Like a knife being slid slowly down her throat, right down her chest. Straight into her heart. That was the grief she felt. Like slivers of razors running through her veins. Throbbing with her pulse. His blue eyes. So pale they looked like clouded sky. […]
Tag: a piece of a story
She awoke with a jerk of all her muscles. The back of her head banged against metal and her right leg cramped so hard she groaned in pain.
“What the hell?” she whispered. It was so dark that she felt her face to see if she had a blindfold on, because she knew her eyes were definitely open. As she lay on her back in the pitch blackness, she became aware of sounds and smells. The first thing she noticed was the tang of fish in the air, and the cold metal underneath her body. This led to another realisation: She was naked. Her buttocks were numb from the icy metal and her back ached. She could feel little studs in the floor in a line heading off into the distance.
A low thrum could be heard and felt under her hands.
A ship then. Some sort of fishing ship? By the aching cold biting into her body, it was most probably a deep sea vessel.
“Right. So here I am. On a ship. A fishing ship. Buck naked in the dark. Way to go, Libby.” The sound of her voice calmed her slightly, even though the sound was swallowed up by the huge dark room she was in.
Kerry leant against the wall next to the mirrored glass. His eyes on the man in the room on the other side.
Wick was picking his teeth with a long dirty fingernail.
“We can call in Lear, Mike.” said Muller. In this little dark room, Mullers pale red hair seemed to glow in light from the interrigation room.
“She’s all rested up now. It’s been a month or more since the last time.” said Muller. He watched Kerry carefully. He saw the twitch of his jaw muscle.
‘Last Time’ had not been pretty. Muller still had nightmares.
But Lear was incredible. Before the trouble started, it was amazing to watch her work. Other people called her a freak, but Muller knew that Lear was exceptional and rare. Possibly even unique – although from rumours he’d heard, Muller knew that the People Upstairs had found themselves some interesting people. Nobody was “in use” like Agent Lear, however.
“Alright.” Kerry said.
Muller went to call Lear.
Kerry sighed and stood in front of the glass. Wick was beginning to get restless and was tapping his fingers on the glass of water on the table. But he wouldn’t speak. He just made crass comments and laughed at anything Kerry asked. They couldn’t lay a hand on him. They’d learned from experience that he was quick to call his lawyer and complain about brutality. It was a small miracle that he had not asked for his council yet. He felt safe.
So they were being very careful.
Muller opened the door and nodded at Kerry. Lear was outside. She didn’t like the dark. With what she’d been through, Kerry was not surprised. He’d been given access to her file when she’d joined his team. Some of what he’d read had made him sick to his stomach.
He watched through the glass as Lear and Muller entered the interrigation room. Wick looked up and smirked when he saw Lear. She was tiny, like a young child. Her eyes were huge and violet and her lips were small, pouty, and red. She wore no makeup. She had little blonde curls which exploded everywhere, even though her hair was cut short. She was about 5’2″ and was as delicate looking as a porcelain doll. She never smiled.
Wick had no idea what she could do.
“Mister Wick, meet Agent Lear.” said Muller, trying not smile.
“Lear, like that king, right?” said Wick, leaning back in his chair and the look on his face made Kerry want to walk in there and punch him right in the mouth.
Lear glided in and sat quietly in the chair facing Wick. She put both hands palm down on the metal table and closed her beautiful violet eyes. Wick was amused and sat forward, sliding his elbows onto the table and his hands under his chin in mock interest.
“Don’t cry, Mister Wick, it only hurts at first.” said Lear, in her soft little girl voice.
“I’m not crying! Why the hell would I cry? Nothing hurts!” said Wick. He began to lean back, losing interest.
Lear opened her eyes and looked straight into Wicks.
He jerked up straight and his mouth opened wide in a silent scream. His eyes started to bulge and he began to shake violently.
“Because I know what you’ve done, Mister Wick.” whispered Lear. “Tell them, and I’ll take it all away. I’ll take all your pain away, Mister Wick.”
From behind, Kerry saw Lear hunch her shoulders slightly and he swore. That’s what had started the trouble last time. They couldn’t lose this one.
He bashed the intercom button and was greeted with a static squeal. He swore some more.
As he turned to leave the room, he heard the mirrored glass begin to vibrate. He swore again, with far more vigour.
He crashed open the dark room door and ran the few steps down the corridor to the interrigation room and grabbed the handle of the door to open it. A shock from the metal handle made his muscles clench and he flew backwards and slammed into the wall. He was out cold.
