Samantha pushed her advantage, jumping into the air and landing hard on the side of his head, the heel of her shoe connecting with his skull. He cried out and swatted a hand toward her, making contact with the back of her leg. His strength was enough to knock her off-balance and she had just regained her footing when he scrambled to his feet. The spot where she’d kicked his head was a bright crimson in color, matching the fury that was rising in his eyes.
He snarled out a few colorful insults but Samantha had heard worse. When he came at her again, she noted that he was a bit more careful this time. He threw a ham-sized fist at her head but she ducked under the blow and threw a karate chop into his neck. She’d aimed it directly at his windpipe and the sudden wheezing of his breath told her she’d accomplished her goal. She then straightened and drove her knee directly into his genitalia. The blow made him whimper and as he doubled over, she grabbed him by the hair and shoved him toward a marble countertop nearby. The cracking sound of skull meeting marble was sickening and he slid to the ground, not moving.
Samantha smoothed out her skirt and adjusted her hair before looking up the stairs. She knew she should check out the rest of the house but given the fact that there was now two dead men in the foyer, it seemed prudent to allow Morgan to accompany her. She opened the front door and was surprised to see that her friend was absent. With a concerned look on her face, she shut the door and contemplated what she should do next. The sensible thing would be to exit the building and look for Morgan.
But sensibility wasn’t really what defined Samantha Grace.
After closing the door again, but leaving it unlocked in case Morgan returned, she spun about and began treading carefully up the stairs.
Wilma Nero sat on the edge of her bed, feeling a mixture of satisfaction and shame. There was a dead girl on the floor, a streetwalker that Pemberley had procured for the purpose of feeding the creature lurking behind Wilma’s eyes. As always, Wilma had tried to stop it from happening but it was impossible. Her eyes had begun to glow and the girl’s moisture had been drained right out of her. She now lay on the floor, as leathery as an Egyptian mummy. Wilma felt a deep sense of wholeness within her, as the monster began to slumber with its full belly, but she also felt revulsion at what she had become.
Pemberley had entered her room, though she hadn’t noticed at first. When she finally looked up at him through red-rimmed eyes, he was standing at the foot of her bed, looking at her expectantly.
"How do you feel, my dear?"
"Like a monster. How else should I feel?"
"You’re not a monster. You’re part of something beautiful and wonderful. Utterly unique in all the world."
Wilma stood up and the sudden motion made the thing behind her eyes begin to stir. It felt like a troublesome tickle, she thought, and shivered at the realization that she was getting used to its presence. "Would you think it so wonderful if I let it feed on you, I wonder?"
"You couldn’t stop it if you wanted to," Pemberley answered with a sneer. "It’s the one in control, not you. You’re nothing more than a very pretty traveling case. That thing in your head knows that I’m the one who gave you to it and I’m the one who can help it and its children flourish."
Wilma looked down at her feet. "How is my father?"
"Dead most likely."
The callous way he said those words hurt Wilma more than anything. It reminded her of how he’d dealt with the death of his son. He’d been more upset at the loss of his experiment than anything. "I’m going to kill myself," she whispered. "I’m going to throw myself out that open window."
"You and I both know that’s not true. You can’t. It won’t let you."
"What is this thing?" she asked, reaching up to gently touch the corner of her eye.
"I’ve explained it to you before," Pemberley said, reaching out to take her by the shoulders. He steered her back toward the bed and gently pushed her down until she was seated on the mattress. "It’s a creature called an aquaas. It’s actually a very ancient life form that was birthed out amongst the stars. A few dozen of them fell to earth during the 19th century, scattering all across North America. They were encased in hard shells that resembled meteorites but it was really just another stage of their development. They encase themselves in those rocky exteriors to survive the rigors of space. I first learned of them a few years ago when a man sold me several of the creatures, still in their capsules. I cracked one open and imagine my surprise at what I found: a tiny little monster with an insatiable desire for the kind of moisture found only in living things. After I witnessed its habit of burrowing behind the eyes of its still-living victims, I came up with the idea of surgically implanting them, making them far stronger."
"And to what purpose? Just to show how sick human beings can be?"
Pemberley knelt in front of her, holding her hands in his. "You’re the prototype to not only a new form of life — a melding of human and aquaas — but also the first of an entirely new type of soldier. Imagine a whole army of men and women who can kill without guns or knives. All they’ll need is their eyes."
"I think I’ve heard enough."
Pemberley stood up quickly and whirled about. Morgan Watts was pulling himself in through the window, a pistol clutched tightly in his right hand. "Morgan Watts?" Pemberley asked in shock.
"I’m flattered you remember me, Doc."
"I remember everyone. I’m a genius."
"And a modest one, to boot." Morgan waved the gun at Pemberley, indicating he should step away from Wilma. He did so and the girl looked at Morgan in confusion. "Don’t worry, doll, I’m getting you out of here. I work for Lazarus Gray and if there’s any man alive who can get that thing out of your head, he’s the one."
"It seems like you have the upper hand," Pemberley admitted. "I should warn you that I have an armed guard outside who is twice your size and three times as deadly."
Morgan was about to reply when he heard a series of thumps from downstairs, followed by a gasp that sounded disturbingly familiar. In a split-second he realized what was happening: Samantha had managed to find her way inside and come toe-to-toe with the guard that Pemberley had just described.
In that moment when Morgan’s attention was divided, Pemberley sprang toward him. The crazed doctor batted aside the hand holding the pistol and he then proceeded to throw a haymaker punch that caused Morgan’s entire body to snap around. Pemberley then slammed Morgan’s head into the wall hard enough to chip the paint.
As Morgan fell to the floor, groaning in pain, Pemberley snatched up Wilma by the wrist, holding it so tightly that the girl whimpered in pain. "We have to get out of here," he hissed. "I have plans for you and I can’t afford any of Gray’s minions getting in the way."
"Please," Wilma cried, "just kill me! I can’t go on like this!"
Pemberley laughed then, a maniacal sound that so frightened the girl that she fainted in his arms. "No death for you," he hissed through grinning lips. "You won’t be so lucky, my dear."
Morgan Watts felt something cool and wet press against his forehead and he winced in pain. He opened his eyes to find himself on a couch, Samantha perched beside him, looking concerned. "Where’s Pemberley?" he asked, trying to sit up but quickly laying back down when his head throbbed in agony.
"He’s gone," Lazarus Gray answered, stepping into view. Eun was right behind him, the young man looking troubled and more than a little angry. "We arrived a few moments ago and Samantha filled us in as much as she could. You ran into the doctor himself, I presume?"