Chapter 6
Anne skimmed the list of the victims from the shooting for the umpteenth time.
“Nkemdilim…Nkemdilim…N-K-E…”
She absently noted the sounds of the door opening, footsteps, and Dan’s voice as they came in a familiar succession. However, she was fixated intensely enough on the victim list that she didn’t register that Dan was talking to her until he tapped her on the shoulder.
“Anne?”
She twisted around in her chair, catching his hand between the palm of her own hand and her shoulder. “Hey. Sorry, I was zoned out.”
Dan peeked at the paper grasped in her other hand. “Did you find Edie’s friend?”
Anne shook her head. “All of the bodies we found have been identified, but I can’t find a Nkemdilim among them. Any chance she’s among the injured, not the dead?”
Dan frowned. “There are twenty-six people we’re still treating for major injuries. None of them are named Nkemdilim. Maybe she’s already been treated?”
“From the way Edie was talking on the phone, her friend wasn’t just grazed. I doubt Nkemdilim would have been in and out of the hospital as quickly as that.”
Dan squinted at the list again. “Is it possible her body simply wasn’t found?”
Anne released his hand, putting her elbow on the table. “Only if it turned invisible. We did everything but go over the area with a microscope, and I’m pretty sure we’re doing that next. There’s no way she hasn’t been found yet.”
Dan blinked, an odd expression on his face. His fiancé noticed this and sat up.
“What? What is it?”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing. I just…well, the way you phrased that made me think maybe she was found already.”
“And the hospital or morgue just hasn’t identified her yet or something?”
He bit a piece of skin off his lip, running the tip of his tongue over the raw spot his teeth had uncovered. “Or she wasn’t found by the authorities at all.”
Anne smoothed her hair out of her face, returning to the list with a crease pressed in between her brows. “The department hadn’t considered that someone would’ve removed a body from the vicinity of the shooting. It’s definitely a possibility, but we’ve already confirmed Kasady was acting alone. If they weren’t his accomplice, why would anyone do that?”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Why am I doing this?
Dora had asked herself the same question many times while working for Drake. She’d answered herself, too, but the answers had changed as the circumstances under which she asked did.
At first, she’d asked why as a method of motivating herself, a way to keep herself on track and not lose sight of her purpose. I’m doing this for the betterment of mankind. I’m doing this to help people.
It was laughable how long she’d managed to actually believe that. Not that it hadn’t been true, at first- she really did want to help people, and the Life Foundation had seemed like a great place to do just that. After all, Carlton Drake focused on the greater good above all else, and he ensured that his company did as well.
The issue with the greater good above all else was that “all else” included individuals. Humans. People.
If Dora’s only motivation driving her work for Drake had been her desire to help people, she should’ve switched jobs long ago.
When it became clear that she couldn’t file everything she was asked to do under “for the betterment of mankind,” she’d begun asking why a lot more often. In response, her answers materialized a lot less frequently, balancing her increased doubt with decreased certainty in a messed-up equilibrium.
I’m doing this for the sake of knowledge. If the Foundation didn’t run these experiments, eventually someone else would…right?
I’m doing this because it’s my job. I don’t have to like everything I do, but I have to do it.
I’m doing this because Mr. Drake has some greater purpose in mind, something I can’t really understand, but I’m not about to get in the way of it.
Finally her doubts had outweighed her weak justifications, and she’d considered finding work elsewhere. When Drake had caught wind of it, however, he’d given her a very concrete reason to remain in his employ.
You care a lot for your parents, Dr. Skirth. It’s refreshing, seeing a career-driven woman still have her values rooted in family. They’re very proud of what you’ve accomplished, you know. You’re lucky to have them.
I’d imagine you’d want them around for as long as possible, yes?
After that, she hadn’t had any doubts about what kind of place the Life Foundation was, what kind of man Carlton Drake was. And she knew exactly why she worked for him.
I’m doing this to protect my family.
Then the shooting happened.
