Voices (Whisper Trilogy Book 3) (14 page)

“Sorry, I’m just… It’s fine.”

“Alright, then help me move him.”

Bear grinned and moved back toward Henry Marshall, standing at his shoulder.

“Okay, Mr. Marshall, you know the drill. Stand up please and move against the wall.”

Normally at this point, Henry would comply, allowing himself to be led like a child to wherever Bear wanted him to go. Today, however, he remained where he was, still staring at the corner of the wall, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Mr. Marshall, come on. Please.”

Still Henry didn’t move.

Although disturbed by the change in behavior, Bear didn’t want to spook Barlow, so he laughed it off.

“Come on now, Mr. Marshall. Just like always. We’ll be in and out of here in just a few minutes.”

Bear put a gentle hand on Henry’s elbow and guided him up. Docile and compliant, Henry Marshall obeyed, allowing himself to be led toward the corner.

“That’s it, Mr. Marshall, just like always. You just wait there until my friend and I are done here, then we’ll leave you be. Okay?”

Henry gave no response or acknowledgement, and Bear turned toward Barlow, a relieved smile on his face.

“You see, my man? This job is all about respect, both giving and receiving. If—”

Bear saw Barlow’s eyes grow wide just a split second before the pain exploded through him.

Henry Marshall, the man who had remained a docile mute for the last three years, had struck. Driven on by the voices in his head, he showed no mercy, biting down hard on Bear’s throat and tearing away a mouthful of flesh, rupturing veins, severing arteries. Bright red sprayed across the white painted walls in an arcing jet as Bear fell to the ground, hands clutching at his open throat as he choked and gargled. He spasmed and twitched, performing a slow half circle on his back, leaving a bloody trail in his wake.

Barlow looked on, too afraid to move, unable to do anything but stare. Henry was on him in two steps, deftly avoiding the gurgling, flopping Bear who was still desperately trying to cling on to life.

Barlow tried to step back, but there was nowhere to go. Henry’s hands were on him, gripping his face. Squeezing. Squeezing.

Barlow saw no compassion in Henry’s eyes, just a distant emptiness behind that blood-drenched beard. That image would be the last he would ever see as Henry jammed his thumbs into his eyes. He managed not to scream until the first eyeball popped, spilling over his cheek in a gelatinous mass. His legs buckled, but with a firm grip on the inside of Barlow’s eye socket, Henry pulled him upright, just seconds before the right eye popped. Like its twin, it exploded in a liquid jelly mass. Barlow thrashed and twitched, an anguished roar of pain and fear escaping from his lips.

Henry tossed him to the floor, absently wiping his wet thumbs on his white t-shirt. He took a deep breath, listening to the sounds of feet racing toward him. None of that mattered to him now. All that mattered was getting out. He reached down and snatched Bear’s keys from his belt and the pass from around his neck, not even glancing at the dead man’s stare. He paused to reach under his mattress, pulling out a toothbrush, the handle split and sharpened into a makeshift blade. Henry took a deep breath, feeling more alive than he had in years, then, driven on by the symphony of voices in his head, set out to meet those who were coming to stop him.

III

The first of them arrived before he’d reached the end of the hall. The voices drove him on, controlling him, Henry trusting their instructions without question. The orderly stopped, his eyes widening as he saw the blood. He reached down to grab his personal alarm from his belt but it was too late. In a single fluid motion, Henry attacked, thrusting the sharpened toothbrush toward the man’s face. Either by instinct or reaction, the orderly threw up an arm, the toothbrush piercing the flesh of his bicep.

Blood spattered onto the floor as the man screamed. Henry was already behind him, forearm around his throat, the bloody, makeshift dagger held toward his face. The orderly calmed, sensing the gravity of the situation as Henry marched him to the security gate.

“Open it,” he whispered, foul breath hot in his prisoner’s ear.

“No, I won’t do it,” the orderly panted.

