Queen of Wands-eARC (5 page)

“Mrs. Everette, if you wish, I’ll replace him,” Garson said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

“Do you have any other agents with experience in the paranormal?” Barb asked, looking Spornberger up and down.

“None,” Garson said. “Including me. I’ve been briefed on SC, I’m aware of some of the reports, the stories. But I can’t say that I’m totally convinced.”

“And the same would be the case with any green agent,” Barb said, sighing. “They just can’t
believe
. Okay, tough guy, you’re the one that’s seen a ghost. I’ll leave it up to you.”

“It wasn’t a ghost,” Kurt said. “It was a shadow. I’m not sure what it was, but I…I got this feeling it wasn’t a ghost.”

“Demon, then,” Barb said. “Tell me about it later. I need to get briefed in. Who’s doing it?”

“Spornberger,” Garson said. “He’s got all the reports. Note that we only have the attack on your agent to indicate that there is anything to the SC designation. That and the fact that the case is just so damned weird.”

“Well, I know the area’s not a total dry hole,” Barb said. “I can feel the…currents? Whatever. But it’s possible the attack on Janea wasn’t related to the investigation. We have enemies of our own. However, we’ll just try to follow up on her leads and see where it takes us.”

* * *

“What’s the paranormal read on this?” Kurt asked as he sat down in the secure conference room.

“I’m not a paranormal expert,” Barb said. “But I’ve got some people to do the research. And the short answer is there isn’t one. Have you ever heard of Kali?”

“I’ve been studying oriental martial arts since I was in high school,” Kurt said dryly. “And by extension the Orient. Yes, I’ve heard of Kali. Hindu death goddess, right?”

“More complicated than that,” Barb said, biting her lip. “Also a goddess of fertility and childbirth. And murder. Life and death, alpha and omega. The point being that there are references to worshippers being used as avatars of Kali, taken by her and turned into killing machines. But even the…deep references, if you will, the studies that assume the existence of the goddess, indicate most of those killers were using drugs to simulate the effect. And Kali, being what Christians recognize as a demon, is tightly bound by the Fall. Even though God gave the world to Satan, the greater demons and demonesses, ancient gods in most cases, are tightly bound. Freeing them, even drawing upon their essence, requires powerful rites which have not been used in this case. So it’s not a possession by Kali or another greater demon. And according to the initial report Janea turned in, none of them show current signs of possession. They have been…sensitized to the supernatural. But they may have been sensitives to begin with.”

“In short, you have no clue what is going on,” Kurt said.

“No,” Barb admitted. “But that’s why I’m here. But we’ve got one piece of evidence we didn’t have before.
Someone
attacked Janea mystically. That makes it personal.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“Oh, thank
God
we’re here!” Kurt gasped as Barbara came to a screeching halt at the guarded entrance. The drive had been short but traffic had been heavy. Normally, it would have been quicker to walk with the jammed cars on US 27.

But any belief that Kurt retained that he’d been landed with Suzy Soccer Mom was disabused by the drive. Much of it had been in the oncoming lanes, or turn lanes, or in one case, slightly on the sidewalk. The
opposite
sidewalk.

It wasn’t that Barbara drove
badly
. It was that she drove like a cop. One in a hurry and with enormous ability behind the wheel.

“What’s wrong?” Barb asked, hitting the window switch and smiling at the frowning corrections guard manning the gate. “We got here in one piece.”

“You are insane, Madame,” Kurt replied. “Kurt Spornberger, FBI,” he continued, holding out his ID. “This is Barbara Everette, a contractor with us.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard said, hitting the control to open the gate. “Try to keep it down on the campus, ma’am.”

“Will do,” Barb said.

“Next time, I drive,” Kurt said as Barb hunted for an open visitor’s parking space.

“Like I’d let anybody else drive me,” Barb said.

