No Dogs in Philly (4)

A Cyberpunk Horror Noir | Chapter 4: Occult

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“Are you surprised? They bought your building after all.”

“My god, I’m going to be rich. I am rich! I have five hundred thousand dollars in my account right now, I checked, oh my god!”

“You need to settle down, Saru, you haven’t done anything yet. Don’t think they’ll let you keep that money if you fail.”

“I don’t need to listen to you anymore! I’m rich!”

Saru grabbed Eugene’s $900 bottle of Baron Foran scotch and tore out the cork. She took a deep, long swig, so long Eugene tried to grab the bottle away, but she pressed a stiletto heel into his thigh and he doubled over. Right after the briefing with ElilE she’d raced back to her apartment and thrown on the best clothes she had—she looked pretty good, she thought. Now she sat on the corner of Eugene’s desk, heels on his thighs, skirt flirting open and closed in front of him as she swayed her knees back and forth—damn, she couldn’t seem to keep them still, another swig’d do the trick. It touched and annoyed her that Eugene refused to look up her skirt, tilting his head uncomfortably in any direction but right in front of him.

“Jesus, what’s gotten into you?” he said. “You’ve got to get to work.”

“Work?” she said. This annoyed her. She kicked Eugene’s chair, pushing it back so it banged into the copper radiator behind it. She clamped her knees together. Fine then.

“I don’t need to work, Yoo Jeen, because I, am rich.”

Eugene sighed. He held out his hand for her to hand him the scotch. She held up a finger and took another long swig before handing it to him. He started to reach for a glass and then gave up and drank right from the bottle. It was like their lips were touching through scotch. Rich people scotch. How much money did Eugene have? Was he ten-million-dollars rich?

“Look, I’m thrilled you got this contract but it is serious business. I’m looking at this brief and you do not have a lot to go on.”

That annoyed her more. She found herself hating Eugene suddenly, lecturing her on work and responsibility. What did he know? All he did was shuffle papers around and take bribes.

“Don’t you mean ‘we’? We don’t have a lot to go on. You’re my partner after all,” she said.

“I’m your lawyer—that’s not quite the same thing.”

“Huh, I dunno, I thought you’d be a bit more supportive of me.”

He slapped his knees and threw his hands up in exasperation.

“No, I don’t know. What do you want? What do you want from me?”

Isn’t it obvious? she wanted to scream. I’m going to die out there, you idiot, and I just want one good screw before the feasters slit my throat! She just growled at him and the growl ended in a scream. She flipped herself backwards over the desk and landed in a pile. She picked herself up, grinning through her tangled hair, and threw a bunch of hundreds in the air.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “Here’s for your trouble, sir.”

He put his head in his hand. Sissy came in, glaring daggers. Saru grabbed her by the waist and planted a sloppy kiss on her big fake lips, then pushed her away and stormed down the hallway, knocking over all the tables and ornaments she passed. She got to the street and puked on the sidewalk.

She dry swallowed two Claritol, and then two more—she’d grabbed about ten pounds of them from the Gaesporan pharmacy. The familiar effervescent tingle washed over her brain, a bit more intense than usual, and all the fog and the joy and the delusion rolled out. All that was left was the terror.

It wasn’t something she was used to—sure, fear, that was normal, that was the once-in-a-while, kick-in-the-pants, get-you-moving sensation that was just part of the job, part of life. But this was something else; this was fear even when there was nothing to be afraid of, no thugs with guns or hungry elzi or torture fetishist around the corner. It was stupid to be afraid of things that weren’t right in front of you, but she couldn’t help it.

It was those damn Gaespora. That trick ElilE had pulled with the night and the strange hollow voices. Way to go, brother, way to psych out your star player before the big game. She’d always been able to trust her eyes, or at least some other sense. No matter how strong the drugs or how sophisticated the hack, there was always that nagging knowledge that something was amiss, that she was being played.

But up there on the roof—that was real. It was night, everything felt right, but it wasn’t true. That was new. What had he been trying to do to her? And how much had he succeeded?

She was dealing with aliens, maybe, or people that thought they were aliens, which was just as bad in her book—especially if they could pull a trick like that. That was the problem—she didn’t know what she was up against. She needed to inject some logic and flush that doubt.

