Dastardly Bastard(39)

“Why do you fight?” a chorus of voices asked.

“What else can I do?” She moved to the nearest corner and cowered.

“I have never seen such insolence, child. You have angered me!”

The mass congealed, becoming solid, an inky leviathan rising out of the floor, until it was as tall as the ceiling of the hospital room. It spread across the walls, devouring everything in its path. The form swallowed the bed, its shape disappearing under the black covering. The nightstand and IV pole were next. The monstrosity filled the entire left side of the room, throbbing, pulsing with life. A mouth opened in the mass, directly in the center, and stagnant breath reeking of decay flooded over Justine’s cowering form.

“Did you really think I would be bested so easily? This is my place, child.”

“I want Trevor back,” she pleaded. “He’s all I have left.”

“You can’t have him!” the mouth roared, black spittle spattering the wall beside Justine’s head.

“Why us?” was all she could think to ask. She was surprised she could even speak in the thing’s presence.

“That is of no concern of yours. I have waited so very long. You, child, will be my vessel. My release.”

“The fuck I will!” Justine looked down at her shaking hands, trying to find something else to focus on other than the horror facing her. Trevor’s engagement ring stared back, twinkling in the dimness. Justine recalled the words on the inside of the band—Now & Forever. She steadied herself, pushing up from her fetal position.

“You’re brave, child.”

“No.” Justine inhaled slowly. “I’m pissed off.”

“Tread lightly, Just,” Nana Penance’s voice, or what the thing thought her grandmother sounded like, anyway. The impersonation was failing.

Justine felt as though she was making headway. If the thing used memories against people, then she would use the same tactics to fight it. “Who are you?” she asked, approaching the pool.

“I am Omega!”

“Somehow I doubt that. You’re powerful. I get that. But you’re not everything you say you are.”

“I am everything!”

“You’re scared.” Justine felt the mass shrinking away, its edges drawing in on itself.

“I have nothing to be frightened of, child!”

“Yes, you do. I may not know what it is right now, but I will find out.”

She reached toward the undulating mass. Unbearable cold washed over her hand. She wanted so badly to pull away, but she wouldn’t allow it. She had to know. She had to see.

“Get away from me!”

“What are you hiding? Let me in.”

“I am forever! I have no weakness!”

“Keep telling yourself that, asshole.”

She threw a punch at the mass. Her fist disappeared into the black void. A sucking drew her in, pulling at her shoulder. Justine let it happen. Something was in there. She had to find out what it was. The mass gurgled as it slurped her up, consuming her. She closed her eyes and stepped into the writhing thing, letting the entirety of it cover her.

Its voice gurgled. “Get out!”

Justine opened her eyes to an unfamiliar kitchen. A young boy stood in the middle of the room, his fists balled at his sides, cheeks reddened, tears streaming. He was the boy from the hospital, but without the bandage and eye patch.

She assumed the middle-aged man by the old wood stove was the boy’s father. His face was weathered with worry, a storm raging in his eyes. Hot frustration boiled off of him in waves. He strode forward and grabbed the boy about the shoulders, shaking him.

“These things you see are not real, Scott!”

“They are! I promise! The shadows are real!”

At shadows, Justine’s heart skipped a beat. She knew that conversation. She’d had the same one with her own mother. It would go back and forth, over and over again, until Justine gave in and retreated to her room. No matter what was said, the shadows were real. They hovered, hid behind shoulders, came off people like stink. Justine had always thought they meant death, the looming presence of life at its end, but she had come to believe they stood for much more.

“You’re sick, child. That’s all. I’ll get you help. The doctors will know a way to deal with your crazy hallucinations!”

The father turned, leaving his son to cry in the kitchen as he walked out of the room. Justine wanted to reach out and grab the boy, to hug him, to tell him everything was going to be all right. She understood. It wasn’t his fault. He had to know that. She had to tell him, but she couldn’t move.

It occurred to her that the scene was not of her time. The old woodstove in the corner, the black-and-white checkered floor, the claw foot fridge… everything spoke to the fact that she was seeing a scene played out long ago. Yet, she had to try.

“Scott?” She didn’t think he would hear her, but he did.

The boy turned his head, meeting her eyes. Through his tears, she saw calm realization. It hurt deep inside her.

“I don’t want to see any more.” His shoulders hunched, chest bucking. The boy went to a drawer by the sink and pulled it open. He rummaged, feverishly hunting for something. Justine felt an impending sense of doom. Everything was going wrong.

Scott pulled something silver from the catchall. The prongs of the utensil shimmered like liquid in the candlelight of the kitchen. The boy gripped the fork white-knuckle tight, holding it out in front of himself, staring at it.