* * *

Moccasin Bend Mental Health Facility was a sprawling set of brick buildings originally founded in 1961, located across the river from the downtown area. It served twenty-eight counties in the area as a regional inpatient care facility.

Barb…didn’t like Moccasin Bend. She wasn’t “open” to Sight at the moment, but she didn’t have to be to feel the malevolence of the area. The entire place was just…weird. The buildings were straight out of a horror movie and the layout was decidedly odd. She looked at the map again and realized that the buildings were laid out in a sign she’d only seen once in her “catch-up” research. Specifically, in a grimoire that was kept under lock and key at the Foundation.

“This place is unhealthy as…hell,” Barb said, looking around the parking lot. “Nearly literally. I mean really, really bad.”

“You’re serious?” Kurt said, grinning nervously.

“
Bad
bad,” Barb said. “Bad on toast. Like, my first instinct is to burn it down and kill everyone near it.”

“Don’t,” Kurt said. “I know you’re covered for stuff, but that would be pretty hard to cover up.”

“Seriously bad,” Barb said, taking a deep breath. “Makes me want to scream…”

* * *

“The patient exhibits many classic signs of psychosis with, however, some idiosyncratic additions,” Dr. Downing said.

Oddly enough, it was the same doctor who had been treating Janea. Now that Barb knew he was associated with this mental facility, she intended to get him unassociated as fast as possible.

The patient was restrained. Tightly. Barb was familiar with restraints, having spent some time under them herself after her first encounter with a demon and before Augustus pulled some strings to get her out of psychiatric care. But the ones they’d used on her were light compared to what they had on the young man in the bed.

“How idiosyncratic?” Barb asked, disturbed by the sight of the otherwise healthy young man’s condition.

“Most patients in this type of condition tend to bite,” Dr. Downing said, pulling out a probe. “Most of those, however, do not tend to swallow whatever they bite off. These patients do. And, observe,” he continued, pressing the probe into the base of Darren’s foot.

“I didn’t see anything,” Kurt said. “Except him continuing to…”

“Writhe,” Barb finished.

“You should have,” the psychiatrist said. “That should have elicited a pain response, even in a patient suffering from psychosis. A yell, a howl, some type of response. And,” he continued, pulling out a small rubber mallet. “Observe.”

He tapped the subject just below his knee and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m pretty sure his leg didn’t twitch,” Barb said, frowning. “He should have had an involuntary movement, a reflex response. Right?”

“Correct,” the doctor said, smiling as if at a marginally bright student. “No reflex responses, no pain responses, but their autonomic nervous systems continue to function, they breathe, their hearts beat and they have control over their voluntary muscles. But, if I were to remove the restraints and let him walk, you would observe that his motions are powerful but uncoordinated in the extreme.”

“I…need to check something,” Barb said, then frowned. “I take it that anything that goes on in here is confidential?”

“Yes,” Dr. Downing said, frowning in turn. “What sort of examination?”

“One that’s going to make you shake your head and wonder if the Bureau is going nuts,” Kurt said. “And one that you’re not going to comment on under any circumstances. Under the Uniform Federal Code Section Eighteen. In a real and legally binding sense.”

“Oh,” Dr. Downing said. “O…kay?”

“It won’t take a moment,” Barb said. She hated to Open in this place, but it was going to be necessary. Because there was something screaming at her about the patient. He looked healthy enough at first glance, but something was…screaming.

She laid her hand on his brow, careful to avoid the gnashing teeth, then Opened up her Sight.

The first thing she noticed was, in fact, the neurologist. His aura was as black as the ace of spades. She saw him tense and looked over with a thin, fierce grin.

“Okay, I suppose this isn’t quite as unusual as I’d have thought for you,” Barb said.

“What…are you?” Downing asked, carefully.

“As it turns out, your worst nightmare,” Barb replied. She reached for the soul of the afflicted and paused. “Jesus Christ,” she said, softly.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to curse,” Kurt said.

