He was talking to someone, their voice vaguely familiar. Someone he had spoken to before? Someone he knew?
That’s when he realised who it was. The girl from the station. The girl he met in the hospital.
He felt his arm move up, the fingers tightening around something. Heard a gurgled scream.
Then a plaintive cry. “
The girl.
He was strangling her, or rather whatever he had become was.
Enraged, Lincoln concentrated as hard as he could. This was his moment. This was his Waterloo.
Weight lifting had taught him to push his body beyond normal endurance. To enter an almost Zen-like state where he ignored the pain. He centred his consciousness, then focused on operating his fingers.
Nobody was going to make him do something he didn’t want to.
Malachi liked the expression on Joanna’s face as her cheeks turned purple. She gargled, her tongue a bloated slug.
Then his fingers started to open.
Malachi grimaced. What was wrong?
He saw Joanna snatch a gulp of air as the pressure relaxed. Next second, he released his grip and the girl stumbled backwards, hands at her throat to soothe the pain.
“Why have you stopped?” one of his cohorts asked.
Malachi wished he knew. He looked down at his hand, tried to flex the fingers, but they didn’t respond.
Then he realised that his lips were moving, soft grunts coming out as though he was trying to speak. Then the words came. “Let… her… go.” But they were not words that he had summoned.
“Let her go?” one of the other demons asked.
“Yes, let… her go.”
“But she knows too much.”
“Do… as I command.”
“Malachi, what’s going on?”
“Do it.”
The demons parted, allowing Joanna to stagger through them towards the exit. Malachi looked on, helpless to stop her.
Lincoln. It had to be Lincoln. Somehow, he had managed to wrestle control back. But how? It wasn’t possible. Humans were weak, ineffectual creatures.
He saw Joanna pause at the exit and turn around. He nodded, or rather Lincoln did.
“Go,” Lincoln said.
Malachi was unable to react as Lincoln directed his body across the room. Was unable to stop him picking up the screwdriver, and could do nothing as he drove it into one of the pressurised gas tanks.
Then he watched with cold detachment as the boiler flame ignited the gasses in a conflagration resembling Hades. The various metal cylinders erupted in a booming concerto, the ear shattering explosion ripping through the basement, purging everything in its fiery embrace.
CHAPTER 30
No one believed her. They didn’t understand what had happened.
“It’s time for your medication.”
Joanna looked up at the man in the white uniform, two pink pills held out in the palm of his outstretched hand.
“I don’t want any pills,” she snapped.
“It’s not a case of whether you want them. They’re for your own good.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Look, just take the pills, otherwise I will have to make you take them. Your choice.”
She stared at the man’s features. He was probably in his mid-thirties, but he had a tired, bone-weary expression that made him look older, the crow’s-feet around his eyes like miniature sparks of lightning.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “They were real. The monsters.”
“Tell it to your shrink. I’m just here to give you the pills.
“I told you, I don’t want them.” She jumped up and slapped his hand away, sending the pills flying across the room.
The man exhaled loudly, his lips pursed. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”
“Just get away from me. I want to see whoever’s in charge. I’m not crazy.”
She backed away, wide eyes staring around the clinical room. A single chair and bed were bolted to the floor, her only furniture since the incarceration.
Bars encased the long window through which the sun cast long rays that shone through the air like angels’ fingers providing a warm, comforting caress.
Joanna’s eyesight had improved by leaps and bounds. She couldn’t believe it had only been a few weeks since she had the operation; it felt like a lifetime ago. Now both her best friend and boyfriend were dead. And she had been accused of their murder. The newspapers called her a butcher. They didn’t understand. None of them did.
“If you don’t take the pills voluntarily, I’ll have to restrain you.”
“Try it and I’ll have to kick your arse.”
A faint grin cracked the man’s demeanour.
Joanna stood her ground. “I’m warning you.”
The man’s grin faded. “Look, fighting me isn’t going to help. Just take the damn pills. They’ll help you get better.”
“But I’m not sick.”
“Denial isn’t going to help.”
“And neither are they. I’m not crazy. There are creatures out there taking people over. I can see them.” She pointed towards the window, the bars of which made the room both a prison and a sanctuary.
“And the man in the next room believes he’s God. Perhaps you should have a word with him sometime.”
Realising that fighting would be useless, Joanna’s shoulders slumped and she nodded. “Just give me the pills.”
The man tipped two more pills from a container and held them out with a glass of water. “That was easy, wasn’t it,” he said as she swallowed them. “Okay, open.” He stared inside her mouth, and finally satisfied she had taken them, he wheeled his trolley out of the room.
Joanna followed him out and walked towards the dayroom. The television on the wall in the corner was her eye on the world. A number of inmates sat on chairs watching the screen. Joanna stared around. She felt out of place among the psychotics and the dispossessed.
A bald man sat mumbling to himself, occasionally raising his voice to shout an obscenity or two.
Beside him, an old woman with scraggly grey hair rocked back and forth as though she was being pushed and pulled by unseen forces.
Not wanting to associate with the other patrons, Joanna sat on a seat by herself and turned her attention to the television.
A newscaster was going through the day’s highlights, his voice a monotonous drone.
“The prime minister left the hospital earlier this morning after the collision yesterday. Reporter Jenny Falcon was at the scene when he left.”
The picture changed to a recording of a blonde-haired woman with an effervescent smile.
