Abomination (12 page)

“Well, you certainly put me in my place,” said Ryan.

“You’re welcome. And Dallas makes fun of
me
for
being single?”

“Thanks for the guidance,” said Ryan with a smile. “I
need to talk to her alone for a few minutes. I’ll come get you when we finish
so she can help you with the profiles. Tom, would you mind running out and
grabbing some breakfast for us?”

“My pleasure,” said Tom.

Ryan walked into the kitchen and found Kristina sitting
at the table reading a newspaper. She didn’t raise her head to look at him
while he warmed up his coffee. He grabbed his notebook and files and sat at the
other end of the table.

“How did you sleep?” started Ryan.

“I slept,” she responded, not raising her nose from the
paper.

“Tom’s going to grab us some breakfast. He’s pretty good
at covering the basics, but if there’s anything special you’d like, I can let
him know.”

“I’m sure whatever he gets will be fine.”

“Kristina, I’m sorry for snapping at you,” said Ryan,
sensing her irritation. “But we can’t run the risk of anyone seeing you here, not
even on the back porch. You came out with a smile and I ruined it pretty quickly.
Sometimes I can be a little insensitive. I am sorry.”

“I understand,” said Kristina, finally looking at him.
“Your delivery sucks, but I understand.”

“Thank you. I’d like you to take a look at these files,”
said Ryan, sliding the stack of folders toward her. “I have to warn you,
they’re very graphic.”

She opened the first folder labeled with Peter
Arrington’s name. Her eyes opened wide and she took a deep breath to maintain
her composure. A wallet-sized photograph of Arrington was paper clipped to an
8x10 photo that captured the shredded body of the young woman killed in
Syracuse. She flipped through a few more pages and then closed the folder.

“He didn’t do that,” she sighed. “He’s incapable. I
worked with him almost every day for years. He did not kill that girl.”

“He’s killed men in combat, Kristina. I also witnessed
him cut the throat of a woman he kidnapped and tied to a bed. When we tried to
stop him, he ripped apart two of my agents with his bare hands. I assure you
he’s capable.”

“When he and the other four were chosen as test
subjects, they had to go through an intense psychological evaluation,” said
Kristina. “They had to have certain characteristics most people don’t possess.
I understand he had to kill in combat, but he hated it. He truly hated it more
than the others. He didn’t become a Marine to kill; he became a Marine because
he’s from a long line of Marines. It’s what the men in his family do. We talked
for hours about his wartime experiences. He had a kind heart and was a good
man. You’re trying to tell me he just snapped?”

“They all did. All except Alex Tifton. There’s no doubt
they’ve snapped. The proof is in front of you. I was hoping you could tell me
why. I was also hoping you could tell me why Alex didn’t.”

“I still can’t believe Peter was capable of what you’re
showing me. It really doesn’t make any sense.”

“Would any of them be capable?” asked Ryan. “Because I
don’t believe Peter killed that woman in Syracuse either, but I do believe one
of them did. If you had to choose, who would it be?”

“Ryan, it’s just my opinion,” replied Kristina. “You
can’t take my word for it. I mean, I’m a scientist, not an FBI agent.”

“I understand. But you know more about these men than we
do. So right now I’m just asking for your best guess.”

“Joshua Bell,” answered Kristina. “He was different from
the others. He was much more aggressive and would even bully the security
guards posted in the lab. Sometimes he tried to make it look like a joke, but
he would provoke them so he could show off his abilities. One guard had enough
and took a step toward him. Before any of us could say a word, he had him on
the ground. I thought he was going to kill him. Derek knelt down and whispered
something in his ear and Joshua let go. He helped the terrified man to his feet
and started laughing as if he was playing around. But we all knew differently.
If Derek hadn’t had been there, I think he’d have really hurt the guard.”

“I received a phone call right before we arrived at the
house last night from my boss,” said Ryan. “You had a pretty rough day, so I
didn’t tell you the reason for the call. I wanted you to get some rest.”

“Okay, I’m rested. Go ahead.”

“You’re wanted in connection with these murders,” said
Ryan.

“You’re joking, right?”

“I’m afraid not. I was informed you were in a
relationship with Joshua for several months and you may know his location. I
was also told you may be assisting them in some way because of that
relationship. Now, I obviously don’t believe that’s the case. But I was
wondering why they might have chosen to name Joshua as your boyfriend.”

“It wasn’t for his lack of trying, Ryan. That’s another
reason why I suspect he’s responsible for the brutality in those photos. There
was hardly a session that went by where he didn’t try to make a move. After
several turndowns, he seemed to get easily angry with me. He’d say things that
made me uncomfortable, but I never reported it. I just wrote it off as some
kind of Marine bravado, but I did make sure we were never alone. I can only
describe it as a creepy feeling.”

“Did the others make advances toward you or any other women
at the lab?” asked Ryan.