“That wasn’t a curse, Special Agent,” Barb said. “That was a prayer. This person is dead.”

“Dead?” Dr. Downing said, snorting. “I can assure you, as a physician—”

“With what’s riding you, there’s no way that you heal,” Barb said. “So calling yourself a physician, Doctor, is a stretch. Research. Poke. Prod. Possibly advance science. But that…thing in you isn’t going to allow you to ever heal. And when I said this person was dead, I was very specific. This…thing has no soul. None. No
ka
. No
ba
. It is a walking dead thing.”

“Zombie?” Kurt said. “Please, not zombies.”

“Not the movie zombie,” Barb said. “I’m not sure what it is or how it was created. But this person has no more soul than a rock. How it’s continuing to exist is a real question. There is power coming from somewhere that is continuing to give it the semblance of life.” She stepped back and started to close down. Then, just as an exercise, she fully Opened her Power.

Dr. Downing immediately took an involuntary step backwards and grunted. In the distance, one of the patients started howling, setting off others.

“What just happened?” Kurt asked, looking around.

“
That
is what I am, Doctor,” Barb said. “Is that clear enough for you?”

What was clear was that it wasn’t simply the neurologist that inflicted the place. It stank with evil, and shadows filled every corner.

“Yes,” the doctor said in a strained voice.

“God has given me the grace to be His sword upon this land, Doctor,” Barb said, softly. “Your Master cannot prevail against me, for I wear the armor of righteousness, and the power of the Lord is held in both right hand and left. So fill us in and quit playing power games. I have neither the time nor the patience, and this place quite frankly wants me here slightly less than I want to stay.”

“I have a short video I’d like to show you.”

* * *

The video started with Darren apparently asleep in the traditional rubber room. He was slumped in one corner, his mouth open and flaccid but his limbs twitching.

“I thought these things were a myth,” Kurt said, looking at the view.

“They are not a preferred environment,” Dr. Downing said. He’d managed to calm down a bit on the walk to the meeting room and was still trying for suave and debonair. However, he was keeping the special agent between himself and Barbara.

“But there are conditions in which they are useful. Such as this one. I wanted to observe his actions under a variety of stimuli, and given the reports of his admission, I was unwilling to do so outside of a controlled environment. He was heavily sedated when placed in the room, and the first part is rather boring. I’ll fast forward.”

The digital file skipped forward until, in fast motion, Darren lurched to his feet and started walking.

“There,” the doctor said. “Note the nature of the motion.”

“He
looks
like a zombie,” Kurt said, his brow furrowing. “Christ, why’d it have to be zombies?”

“Yes,” Dr. Downing said, smiling faintly. “He does, doesn’t he? Arms extended, although more to the side than the traditional zombie look. And that would be why?”

“His balance,” Barb said, nodding. “He’s got real balance problems.”

“Due to the lack of reflex,” Dr. Downing said. “It gives him the equivalent of an inner-ear infection, and he uses his arms to maintain his balance.”

Barbara leaned into the video and nodded.

“His lips are moving,” she said. “Is there audio?”

“There is,” the doctor said, turning it on.

The syllables were harsh and guttural, mixed with moans and occasional shrieks.

“It appears to be random babble,” the psychiatrist said. “Not entirely idiosyncratic, but uncommon. Normally the patient would be speaking recognizable words but disconnected in syntax. Along with occasional disconnected threats or pleas.”

“I’m not sure that’s babble,” Barb said, listening for a moment longer. “Get me a copy of the audio file. Actually, copies of the audio and video.”

“Of course,” Dr. Downing said, fast forwarding again. “However, after this had gone on for some time, I sent in guards to restrain him again. And…watch.”

The two guards entered fast when Darren’s back was turned. They were wearing some sort of full-coverage white body armor including helmets and gloves. They looked like they were suited up to work with an attack dog. They also carried clear plastic shields, and one of them was carrying an air injector presumably filled with a tranquilizer.

