Chapter 17: Monster

 

Splayed out, bleeding, and suspended from the ceiling is Robbie, his limbs pulled to each corner by manacles. No, not manacles, but those arms that Nessa treasures so much, these tentacles snaking out of the facility’s every crevice.

Some pull at his arms, others at his legs, spreading the boy’s body into an X, like a torture victim on an invisible rack, ready to be drawn and quartered. Beneath him is a coagulating puddle of blood. Not much dripping from his body now that Paragon’s kicked in. The entire room stinks of metal.

“Robbie?” Jarod gasps. “God, Robbie, what did she do to you?”

The boy’s eyes swim in and out of focus, landing for brief moments on Jarod’s face before glancing off again. He only grunts and mumbles in response, his face bruised and bloodied, his clothes torn. He’s delirious, or still recovering, but every so often he gives out a cry, sometimes a wail, each time when, at regular intervals, the tentacles tug on his limbs in four opposite directions. It’s like they’re meant to exert continuous pressure on him, to keep him damaged so he can’t fight back.

“Escape,” Robbie mutters.

“What do you mean?” Jarod steps forward, already doubtful that he should have done so, and a warning voice splits the air in the room.

“Don’t,” Nessa says, her words streaming in through a speaker. From some darkened corner another screen flashes to life. “Don’t come any closer, Jarod. For your own good. He’s dangerous.”

“He’s badly injured,” Jarod shouts. Here he is again, defending a monster. But he looks between Robbie, broken and bloodied, and the screen where Nessa’s artificial face watches the both of them, cold and imperious. Still no solution, still no best indication of who has done the worst among everyone in this entire building. How long has he been asking himself this question? How long until he gets an answer?

“He’ll recover,” Nessa says, her voice oddly flat. “And when he does he’ll be a risk to you all. You’d best get out of here.”

“How did he even get in?”

“Broke in, I imagine. But I can’t fathom why. He’s wanted to escape for so long that I thought he’d be happier being far away from the facility.” Nessa’s eyes narrow. “I think he’s here to get rid of you.”

“Can’t be true,” Jarod says, with a quickness that surprises even him. “He isn’t here to hurt us.” He promised.

“Believe what you will. Now that he’s injured he’ll revert to his beast state. It’s how Paragon works.” The next words slide out of her lips with a sneer. “Still imperfect.”

Robbie bucks at the sound of that, his body writhing, bloody froth building at his mouth as he blubbers and roars impotently. Nessa only blinks. The tentacles pull hard, enough that something pops, and cracks. Robbie howls.

“Stop,” Jarod says. “Please. Just, let me talk to him.”

Somehow, Not-Nessa’s eyes narrow even further. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Jarod.”

“You’ve restrained him. You’re pulling him apart. There’s no way he can hurt me.”

From behind him, more voices pipe into the room, Gabriel’s rising above them all. “Jarod? Don’t do this. There’s blood everywhere, Jarod, you can’t – ”

The door slams shut. Fists pound at the metal. Jarod wishes he could tell Gabriel that everything is going to be all right, but he knew he’d be lying, anyway. Who’s he to even say how the rest of this is going to go down?

“Fine,” Nessa says. “Talk if you must. See if you can get anything out of him. But know that he isn’t here to help.”

Jarod jumps when something lands on his shoulder. It’s one of the tentacles, nudging at him like an open hand, stroking at his arm. Even through his clothes it feels cold, like an appendage made of ice. The gentleness of its touch is in total opposition with the way the others keep tugging violently at Robbie’s body. It leaves a sour taste in Jarod’s mouth.

Nessa’s features soften, as soft as a three-dimensional representation of her face will ever get, and her voice goes quieter. The tentacle taps, then strokes again, gently. “Just remember, Jarod. He did all this. It was his fault.”

Was it? This wasn’t what Robbie wanted. He didn’t ask to become this cannibal, this monster. He only wanted to live. At the back of Jarod’s mind, the questions burn like embers. Wasn’t it your fault? Wasn’t it Hargrove’s? Jarod doesn’t look her in the eye.

“Let me talk to him.”

Each tentacle attached to Robbie’s limbs pulls in unison. He screams again. Nessa scoffs.

“Suit yourself.”

The screen flickers, then dims. Alone at last. The only brightness left in the room is the illumination cast down on Robbie’s shattered body, like a spotlight to point out the centerpiece of this horrible tableau.

“Robbie?” Jarod takes a tentative step forward. The boy’s body is still, like he’s given up the fight. “It’s me. Jarod. Can you hear me in there?”

The roar takes Jarod by surprise, as does the bucking of Robbie’s body, more violent than ever. He bares his teeth, the white of them now slick and red with his own blood.

“Closer,” Robbie snarls. “Closer.”

The tentacles pull, and Robbie’s back goes rigid, tears spilling down his face, making clear, pink tracks through the blood smeared across his chin. Whatever’s left of the horde must be incensed, battering its way against the doors above ground.

Nessa wasn’t lying. Paragon has taken over his body again now that he’s hurt. Given time it’ll go away, Jarod knows, but for now he has to work through this with him.

Bringing himself as close to Robbie as he dares, Jarod lowers his voice to a whisper. “You said you needed my help, Robbie. You needed me to come here. We’re here now, together. What do you want me to do?”