Her parents hadn’t been killed, or even injured. They’d been in the vicinity of the attack, been badly shaken by it, but nothing worse. Her father had found her afterwards, hugged her so tightly it hurt.
“Captain Stacy’s daughter was killed in the shooting,” her mother had mentioned during dinner that night. “They think she might’ve been targeted; Captain Stacy was on the team that brought Kasady down.”
Dora had felt a little sick, thinking about the bullet both her and her parents had dodged. Although in her parents’ case the metaphor was much more literal, if Dora had accidentally removed the body of a police officer’s daughter from a crime scene-
She wasn’t going to think about it.
Her father had put his hand on her shoulder as her mother talked. “Are you okay, Dor?”
“Oh.” She’d blinked, returning to the conversation. “It’s awful to think about, isn’t it? Poor Captain Stacy…being responsible for your own daughter’s death-”
“He was not responsible for her death,” her mother had snapped. “Kasady was the one who shot her, not the captain. Don’t you dare blame him-”
“No, I’m not- I just- if he hadn’t gotten involved-”
“Then what? If he hadn’t helped arrest Kasady, Kasady would’ve gone on killing anyway. Captain Stacy did the right thing, and Kasady punished him for it. Don’t blame him for trying to help people, Dora.”
I’d tried- I’d tried to help-
“What if it was me?”
She hadn’t known what made her blurt it out, and she’d regretted it as soon as she’d seen her parents’ faces.
“If you died...” her mother had begun, and then stopped, struggling.
“Then I would track down Kasady and strangle him with my bare hands,” her father had supplied, squeezing Dora’s shoulder.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I meant if…if I was a police officer…and you were targeted because of me…”
She’d closed her mouth, not trusting herself to say anything more.
“Then I’d expect you to track down whoever killed us and see justice done, instead of wasting time blaming yourself for something that wasn’t your fault,” her mother had replied, sitting up straight and taking a sip of her tea.
“Although I’d hope you’d miss us a bit as well,” her father had added jokingly.
She’d looked at them, her brave, amazing parents, in the dark about so many things she’d done in the name of their protection.
“I have something to tell you.”
They’d been shocked, of course, and her mother had been disappointed that she’d kept it from them, but in the end they reacted as they always did.
“It’s your life. Don’t make your decisions because of us, make them because of you,”
“We love you Dor. We trust you to do what’s right, because we know you will.”
And it had felt so freeing, telling her parents everything that she’d been holding back for years, but now she was back to the beginning- asking herself why, finding where she’d left off, reconsidering her purpose.
Staring down at the corpse she was running tests on, Dora mindlessly copied the readings on the nearby monitors while feeling newly aware of the face watching her with sightless eyes.
It was a woman, her features finely sculpted, her dark skin smooth and unmarked save for the hole in the side of her head. Her face in repose was peaceful, and if not for her eyes, it would’ve been easy to pretend she was sleeping. It occurred to Dora that she hadn’t learned the woman’s name. Dora didn’t know if the woman had a family, or friends, or anyone who would miss her.
“Why am I doing this?” she asked the body.
Thankfully the corpse did not reply, but something clicked within Dora’s brain anyway. She’d been asking herself the same question for so long, and she’d never settled on an answer. Perhaps it was time to change the question.
Why should I keep doing this?
The answer came quickly.
You shouldn’t.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Edie still had no inkling of what the heck was happening, but she was working on it.
She organized what she did know into a little mental list, like an outline for one of her articles.
- I called out a rich a-hole.
- I called out a rich a-hole who has an entire company backing him up in his a-holery.
- A shooting happened (that may or may not have been because of me).
- I punched Drake in the face.
- I got kidnapped. (After possibly killing a guy, but whatever- he was helping kidnap me. He deserved it. I think.)
- A crazy dude who might be leading a cult beat me up and threw me in here.
- SOMETHING IS IN HERE WITH ME.