 ***

Friar wasn’t listed in the classifieds, but her little stunt with Eugene had given Saru enough time for a surface tap of his NetLink, and there in the recent calls was the number for none other than Dr. Morgan Friar, Private Investigator, Elzi and UausuaU Specialist. She called him up on her brand-new, platinum-level NetLink, paid for with Gaesporan cash. He answered on the first su-tone.

“Hello, Saru,” he said, not even a question how she’d found him. He was in what must have been his office, or maybe laboratory was a better word. She saw what looked like a missile in the background. “I was expecting your call.”

“Really?” she said, dumbly. Tiramisu.

“Yes. You’re the best in your field; it’s natural they should ask you after me.”

“I guess you know the word then.”

“Guess is correct, but I should have warned you—the Gaespora are very persuasive.”

“Yep. Well, I took the case.”

“Ah,” he said. He looked sad, and that look was enough to bring back the terror. The reception wasn’t perfect, the image was a little choppy, but for the first time she realized how old he was.

“Are you going to tell me how stupid I am?”

“No, no. But I would advise you to reconsider.”

“I don’t think that’s an option.”

“No, maybe not. I hope you won’t take this as a critique of your professionalism, but perhaps you would allow me to offer some advice? Some information that may be of use?”

“That’s actually why I called. You’re the expert.”

“It would be better if we met in person. When are you free?”

“Now, if you like.”

“Very good, here is my address.”

He sent her the address and she hailed a cab. She tipped the cabby a hundred—there you go, bud, buy yourself a toothbrush—and he dropped her in front of a nondescript brownstone. There was no plaque announcing who lived there; even the number was tiny and hard to read. It was probably programmed to change depending on the visitor. That was just like Friar—attention to detail, subtlety, discretion; he was like her polar opposite.

She knocked softly, noticing the door was not wood, as it appeared, but some sort of hard alloy. She guessed it was bulletproof and fire and acid resistant. She looked at the stone and wondered what was beneath—reinforced concrete? Steel micromesh? This wasn’t a house; it was a fortress. She wondered who the neighbors were. No neighbors, of course; he would own the other two houses and they would be just as tricked. Interesting. What was he expecting? Enemies? Old scores? The apocalypse?

The door swung open and he was there, neck-height and grave-faced.

“Come in, please,” he said, ushering her in with his hand. He wore the same tweed jacket that she now suspected was more than just tweed. She stepped inside. Yes, it was like she expected—the house of an old bachelor professor, a little dusty, full of knick-knacks and relics, artwork, carved wood furniture, globes, and other gilded trash. She would buy it all when she solved the case and cram it into her foyer so you’d have to shuffle sideways to get through the maze.

“This way, please.” He guided her down the hall; she caught a glimpse of the living room with a grand piano and the dining room with a crystal chandelier. They passed the kitchen (“Would you like anything?” “No thanks”) and he led her down to the basement. This was more like it. It was part workshop, part lab, part hospital room and—oh my god, there was a man in a cage. No, not a man. An elzi. That was a little shocking.

“Yes, you see my friend Jonathan.”

“You keep him locked up in here?”

“I do. It’s for his benefit.”

Saru could believe that. It was common knowledge the elzi rehab centers were fancy crematoriums and she couldn’t see much difference between him roaming the streets and being locked in a cage in her colleague’s basement. At least he couldn’t take a chunk out of anyone this way. The elzi dozed, serene, fingers clenching and unclenching in typical stereotyped behavior. She approached the cage and saw that it was suspended from the ceiling by chains. The floor was actually a deck and the cage hung a few feet out from the railing. At least a dozen empty cages dangled in rows behind it. She looked down and was surprised to see that there was no ground below—it disappeared in darkness.

“How deep does that go?” she asked.

“It’s quite deep. Let me show you.”

Friar flicked a switch and harsh yellow lights popped on at regular intervals, going down what must have been eight stories. At the bottom they formed a circle around a hatch the size of an aboveground pool.

“Where does that lead?”

“To the under city.”

“The under city?”

“Yes. The sewers, the abandoned Broad Street Line and all its stations. It hosts a significant population of elzi.”

“Why do you have this? How did you even build this?”

He smiled sadly. “What did they offer you? A million? Five million? Ten million? Twenty?”

“Uh, it was ten.”

He nodded. “Yes, what they offered me. That was not the first job I have been offered, but it was the first I refused. As a younger man I thought them fools the way they tossed around their riches, that they did not understand human concepts of value and money. Now, wiser, perhaps, I see they understand it far better than we, that it is worthless compared to life—and sanity.”