“Kill yourself,” Robbie snarls. “Feed me. Break off parts of you and feed me. Let me eat you. Your friends. All of you.”

His teeth snap at empty air, like doing that is going to sate some of his hunger. Saliva and blood spatter Jarod’s cheek, warm, wet.

“That’s the plague talking, Robbie. You know that. Tell me, what did you need my help with?”

“Nothing,” Robbie says, his brows creased. He tilts his head, watching Jarod out of one eye, the other still a ruined, black-ringed mess. “Just wanted to show you how much of a cunt Nessa is. Look what she’s done to me.”

“Robbie. Stop.”

“She always was a cunt, you know that? She did this to me, all the time. Kept me like this for months. Tortured me, then let me heal, day in and day out. It was endless. Just this, all fucking day. She wanted to observe me, study my insides. See what made me tick, what made us tick. She was always jealous that Paragon made me stronger than her. Better than her.”

“You’re delirious,” Jarod says, the words as clichéd and as automatic as he expected them to sound. But is he? What if he’s telling the truth?

“She’s angry. Angry that I ate her.” Robbie chuckles, a horrible, gurgling noise that sputters from his throat. “The way you’re angry that I ate her. That I started this and ruined everything.”

“Robbie.”

“I killed her, then I ate her. And as soon as I break out of this, I’ll kill you, too. All of you. But I’ll save you and Gabriel for the end, so you can watch me. So you can hear him beg when I pin him to the ground. So you can see him die when I tear out his throat.”

Jarod’s hand tightens around his golf club. Perhaps it’s best he forgot that he had it, or this may have ended differently.

“Nessa was right. There’s no point talking to you. You’re just going to make things worse. We were friends once, Robbie. But things are different now.” He taps his club against the ground. “I’m sorry it had to end like this.”

He turns for the door, reaching for the panel, ready to activate it with his voice, when Robbie speaks again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, in that old, plaintive tone he once used.

Jarod gives him a cursory glance. The blood dripping out of his head has clotted completely. His eye, the one that was busted up, the swelling’s starting to go down, the bruising around it receding. He’s regenerating, and if Jarod can keep him calm enough, then the tentacles won’t resort to damaging him again, to throw him back into his feral state.

“I know,” Jarod says. “But make it quick. Why do you need me?”

“Closer,” Robbie says, his voice trembling, pleading. “Come closer.”

Jarod hesitates, his feet rooted to the spot. He grips his club even tighter.

“I swear I won’t hurt you.” Robbie looks to either side of him, watching the tentacles with fear. “How can I?”

Jarod comes closer. He pats the gun at his waist. Just in case.

“She trusts you,” Robbie whispers, so steadily that his speaking doesn’t move any other part of his body, like he’s terrified that the tentacles themselves can hear. “So you’re the only one who can do this. Get close enough to stop her.”

Jarod bends even closer, so near he can feel the warmth gusting from Robbie’s breath. “Stop her from what?”

The lump in Robbie’s throat bobs as he swallows, his body so still, his face straining as he moves his mouth with the greatest care. The cameras. He’s worried about the cameras. “There are plans for Paragon. I heard them talking.”

“Heard who talking? Robbie, who?”

A fifth tentacle bursts out of the ceiling, narrowly missing Jarod as it strikes Robbie across the mouth. Something snaps. Robbie sobs as he spits out blood and broken teeth.

“He’s here,” he burbles, his words distorted by his shattered mouth.

Jarod’s eyes go wide. “Who?”

The tentacle rears back, like a viper poised to strike, then slithers forth. It slips past Robbie’s lips, then sinks into his mouth, deeper, and deeper, and deeper. If Robbie screams, there is no room for the sound of it to issue. He gags and chokes, his head thrown back, his entire body convulsing as blood glistens just at the edge of his lips. The other four tentacles pull hard, sending the sickening crackle of bones breaking through the room.

This is insane. Those things are going to kill him. Jarod balks at the thought. What could possibly kill Robbie in this state? But he has to help. He twists back, then swings with all his strength at the nearest tentacle. The golf club twangs against the metal, the reverberation quaking up his arms. He looks at the club, dumbstruck. Not a dent in the tentacle, and he’s lucky not to have damaged his weapon.

The second he takes to inspect the club is all the appendages need. A nest of them rushes at him in a tinkling rustle of twisting steel. The tentacles form into the approximate size and shape of a fist as they slam into his chest. It’s like being hit by a truck, and Jarod spills across the room, hitting the ground painfully. Jarod cries out, but there’s no wind in his lungs, so it comes out in a painful croak. He coughs and sputters, scooping up his club, ready for a second volley, but the tentacles are hard at work twisting Robbie’s body into a twitching mess.

“Nessa, stop this,” Jarod wheezes. “Don’t hurt him. Let me out.”

He pummels at the door, the others on the outside pounding back. His hands shake as he reaches for the panel, then speaks a name. The system rejects the input because Jarod’s initial impulse wasn’t to speak his own name, but a different one, the first to come to mind after hearing Robbie’s warning.

“Hargrove,” Jarod heard himself say. “Jonathan.”