She went over her List of Things She Knew For Certain. Numbers 1 and 2 would’ve been a source of pride for her under ordinary circumstances, but in light of Number 3 they were currently a source of regret. Edie decided not to dwell on the first half of the list too much.
Number 5 was still a bit surreal. She’d killed someone. Shouldn’t she have felt scared? Disgusted? Numb? Anything besides vaguely triumphant? Maybe that was something to think about later.
The whole “getting thrown in a cave because you’re being sacrificed and/or assassinated” thing was very surreal. Drake obviously had something to do with it, but Edie wasn’t clear on what. Was he helping the cult? Was the cult helping him? Was the Life Foundation secretly run by the cult, or maybe vice-versa? It didn’t seem likely she was going to receive any new leads on that conundrum soon, but her primary concern didn’t lie with the cult anyway.
Currently Edie had most of her attention devoted to Number 7 and the fact that SHE WAS IN THE CAVE WITH A GOOP MONSTER. Which probably should’ve worried her more, but she was worn out from being kicked all over by The Cultist With Steel-Toed Boots (good name for a metal band) and frankly didn’t have the energy to be more than angry at the fact she couldn’t punch Goop Monster (also a good name for a metal band) in its non-existent face.
When it had approached her, she’d been half-convinced that it would just absorb her like an evil amoeba and that would be that. Her life would end with her clueless butt getting sacrificed to some Lovecraftian horror, with her main legacy being “that one chick who punched Drake in the face.” Which, honestly, wouldn’t have been the worst legacy except that people would also probably remember that she had disappeared under mysterious circumstances afterwards, therefore discouraging anyone else from following her example and giving that prick the beating he deserved.
But Goop Monster hadn’t absorbed her. It had tried to…speak? Then it had retreated.
Why, though? Why run away from me? Is it scared? What does it want?
An idea struck her on the last thought, and on impulse she acted on it. Maybe it was because she didn’t have anything to lose. Maybe it was because the monster seemed to have listened to her. Maybe it was because she had a concussion. Whatever the cause, she opened her mouth and spoke.
“What do you want?”
She lay there, waiting. As time passed, she had time to think over her logic and steadily lose faith in it.
I don’t know crap about this thing. It might want to eat me. It might want to kill me. It might just want to be left alone. And even if it wants something else, how would it be able to tell me what it does want? Morse code? Sign language? I don’t understand those. Well, Goopy probably wouldn’t know those either, so it doesn’t really matter.
There was a noise of gravel shifting, and Edie shifted so that she could see the source of it. The monster was emerging, moving across the ground like a living liquid, half-spilling, half-slithering towards her. It was mesmerizing, almost beautiful, and she leaned forward to get a better look before a surge of pain through her body reminded her that she had gotten her knees and stomach kicked in.
She winced and cursed under her breath, and the monster stopped, hesitating. For a moment, it hovered there, then began pulling back.
“No- wait-”
Edie tried to scoot towards Goop Monster, but the shift in her momentum caused her to roll over onto her face. She cursed again as her knees hit the ground and got a mouthful of grit.
Turning her head so that she was facing Goopy again, she spat out what cave dirt she could before talking. “Hey, I’m not a threat, you know? I’m all busted up over here, I can’t exactly jump you.”
The creature (Edie decided maybe it was unfair to label it a monster when it hadn’t been hostile so far) stopped again, then crept forward. It approached more slowly then before, but didn’t stop until it was almost touching her face.
Edie blinked. “Whoa, okay. Huh. Um. You…look kind of like Gothic Silly Putty.”
Wait, why did I say that? Is that offensive? Does it even know what Silly Putty is? Does it feel like Silly Putty?
Resisting the sudden urge to boop Goop Creature with her nose and find out what its texture resembled, she shook her head and kept going with the vague impression that she had already begun, so it was too late to go back now.
“That was a compliment! Or meant to be a compliment. Actually, it was more of an observation. Sorry, am I rambling? I have a concussion.”
Goopy didn’t respond. It was unnerving, having a dark mass so close to her face that she could feel the warmth of her breath reflected back on her skin.