“So that’s how you built this? Working for the Gaespora?”

“Indeed. A fascinating organization—or perhaps ‘organism’ is more appropriate. But too niggardly with their secrets. My curiosity is better rewarded by the UausuaU.”

“So you believe their spiel about being from another planet, or another universe, I guess? You don’t think they’re human?”

“Human? Yes, partly. And also other. They have touched the knowledge of a different existence and the idea of that existence has brought them closer to it.”

“Yeah, they mentioned something about that. I think they messed with my head too. Do you know what kind of tech they’re using?”

“Ah, I remember my first time. Nothing quite like it, is there? I suppose the best word would be ‘telepathy.’ The Gaespora can read your thoughts if you aren’t careful. Seed thoughts as well. Even command those who lack willpower and agency. I doubt you would be vulnerable. Still, it can be jarring. And sometimes it can knock things loose.”

“What kinds of ‘things’?”

“Hidden things.” Friar tapped the side of his head. “Memories. Desires. Fears. Truths. Revelations. I believe it’s what set me on my current path. It allowed me to accept the truth about myself that I had been too cowardly to face. I presume the Gaespora told you of the gods?”

“Oh yeah. All kinds of gods. Sad. Hungry. Thirsty. Bloated.”

“Yes, ‘god’ is a rather misleading heuristic. It describes the relation between us and the superorganism, rather than anything supernatural. The gods are holobionts—organisms composed of other organisms—just like trees or the extinct corals or even humans with our microbiomes. Are we not gods to the bacteria thriving in our guts? They live within us and contribute to our consciousness without enjoying—or suffering consciousness themselves. Bacteria from one human can even spread and colonize another. It renders the idea of ‘species’ clunky and antiquated. One can easily imagine life as cascades of organic processes with layers of guiding intelligence. The idea of holism dates back to Aristotle. There’s nothing mystical or magical about it. Although…”

Friar waddled to what looked like an altar crossed with a cabinet standing apart from the utilitarian worktables. A bizarre collection of religious knickknacks cluttered its black marbled surface—rows of plastic McChristian saints, a ball of hair, frayed and faded tarot cards, dice carved from bones, prayer beads, crystals, censers with fragrant incense, a bowl of withered white bell flowers. He picked up a plain wooden cross tied with twine and kissed it before returning it carefully to its place, upside down in the ribcage of some rodent.

“Here’s where religion and science intersect. When the holobionts or their servants manifest on Earth, the methods of reinforcing their margins of similarity can approach what looks to humans as religious ritual. I’ve been trying to decipher which rituals pertain to which gods and what the precise methodology is behind each action to reinforce the margin. So far it hasn’t yielded many results, but I see it has reinforced your skepticism.”

“I’m that easy to read, huh.”

“I am well aware of how this looks. Skepticism is natural. Indeed, we’ve been conditioned to it. And yet, examples of alien influence on Earth abound. And not just the Gaespora and the UausuaU. Many gods have visited Earth across the billions of years of our universe’s existence. And some have lingered. The Gaespora are the most directly involved in human power structures, and so they control the narrative. They endeavor to maintain a veil of dubiety through the media—it’s better for them if the masses not know; it would complicate their operations. But as you now see they are somewhat candid with those in their employ. When you are privy to the secrets of how the world actually works it becomes impossible to engage genuinely with those laboring under delusion. It is lonely bearing heavy truth in solitude. I’m glad you and I can speak frankly now.”

Friar slid off his tweed jacket and carefully hung it on a coatrack by the stairs. He rolled up his sleeves and Saru saw the bare skin of his arms was mottled with a patina of scars. Slashes. Scrapes. Punctures. Gouges. Bite marks. White and old. Red, fresh, and raw. Taught and shiny. So torn there was barely a patch of unscathed skin. Only his hands were spared—but no, they were unnaturally white, soft and hairless from the excessive use of healing gels. He’d been healing his hands, for appearances, no doubt, but then—why not heal his arms too?

“A professional hazard,” he said, holding up his arms. The scars almost moved across his skin, as though they were alive. A trick of the light; a side effect of the booze. They were just scars.

“Hey, if you’re in the market for new arms and don’t care about matching—I know a guy. He can hook you up with some real slick tricks.”

“You’ll find me embarrassingly sentimental. I appreciate the scars. They are the record of my progress. Every scratch is a scratch at the great mystery of the UausuaU.”