The voices in Henry’s head told him what to do. He pressed the point of the toothbrush to the side of the orderly’s eye, the point wavering just inches from the eyeball.

“Open it,” Henry repeated.

The orderly swiped his card and punched in his number; the door clicked open, allowing them access to the main part of the hospital.

The woman in the caged security station glanced up, then stood and pushed her chair away from the desk. Henry saw her eyes go to the alarm, but the black things in his mind had already reacted. He slammed his prisoner’s face against the cage, pushing the sharpened toothbrush into the soft flesh around the eyeball.

“Don’t,” he grunted. “Out of the cage.”

She stood frozen, hands clasped in front of her, torn between what she had been trained to do and what instinct was telling her.

Henry pushed his weight against his captive and pulled Bear’s blood spotted lanyard out of the waistband of his pants. “You either come out of there now or I’ll kill him and come in after you,” he growled.

That appeared to do the trick, and the skinny woman moved to the door, opened it and came out into the hall, sliding across the wall as if she were trying to push her way through it to keep her distance from Henry.

“Just calm down. Don’t do anything stupid,” she said, voice trembling.

“Open the door,” he whispered, pulling his prisoner away from the cage and pressing the makeshift knife into the soft flesh of his throat.

“I can’t do that,” the woman said. Although shaken, she didn’t seem as terrified as Henry’s current prisoner was. She held his gaze as he peered over the shoulder of his terrified captive.

The voices came to him, whispering their instructions. Without thought, he reacted.

The sharpened toothbrush easily pierced the flesh on the orderly’s neck, sending a great spray of arterial blood across the eggshell walls. Henry tossed him aside, leaving him clutching his throat as he squirmed on the floor, blood pumping out with frightening speed. The woman gasped, for the first time starting to understand the gravity of the situation. Henry was already on her, hand clasped around her throat, leaving a bloody smear, his nose inches from hers. He touched the toothbrush to her cheek, leaving a bloody impression on her skin.

“Door,” he said, his dead eyes never leaving hers.

This time she complied, deciding that her life was worth more than the job. He grabbed a handful of her hair, keeping his weapon close to her neck while she swiped her card and punched in her code. As the door clicked open, she glanced back to look at the orderly on the floor. He lay motionless, eyes staring at the ceiling, one arm still clutched to his neck, which was now trickling blood rather than pumping it out. She realized that although she recognized the man, she didn’t even know his name. Henry shoved her through the door. Ahead of them, a staircase loomed.

“How do I get out?” he hissed in her ear.

“You can’t. It’s a secure unit. Please, just let me go.”

“Take me outside.”

“Please, don’t kill me,” she said, finally breaking down. She blinked back tears, and Henry could feel her trembling against him. He liked it. The almost palpable taste of fear in the air emanating from the woman pleased him. More importantly, it pleased the dark thing in his head. He marched her up the steps, still holding her by the hair. They encountered nobody on the staircase and ascended the three flights to the top of the secure area.

“Which way out?” he said.

“Please, just let me go. I have a family,” she said between gasping sobs.

“Which way?” he snapped, leaning closer to her.

“Through the door,” she stammered. “Then turn right and go to the end of the hall. There’s a door to the right; it will take you to the parking garage. You can get out to the street from there.”

The voices in Henry’s head asked a question, which he in turn relayed to the terrified woman.

“What about staff? How many will be up there?”

“Not many,” she sobbed. “It’s shift change. It’ll be quiet. Please, don’t hurt me. I’ve done everything you asked.”

“Open the door,” he grunted.

This time there was no hesitation. She punched in her code, Henry watching over her shoulder as she pushed the magnetic keypad. It was all he needed.

Mustering all of his strength, he slammed the woman’s head into the wall, the sound making a horrific wet crunch as her skull impacted against the concrete. That would have been enough, but the rage was strong, the voices encouraging. He did it again and again, the woman’s face destroyed, leaving a bloody, smeared impression on the wall. She was already dead by the time he tossed her down the steps, her body tumbling to the first floor landing, the pulpy mess that used to be her face unrecognizable. She twitched once. Twice. Then was still.