“Hey…can you understand me? Can you…nod, or anything?”
The creature bobbed up and down, like a puddle rippling from the impact of a raindrop. Edie smiled.
“Okay, good. That’s a start. Um…”
The creature reached out suddenly, closing what little distance there was between them, and touched her face.
Edie stared at the tendril pressed against her cheek.
“Wha-”
A pulse shot through her, sharp and hot. She felt so small, so constricted, and yet everything had expanded. Her bones and organs felt trapped inside her skin, tightly restrained by muscles and tendons. The air was solid ice walled around her, and she was a flame sheathed by flesh. She gasped, but couldn’t breathe.
As she was reeling, a voice, blurred, alien, rumbled in her head.
I want you.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
They didn’t believe it.
They must’ve fallen asleep. They must be dreaming, because there was no way they were here, talking to her, unrejected. She had wanted to talk to them. It must be a dream.
I want you.
Her thoughts were skewed slightly by pain, but fierce, bright, and clear nonetheless. Her mental voice was louder and more coherent than her physical one, though it held a slightly frantic quality that matched her wide, startled eyes.
What was that?
Guilt solidified somewhere inside them. It was me.
You?
You asked me what I wanted.
Yeah, I guess I did. Yep. Okay. Talking to goop through telepathy. This isn’t weird at all.
They paused. Does this bother you?
I mean, the whole multiple injuries thing is causing some discomfort, not gonna lie.
But my being in your head does not bother you?
She chuckled silently. Her smile made something inside them twist. Not like there’s much up here anyway.
They were unsure how to respond to the self-deprecating remark (which appeared to be humorous in intent somehow) and lay there quietly for a bit, processing the fact that they were, for once, being accepted. It was unreal. Some paranoid instinct warned them from getting too comfortable- it couldn’t be possible that she was truly at ease with them. She had asked them questions, had actually communicated with them. It couldn’t really be happening, not to them.
What did you mean by that?
They jerked themselves from their reverie. Mean by what?
You said you want…me? Want me for what? Food?
They seized up. NO.
She flinched, and the guilt sitting heavy inside them turned hot, like lead soaking up heat from fire. Hey, I was joking. Kind of. Cut me some slack here, all I know about you is that you’re goopy and live in a cave. Not a lot to go off of.
They shifted slightly, relishing the feel of her skin as they adjusted their physical contact with her body. She was warm and cold all at once: different bits of her held different temperatures. The others had also possessed temperature disparities, but none of them were concerned with their bodies’ idiosyncrasies at the time, all focused completely either on their own mortality or the foreign entity nearby. Her thoughts were scattered, darting around like fish in a pond. While her main focus was on the conversation, they could sense other things picking at her attention in the background.
(That white coat picked a great time to grow a conscience. If only she’d grown some balls along with it.)
(I wonder when Anne will find out I’m missing. Technically I won’t be missing until I’ve been gone for two full days, but she’ll figure out something’s up before then.)
(Hey, I can feel my hands now! They’re freezing. That duct tape is probably cutting off my circulation. Yay.)
While they answered her question, they spread their form over her more, covering her hands to warm them in order to remedy the discomfort that temperature difference apparently caused to humans and sliding under the duct tape to loosen it.
I want you to be mine.
What does that mean? You want me to be your Valentine?
They caught a sense of what “Valentine” implied: shades of red and pink, various confections of sugar, paper with sentimental words written on it, and shapes called “hearts.” From what they could discern, although the muscle dubbed the heart and the shape under the same name were used interchangeably, the two didn’t really resemble each other. The concept was interesting nonetheless, and they wouldn’t have minded further exploring what exactly a “Valentine” was, but they didn’t wish to force their way into her mind like they had with the others. She wasn’t frightened of them, and they weren’t about to jeopardize that for the sake of mere curiosity.
I want you to be my host.
Host? Like, you want to possess me?