Muller, meanwhile, was watching with strange glee as Wick moaned quietly and sobbed like a little boy. He told them everything he’d done. Absolutely everything, in great detail. He offered up sins that the Agency was not even aware of. Muller was writing furiously. Then he started to smell something burning. He looked up from his notes and gaped as he saw Wick’s hair standing on end, smoking slightly as if a great heat was under the surface of his scalp.
He looked at Lear and saw blood running from her nose.
Time to get her out of there. She’d done enough.
He heard a thump from the corridor, like something heavy hitting the door, but he forgot that as he dropped his notebook and reached desperately across to break the link between Lear and Wick, as he’d been trained to do.
The glass of water on the table exploded and tiny flecks of glass blasted into Wicks right side. The glass did not touch Lear. Muller got a face full, but managed to knock into Lear enough to make her turn her head towards him.
Everything went silent.
Wick collapsed in his chair with a little sigh and slid down under the table, unconcious. Muller wiped blood from his face and thanked his lucky stars that the glass missiles had missed his eyes. Lear was still looking at him, but with none of the intensity of her gaze on Wick.
“Are you alright, Bianca?” asked Muller.
Lear blinked her enormous violet eyes at him. A strange look on her face.
She smiled. The tiniest twitch of her lips, but Muller saw it.
It was on a Wednesday that Jeff first noticed. His back began to ache as if he’d done a days hard labour. Terrible spasms began that night, as he lay in bed. On Thursday morning, he could hardly move. His eyes were gummed shut and they burned. Jeff thought perhaps he had the ‘flu.
He called in sick on Thursday and curled up in a miserable ball in bed, after dosing himself up with Corenza C and chewable vitamin C tablets.
Thursday passed in a blur. But the pain he felt on Thursday was nothing compared to the pain he felt on Friday morning.
His shoulderblades felt like they were grating against each other. His spine would twinge and sieze up. His entire body ached and his skin began to tingle and then became so dry it itched with maddening thoroughness.
Friday night was sheer misery. Saturday morning was pain beyond anything he had ever experienced in his entire 32 years of life. He sweated and shook and cried and moaned. Then he discovered that his hair was falling out in huge tufts. His tongue was swollen in his mouth and he could not swallow any water. His hands and feet were swollen and felt like they were being stretched on a rack. His knuckles felt like they were going to pop right off. But all this was nothing compared to the horrific pain in his back. His shoulders.
He begged for mercy in unintelligable grunts.
His skin flaked off in large snakelike pieces. What was revealed to Jeff was terror in itself. He was blue. Not a pale blue of being cold or of not being in the sun. No, this was real blue. Eggshell blue. Sky blue. Perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him. At least his eyes no longer hurt.
Jeff could not move from his nest in the blankets on his bed and had thus been unable to pick up the telephone. He was sure someone had knocked on his door, but he couldn’t be sure. His eardrums thrummed constantly, like there was a breeze blowing permanently next to his ear. His jaw ached from clenching against the pain. At least he still had his teeth.
Saturday night he fell into oblivion. His mind floated above as his body writhed in agony. In a detached way he watched as the space between his shoulderblades ripped and tore and blood sprayed everywhere. He felt no pain at all. In fact, he felt awe as he watched two enormous pieces of bone wrench out of his back. Jeff was not good with blood, so he was not lucid for the rest of the experience.
If he had been, he could have watched as sinew and muscle spun onto these protruding bones like cloth being woven on a loom. Long strands of tissue and bloody veins coiled around the muscles. Nerves flittered across the surface and dug their way in. Then the skin began to form, wet and sticky at first, then drying like paint. Shimmering blue skin. Jeff missed the incredible sight of these bony limbs stretching out behind his blue body, bones cracking in his shoulders, muscles tearing on his back and sides. Then the soft lightening of the blue limbs, soft downy white. And then the feathering. Long white strong feathers, like an eagle. His muscles and skin healed while this happened.
On Sunday morning, Jeff woke up feeling like he was going to be alright. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Everything was crystal clear around him. His lungs filled with a huge breath. He glanced down at his stomach and saw rippling muscle. Rippling blue muscle. Blue skin. His mind spun and he rolled over to the side of his bed and dry vomited. The heaves nearly took him off the bed and as he flinched to avoid falling he felt the great weight on his back. Jeff looked over his shoulder and saw the gigantic white feathered wings.
Jeff curled up in a fetal ball and cried.
He heard music. Song. Heartbreakingly beautiful.
He heard someone saying his name and he opened his eyes.
There stood a woman. A blue woman. With wings slightly raised behind her. She said his name and he heard music when she spoke.
He sat on the edge of his bed as this winged blue woman told him what had happened to him and why.
She asked him if he understood and he just looked her.
“A great battle, you say?” said Jeff, eventually.
He heard music when he spoke.