A third guard shut the door when they were barely in the room, but before they could even approach the subject, Darren turned, showing more coordination than had previously been evident, and charged, screaming a ululating cry of what sounded like rage and pain. He hit the shield of the guard with the syringe so hard the man was thrown off his feet, and the patient fell on top of him, screaming and scrabbling to get past the shield.

The guard flipped the syringe out from under the pile and the second guard picked it up quickly then fell onto the patient, pinning him between the two guards and injecting him in the back of the neck.

“And that’s about it,” Dr. Downing said, turning off the video. “The patient is fast and strong beyond the norm, but very clumsy. In part, I believe, because of the lack of reflex response. The patient’s balance is particularly bad probably because, at some level, he has to think about standing up. It’s notable that when the patient has had to be…restrained, he falls down quickly and tends to fight on the ground. The precise symptoms have never been recorded in literature. I’m considering doing a paper on them. It’s possible it may be an entirely new psychiatric condition. If so, I’ll have to name it.”

“Chattanooga Zombieitis?” Kurt asked.

“Thank you for your input,” Dr. Downing said dryly. “But…no. Among other things, ‘itis’ is the suffix for irritation and swelling.”

“Neurological indications?” Barb asked. “For laymen?”

“Due to the nature of the problem, we were, fortunately, able to fund a full neurological workup,” Dr. Downing said. “Various tests I won’t detail. Certain neurotransmitters appear to be out of sync as well as various hormones. Testosterone and adrenaline levels are abnormally high, for example. Dopamine levels as well. Which may explain the lack of reflex response. Glutamate appears to be inhibited and certain portions of the brain are acting in uncharacteristic ways. Mid- and rear-brain activity is overexcited, while forebrain activity is virtually quiescent. The medulla in some of the older patients appears to actually be swelled. We’re monitoring that because we’re afraid that if the condition progresses it will lead to death.”

“Forebrain is conscious thought,” Barb said musingly. “Mid-brain is sort of higher animal, the puppy brain, and rear brain is the old animal, the lizard hindbrain.”

“In layman’s terms, more or less,” Dr. Downing said.

“So…they’re thinking like animals?” Kurt asked.

“I would hate to put it that way in any sort of report,” the neurologist said. “But…yes. Very angry and vicious ones.”

“What about treatment?” Kurt asked.

“So far there doesn’t seem to be one,” the neurologist said. He seemed indifferent to the possibility.

“Trust me, Kurt,” Barb said. “These things are beyond treatment. Not. Alive. Take my word for it.”

“Wait,” Kurt said, his brow furrowing. “PCP is a glutamate inhibitor. Right?”

“An NMDA uptake inhibitor,” the doctor corrected. “But it has the practical effect.”

“So it’s like they’re on PCP?” Kurt asked. “Sort of PCP zombies. Ouch.”

“Again, I did not say it,” the psychiatrist said. “But the effects have some similarity to PCP overdose. That was the initial finding of the admitting doctors. But it’s not PCP. What it is, we’re unsure. As I said, psychotic break, homicidal, cause unknown.”

“Double ouch,” Kurt said. “Cannibalistic PCP zombies.”

“And I don’t think that will be in any reports, either,” Barb said, nodding. “Good summation. That’s enough.” She looked at Downing and snorted.

“I don’t know exactly why you let that thing ride you, but you did. And apparently with some understanding of what you were doing. It wasn’t a good choice. It wasn’t even an intelligent choice. But it was a choice. And for that, Doctor, you are damned.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Literally, not figuratively. How you could have been that stupid, I don’t know. I’ll just mention, in passing, that Jesus is pretty forgiving. If you can get your head around getting that…thing out of you, you
might
just be forgiven. On the other hand, if you keep on your current path, you’re choosing one life of whatever it gives you in exchange for eternal torment. Again, your choice. But I’d suggest that you start thinking about alternatives.”