders,” she breathed. “Be silent and
come with me. The others will not be so kind. They are coming for you. I
failed. I failed. I
fai
…..”

Her piece said, the woman shuddered and became still. Fluid,
a deep purple slime, flowed from her ears and mouth. It hissed against the
floor. Smoke poured up, triggering the hoarse cry of the disc shaped detector
over Markus’ head.

The steam pouring off the corpse created a cloak that
mercifully shielded him from the final stages of the woman’s deterioration. It
was thankfully odorless. Nonetheless, Markus pulled
his
 
shirt
up over his nose.

Too much!
He thought.
Too damn
much! I can’t take anything else today! Enough, okay? Please no more.

A massive dark blue SUV skidded to a halt at the curb,
as if in some perverse answer to his desperate plea. Four black suited people
got out. Two men, two women. All wore identical wraparound sunglasses. Both
ladies had similar bob haircuts. The guys were totally bald.

“Come with us, Mr. Sanders,” one of the men called,
voice harsh and without emotion. “Enough is enough. Get in the vehicle and come
quietly.”

“No!” Markus shouted, rushing to shut the door. The
disintegrated woman’s empty clothing caught on the corner as he swept it
closed, bunching up enough to prevent latching. Frantically, he kicked at it,
only succeeding in missing it and slamming his foot into the metal fire door.

The two strangers in front booted it simultaneously.
The door smashed against his leg, sending Markus completely off balance. A huge
shove immediately after sent him crashing to the floor, vainly clawing at the
wall to prevent the tumble. In a trice, he was flipped onto his belly and
handcuffed.

“Where is the device?” One of the women asked, mouth
inches from his ear. He could smell her breath, wet and papery, tinged with
rot. Like old newspapers left in a damp basement.

“Bathroom,” Markus sobbed. “On the vanity in a plastic
box, okay? Please don’t hurt me. I don’t understand any of this.”

“I’ll get it,” the other female agent said. She
returned shortly with the container. It was placed in a small plastic bag and
disappeared into an inside pocket of her jacket. “Secured.”

The male agents had already gathered up the stained
garments of the apparently dead lady agent. He was squirting a clear substance
over the faint burns on the carpet. The marks faded rapidly. “Clean up
complete. Let’s get Markus Sanders out to the car.”

He was carried out to the SUV by all four agents. Two
holding under his arms and the others lifting him by the ankles. Each was
huffing pretty hard by the time they shoved him into the open rear hatch.
Absurdly, one of the women covered him head to toe with a heavy comforter.

“There,” she said, sounding strangely pleased. “Now
you won’t be cold.”

 While the gesture was perhaps intended to be
thoughtful or comforting, being under a thick blanket added to Markus’ panic.
It became hard to breathe. His system, already stressed to maximum by blood
loss, vomiting, and repeated trauma, finally overloaded. He passed out.

He woke on a cold table in a strange room. It was
dark, save for a bright light coming from under the slab. A low fog floated
around it. To his left, the four agents who’d kidnapped Markus stood
motionless. Their heads were lowered.

“Hey,” he croaked. “Where are we?”

No answer. His voice echoed through the strange
chamber.

Markus tried to sit up. Though no visible restraints
were present, he found he wasn’t able to move anything below his neck. He
strained, trying to do anything, even wiggle a toe. No dice.

“Hey! Someone help!”

A blinding blue light turned on above him. He cried
out, turning his head and closing his eyes against it. An opening appeared in
the wall to his right. Six hooded figures, four short, two tall, walked into
the room. The short being in the lead carried a transparent tray shiny with
silver instruments.