“Try a diary. You won’t bleed as much.” Saru went over to an operating table, which no longer seemed out of place. It was a hard metal slab, smeared with blood. “And I’m guessing this is where you chop up the elzi?”

“I prefer the term ‘operate.’”

He waddled over to a sink and donned two yellow rubber gloves. He sprayed a rag with some solution and attacked the bloodstains.

“Sorry for the mess,” he said. “I was conducting an experiment before you came. I’m trying to remove the elzi implants without destroying them or killing the host.”

Saru laughed, uncomfortably. Friar was insane, clearly. It wasn’t too surprising—he’d spent his life studying the UausuaU and working around criminals and beasts. As far as madnesses went, Friar’s was pretty mild. But thinking he could learn something from the elzi—that would get him killed. Better to round them all up and burn them.

He smiled at her. “I know. It seems ridiculous. But would you believe they’ve never been studied? Or rather, the research has been actively suppressed. I suspect our friends the Gaespora may have something to do with it.”

“Why would they suppress research into the UausuaU?”

“A question that plagues my curiosity. On one level, the elzi are a problem without a solution. Or, rather, the solution is a direct threat to the powers that be. All elzi have a NetLink and at least some degree of body modification and implantation. The obvious course of action to address the elzi crisis would be a moratorium on NetLink implantation and a rigorous review of implant technology’s effects on the human body.”

Saru snorted. “Not gonna happen.”

“No. The expense would be catastrophic. Modern civilization—such as it is—cannot function without near-universal Net connection. Many jobs cannot be done without augmentation. And the proliferation of harmful mutations in the human genome has rendered a large number of people unable to live comfortably without modification. But the Gaespora don’t allow expense to hinder their actions. So, there is an ulterior reason. Tell me, what do you think the elzi are?”

“Losers.”

Friar chuckled. “A refreshingly blunt assessment. But what is their nature? What causes them?”

“What does it matter? They’ve checked out of life. I don’t blame them.”

“It matters a great deal. And will be especially pertinent to you now that you’ve entered the world of divine conflict. Your viewpoint reflects the manufactured consensus of media propaganda. The media portray the elzi crisis as one of personal moral failure. They do everything in their power to diminish, dehumanize, otherize, and minimize the elzi. This suggests the Gaespora seek to preempt any large-scale social interference with the elzi. Would you care to hear my hypothesis as to why?”

“That’s why I called. I need to know what’s really going on here.”

“Excellent. I have substantial evidence to suggest the elzi constitute a margin of similarity for the UausuaU. You see, the gods are constantly probing us, scanning us, contacting us in the form of their thoughts, which can affect us much like the Gaesporan telepathy, though more diffuse. Some thoughts are subtle, floating into our dreams, hovering in the periphery of the subconscious. Some thoughts are strong enough to directly overpower the weak-minded and control them. All of the thoughts seek to inspire some specific action, because the gods seek to grow their margins.”

“You’re losing me. What does this have to do with the elzi?”

“I hypothesize the UausuaU uses NetLinks to amplify its signal. Now, the UausuaU could likely brute force its way into the human mind. But force is not always the most efficient method of advancing the margin. Force expends energy and triggers reaction, rejection, and rebellion. So instead, the UausuaU offers an incentive. Something irresistible to the human mind. Perhaps it is a feeling of ecstasy, like a drug. Or some kind of pleasant hallucination. This is especially attractive to those who are discontent or suffering. And there are a great many suffering humans.”

“But if what you’re saying is true, everyone would become an elzi.”

“No. I suspect there are different conditions which make one more or less susceptible, which is true for all the gods. A function of nature, genes, nurture, environment, and the actions and dispositions of the individual. In my study of rituals, I have seen that one way to increase a god’s margin within an individual human is for that individual to accept and ideally embrace the presence of the god. And so the elzi are those who sense the presence of the UausuaU, hear its call, and accept the gifts it bestows. This grows the margin within them, and as the margin grows, the elzi change.”

“What do you mean ‘change’?”

“Firstly, I suspect the UausuaU blocks any external stimuli. That would explain why elzi are generally passive yet react so violently to anyone interfering with their implants. They fight to keep their connection to the UausuaU uninterrupted. Secondly, robust physical changes occur. You’ve certainly noticed that elzi can happily consume and digest a medley of organic material that would kill a normal human. Did you know they’re also resistant to hypothermia, hyperthermia, radiation poisoning, infection, disease, parasitism, and suffocation?”