She tensed. They floundered, struggling to find appropriate human terms for what they desired.
It is not possession. It is…symbiosis. I can help you, and you can help me.
They sensed her apprehension as she eyed them. Oooookay. How exactly can I help you?
You would be the base of operations. I would live inside you-
Pretty sure that’s the same thing as possession!
No! I would not control you. Others would, but I won’t. I refuse.
Their vehemence took her aback. They would have regretted their outburst had they not felt her relax as she processed what they’d told her.
That’s…good to know, I guess. Hey, can I ask you another question?
You already have.
Ha ha, very funny.
They shrank a bit. I was not intending to make light of your request. I was simply remarking upon the fact that you already made an inquiry of me. You requested to know what I want, remember?
She frowned. Oh. Um, sorry. I thought you were being smart.
Do you want to ask your question now?
Right, yeah. When you made that weird noise, were you talking in your own language or…?
Ah. That was…an attempt at communication. I imitated the equipment necessary for interaction on the verbal level, but I failed to consider the usage of such.
You don’t know how to talk out loud, then.
No.
A swell of embarrassment ran through them at this confession. She sensed it and smiled kindly at them.
Hey, same.
They both laughed, but she winced and coughed afterward, clutching at her stomach.
Ah, crap. Stupid cultist creep- if he really wanted me to shut up he should’ve just duct-taped my mouth too.
They reached out automatically, their form running over hers until they covered her stomach. You are injured.
Yup. Head, stomach, knees and toes. Actually, my toes are fine, it’s just the rest of me that feels like crap.
You are not as injured as you were. The pain may still be there, but that should improve.
What exactly do you mean by- Whoa.
She lifted her arm, staring at it as if she’d only just discovered that limb, then rolled onto her back. Slowly, she sat upright, gritting her teeth, and took a deep breath. She looked down at her lap, where most of their form was concentrated.
What did you do?
She didn’t sound indignant- she sounded perplexed, curious, as if she were asking a magician how he’d performed his trick.
I am attempting to return your body to optimal condition. You will still hurt, but your injuries are healing more effectively.
Heck yeah they’re healing more effectively. Did you just fix my internal bleeding in the time it took me to make a crappy joke?
You were not bleeding internally, and I was already working on your injuries before you aggravated your torso by laughing.
Huh. So this is your end of the symbiosis deal, then? I let you live in me, and you fix me up?
Essentially. There are other dynamics involved in symbiosis, but that is the basic premise. Is that agreeable to you?
I mean, sure. What a deal! Insta-healing for the low, low price of being a host, whatever that means.
The healing process is not instantaneous.
I know, I know. That was just hyperbole. Still, whatever you’re doing, it’s amazing.
They froze.
(Amazing.)
(She…called me amazing.)
They struggled to focus on healing her, dressing her wounds, soothing her pain. She had agreed to the symbiosis: they needed to hold up their end of the deal.
Hey, you okay?
She was staring down at them, the color of her eyes invoking nostalgia for something they couldn’t bring themselves to recall.
I am fine. Rest now- I can only do so much to heal you, and sleep will accelerate the process.
She lay back down (if sleeping on a firm mattress is good for you, sleeping on this is going to double my life expectancy) and closed her eyes. They could feel her consciousness gradually drift, her body entering a state of rest.
As her breathing slowed, she murmured something that would have been inaudible, but they were pressed up against her, closer than they could’ve ever hoped to be, and they heard her clearly.
“What’s your name? I’m Edie.”
She crossed into sleep before they could reply.
(Edie. Her name is Edie.)
It was an odd name, two simple syllables to summarize the entire existence of this one person. They quite liked it.
(Edie.)
They flowed around her, covering her completely so they could more effectively regulate her body temperature.
Remembering their first attempt to communicate, they created a facsimile of vocal cords again, this time using hers as a blueprint. Imitating the movements of her mouth and tongue, they made the air vibrate, shaking out the stumbling form of a word.
“Ee…Eed…Edie…”