Completely calm, Henry turned back to the keypad, swiped the card, and punched in the woman’s access code which he had already committed to memory.

The upper floors had a different feel to the ones below. He followed the dead woman’s instructions and walked down the hall. A staff member exited one of the doors and the two locked eyes for the briefest of seconds before Henry plunged his homemade knife into the staff member’s throat. He didn’t even look back as the gurgling man slid to the floor, legs kicking as he bled out.

The woman hadn’t lied. The parking garage was cool, a light breeze ruffling Henry’s beard and feeling somehow alien to him. He saw his opportunity immediately. A doctor, one he recognized from his rounds in the secure wing, had just arrived and was taking his briefcase out of the back of his car. Henry was already moving. He closed the distance, coming up behind the doctor, who was unaware of what was about to happen. He never saw it coming. Like the others, Henry plunged the blade into his throat, tossing the doctor to the concrete. This time, the frenzy was uncontrollable. He straddled the doctor’s chest, bringing the blade down again and again into his face and neck until it snapped, a shaft of bloody white plastic embedded in the doctor’s cheek. Breathing heavily, he stood, pausing to pick up the doctor’s keys and close the trunk of the car. He waited, listening to the things in his mind. He re-opened the trunk and grabbed the doctor under the arms, straining to lift him into the small space, folding him in, making him fit. The voices telling him how he could be used later, how he might be needed. When it was done, he re-closed the trunk and wiped a forearm across his sweaty brow. He stood, savoring the absolute silence around him, calmness and serenity filling him as he eased himself into the driver’s seat, encasing himself in the pine-scented confines of the vehicle. He sat there for a moment, trying to catch his breath. The alarms in the hospital began to sound – a monotonous wail that spurred him into action. He started the engine and slipped the vehicle into gear. Then, with a squeal of tires, Henry Marshall was on his way, free within the world.

CHAPTER 18

It was a sobering thought for Melody Samson, one which she wasn’t sure how to deal with. She’d been existing for the last few months with some form of hope that her symptoms were anything other than cancer. She had watched herself change, shriveling and withering as the days went by. The first tumor had been found in her stomach six months after she’d lost Isaac. Chemotherapy treatment had started immediately, which resulted in the cancer regressing. She considered herself one of the fortunate ones to have survived such a ruthless killer. However, the story for her wasn’t done yet, and rather than being defeated, the disease had just been resting, recuperating before coming back to finish the job. This time its attack had been remorseless. It had gone into her stomach and bowel. Although she was convinced death was coming, she was determined not to give up hope until the visit from the doctor to give the results of her latest series of tests. He came to the house, face somber with just the right amount of sympathy. She, of course, didn’t think anything of it. Doctors, as a rule, were often somber. It wasn’t until he started to talk, to explain the situation that she truly understood and started to acknowledge the stark reality. She nodded in all the right places, only hearing snatches of his words.

Nothing more can be done.

Even though her mortality had been at risk for a while, to hear the finality of it made her entire being ache with the desire to live on. She asked him how long she had, staring through him and trying not to break down, doing all she could not to think about Isaac until he had gone. She prayed for enough time, something she had come to realize was so precious and fragile. His answer floored her.

Two years, maybe less.

Maybe less.

That was the one that hit home. The doctor forced a smile and suggested she spend as much time as she could building memories with her friends and family, which was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one limited to just a couple of years (maybe less) or who had a son he wasn’t allowed to see. His life would go on. He would be present for whatever the future held. All she had was a precious twenty-four months (maybe less) to right wrongs, rectify mistakes, and most importantly, clear her conscience and get her son back before she was erased from existence. The world, of course, would keep turning without Melody Samson. Nobody would know. Nobody would care. For a while,
she
didn’t think she cared, however, now that it was real, now that she knew it was going to happen, she wanted to go on living more than ever.