“I know they’re tougher than they look.”

“Indeed. And have you ever compared the implantation of a subject before and after they become an elzi? It’s clear their implants change too; they grow and evolve. Clearly the elzi are not making conscious modifications. What function do these implants serve? What would happen if you installed an elzi implant in someone who wasn’t an elzi?”

“You’d die. You’d die the second you touched it.”

Friar winked. “Perhaps not. But now that you have a more robust understanding of the phenomenal nature of the elzi, let us revisit the Gaesporan policy of noninterference. Perhaps the elzi represent a benign, passive manifestation of the UausuaU. A gradual, relatively peaceful marginal growth. The Gaespora may not wish to disturb it and trigger a reaction. Or perhaps they are conducting their own research—studying what the UausuaU will do on Earth. You see, the elzi are just the beginning. They are the ‘early adopters,’ shall we say. The cutting edge of the margin. And the more elzi there are, the more the margin expands. The more the margin expands, the more a god can exert its will and reshape our planet in its image.” Friar beamed, almost giddy with excitement at the idea. “Even now there could be other manifestations of the UausuaU here on Earth that have yet to be discovered.”

“Great.” Saru did not like this. Friar was saying more and more and she was understanding less and less. The opposite was supposed to be happening. She’d come here to simplify things, not complicate them. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll shut your little science project down?”

“It’s possible, but I doubt it. In working for the Gaespora, I’ve seen how they operate. I know the great many acts they will ignore and the lines one cannot cross. I exercise the utmost discretion. I don’t seek to publish or promulgate my research. It’s purely for my personal edification. Besides, if my hypothesis is correct, then I am a subject of theirexperiment. They’d hardly shut me down before the experiment has concluded. But this has all been highly theoretical. Let me give a practical demonstration, one that I think will be most helpful for your case.”

Friar manipulated the dials of a control panel, an old-fashioned analogue dealy with buttons and levers. A crane swung the cage above the operating table and the bottom opened, dropping the elzi like a turd onto the table. He groaned a little and then curled up into a fetal position.

Saru stepped back. She wasn’t afraid of the elzi—she’d zapped her share of the angry ones—but she didn’t trust this “demonstration” that Friar was about to perform. He fastened chains to the elzi’s wrists and ankles and then she noticed that Friar had pulled out the elzi’s teeth and nails. To declaw him? To make him less dangerous? Or were there implants there he had removed?

Friar went over to a machine that looked like a giant radio with a computer console sticking out like a pouty mouth. He tapped at it a bit and then went to a counter covered in tools, soldering irons, and what looked like medical instruments. He grabbed a syringe the size of a squirt gun, walked over to the elzi’s neck, and then jammed the syringe in. Saru saw a scaly rash of similar punctures and wondered how many elzi had sat on that table, and where they were coming from, and what happened when they were no longer useful. Did Friar just dump them down the hole? Why not?

The elzi hardly reacted to the syringe—could they feel pain? Its eyes opened and they were still human, not rotted, wormy holes, or white with cataracts. They looked at Friar accusatorially and then grew droopy and unfocused. The elzi’s jaw went slack and he drooled. Friar beamed.

“The dose of fentanyl alone in this cocktail would kill a dozen humans, but as I said, elzi are not quite human anymore. I have found no dosage of opiates that can kill an elzi. This is just enough to deter their more aggressive responses.”

He flicked an implant jutting from the elzi’s skull. Saru’s hand shot to her prod. The elzi twitched but did nothing. Saru sucked in a breath.

“That’s not funny.”

“I assure you he’s quite harmless. The effect will last about twelve minutes before the elzi discovers a suitable counter. Perhaps it is a function of the implants? You need to mix in different drugs every time or they counter it—so many scars earned from the trials of that discovery. And once one of them knows the counter, they all do. Fascinating.”

He went to the workbench and picked up what looked like a thumb-sized satellite, and then walked over to the operating table. Saru flinched when Friar clipped it onto the elzi’s neck, but the elzi didn’t react other than to twitch.

“Now, observe,” Friar said. He leaned in close—closer than Saru would have liked—to the elzi’s, cracked, rashy ear. “Jonathan. Where is the girl?”

Nothing happened.

Right. She was wasting her time here. Precious minutes in the hunt for ten million dollars were slipping away.

“Well, this has been fun…”

“Jonathan, where is the girl? You know her. She’s the one the Gaespora want.”

“Caaan’t tell…”

Saru nearly pissed herself. The elzi spoke—it spoke!—but not in any voice that a live person ever used. It was like someone squeezing his guts to force the air out of his throat.

“Please, Jonathan, we must know where the girl is.”

“How would he…”

Friar gave a look to silence her.

“Do you know where she is, Jonathan?”

“Hunting…searching…looking…seen…”

“You must tell me what you know, Jonathan!”

“No…no!”

He screamed and his body tensed and he thrashed and tore against the chains. Friar jumped back, away from the flailing arms.

“Noooooo!” the elzi screamed. Lines appeared in his skin, like fat worms crawling beneath the surface. Bubbles formed and popped, splattering blood. There was the cracking of bones, over and over like kids throwing poppers on the ground, and they burst through the skin and ripped it apart. The elzi dissolved before them, torn apart from the inside. And then there was nothing left—a small pond of gore and viscera and the implants glinting evilly. The tiny satellite had melted.

“Thank you, Jonathan,” Friar said. He seemed shaken, but not as shaken as he should have been. Saru felt like she was going to barf again.

“You sick bastard,” she said. “What did you do to him?”

“I? I did nothing, though I admit that was a likely outcome.”

“You knew that would happen?”

“Not that, exactly. It was very likely Jonathan would die helping us, but the manner of his death I did not know. I offered him a conduit, a moment’s escape from the UausuaU. Imagine a paper bag over your head and a single pinprick of light—that’s about as much as I can do. But oh, the things one can see in the light. Marvelous. Tremendous. Transformative.”

“What are you saying?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the bloodstain. “That some random elzi you clubbed and dragged into your torture chamber knows where this girl is?”

“He knows what all other elzi know, for they are all connected by the UausuaU. And one of them has seen the girl. That means sooner or later the feasters will know where she is.”

“Who are the feasters? Do you know where they are? We can hunt them down together and find the girl! I’ll deal you in right down the middle on the reward. It’s enough for us both.”

Friar shook his head; but it was more like a twitch. His eyes were clouding with blood. “The feasters…you can’t huntthem. They are tools…vessels…of the UausuaU. They are summoned to serve a purpose and then reintegrated when no longer useful. They are cells in the glorious body…just like Jonathan…”

“Then what do we do?”

“I…must…go.” Friar ran his fingers through the bloodstain. Saru looked at him and then back at the blood and then the skin on the back of her neck began to crawl. There was a sensation in the room, a feeling like she had had with ElilE when the day had gone suddenly to night.

“I…may…have gone too far this time,” Friar said. He hefted himself onto the operating table, right onto the pile of gore. It soaked into his pants, red stains climbing up the fabric. He unlocked the foot shackles, removing the scraps of flesh and fastening them around his own ankles.

“What are you doing?”

“I…have been…naughty.”

He tightened the shackles around his legs and then started on his arms; his neck bulged strangely. She saw under his earlobe where a NetLink would be was another tiny satellite device identical to the first, its legs jammed into his skin.

An implant. An elzi implant.

A spasm crossed his face and a sound like a hyena laugh squirted from his mouth. He tightened the shackles on his arms, and before she could even process what he was doing, he flicked the key down into the hole.

“No!” she screamed.

“Yes,” he said, calmly, and then there was another hyena laugh that set her skin crawling. “I’m afraid it is quite ne-necessary now. Please…if you have kindness in you, the syringe with the red label…please.”

She stood still. The spasms happened more quickly now, more hyena laughs; he was shuddering and then he looked at her and she felt again the feeling of the day going to night and a fear radiating from him like a wave. It forced her back and then she ran to the worktable and scrambled to find the syringe. There it was, in a special holster of its own, packed and ready. For a second she marveled at how neatly it had been placed, how ready amidst the clutter, how he had prepared for this inevitability while working through his experiments. She ran back to the table.

“The girl…” he said. The twisted smile was lasting longer on his face; his arms and legs were straining against the chains. She saw that if he was free he would hurt her now, hurt many people. “Look for the girl…in the fish.” His hand grabbed at her, stopped by the chains; she stabbed the syringe into his chest and pounded down the plunger.

His body thrashed. His head swung over to look at her, warped into that horrible smile.

“I always thought you were too elegant for this…”

Then he was still.