“No, not at all,” she responded. “I even think Derek
picked up on the situation and kept a closer eye on me.”

“How so?”

“Well, he also made sure Joshua and I were never alone.
Like I told you, most of the men around me think I’m frail. I guess Derek was
no different. Peter, Richard, and Alex thought the same. They’d look after me
like big brothers.”

“Did you guys ever go off the compound?”

“Once,” replied Kristina. “It was my birthday, and they
wanted to take me to dinner. Other than the creepy vibe from Joshua, they
really were great guys. We had a few drinks at the bar after dinner, and if a
guy even looked at me, he had five big Marines circling him. I don’t have any
siblings. It was kind of sweet the way they looked out for me.”

“Well, you’re about to have another group of guys
looking out for you,” said Ryan. “My team and I can’t risk exposing you by
hanging around. There’s a possibility the bad guys may try to keep an eye on us
as well.”

“Another group of FBI agents?”

“No,” said Ryan. “A close friend of mine from my Marine days
now owns a security firm. They’re all ex-military and mainly do contract work
for the government overseas. He’s the man responsible for the jet that picked
us up in Richmond, the security system Dallas is installing, and a few other
critical items. I trust him with my life. He knows everything, including you
being wanted by my own agency. His team will be here later this evening.”

Tom returned to the house with several bags of breakfast
food. Ryan brought him and Michelle up to speed on the conversation he was
having with Kristina. He instructed them to spend the rest of the morning with
her working on Richard Elliot’s profile. Dallas completed the security system
installation and tested her panic button. Everything was in working order. The
entire group sat at the dining room table, attempting to enjoy the meal.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Ryan, taking his last bites.
“Scott wanted me to ask you about Colonel Marcus Brown. He said you weren’t a
big fan.”

“No, I wasn’t,” she said. “He’s another one of the
reasons why I left the project. And it’s not because of what he did to me. It’s
because of what he was doing to them. I’d hear the speeches and pep talks he’d
give them when it came time for them to sign waivers on a new round of
experimental therapy.”

“Waivers?” asked Dallas.

“Yes. They have to consent to every new procedure we
introduce. There are guidelines to human testing set up by the U.S. Department
of Health and Human Services. The Michaels Laboratory itself was subject to
unscheduled visits by investigators from a Congressional Oversight Committee.
We operated under very strict rules and regulations. Colonel Brown did everything
in his power to bypass those rules. He wanted maximum results in much shorter
periods of time.”

“Dallas, let’s do a little digging and find out more
about the security group assigned to the lab,” said Ryan. “Michelle, any luck
on the phone records and IDs from our two dumpster divers in Baltimore?”

“Not yet,” responded Michelle. “It usually takes a few
hours, but add a couple more since I’m circumventing normal channels at the Bureau.
I should have an answer shortly.”

“Good,” said Ryan. “We need to know who they are and
who’s giving the orders. Tom, I’d like for you to stay with Kristina and go
over some of the more technical questions about her work at the lab. You’re the
biggest nerd on the team, so I need you to absorb it and then dumb it down for
me when I get back. Also, get a preliminary profile created on Elliot. He still
needs to be our primary focus while we’re conducting our own investigations on
the side.”

“Will do, Boss.”

“Let’s keep our eyes and ears open,” said Ryan. “I have
a funny feeling this town is going to get more crowded the closer we get to
Elliot. I want to know who everyone is that decides to show up at the party.”

Richard Elliot was on his knees with his head over a
large bucket quickly filling with blood. The average human body holds roughly
ten pints. He consumed over six of hers. His own body was rejecting the massive
amount of metallic tasting liquid refusing to settle in his stomach. A final
wave of nausea passed through and he rolled onto the floor exhausted after
wiping his mouth with a crimson rag. He forced himself to look over at the
drained body of his last meal.

The burst of endorphins and adrenaline which coursed
through his veins as he tore into her flesh were subsiding. The reality of what
he did to the beautiful young woman was replacing the euphoria of the kill.
Richard began convulsing and crying as he looked into her lifeless blue eyes
only a few feet away.

He saw the large hole in the side of her neck where he
ripped through her skin with his teeth to start his feeding. He kept her alive
as long as possible so her beating heart would force the blood out of her body
and into his. When her heart mercifully stopped, he sucked harder to bring more
fluid to the wound. After the first source was depleted, he used his clawed
hands to punch into her abdominal cavity to remove her blood engorged liver.
With his insatiable thirst still unsatisfied, he used rags to absorb any fluid
left inside her open torso and squeezed the last few ounces of her into his
mouth.

He didn’t disembowel and consume her out of unbridled
rage or sick ritual. In the chaos of his mind, her body was just a vessel that
held the substance he craved. In the chaos of his mind, the woman he abducted
was merely a container. If he was a junkie, she was a porcelain doll stuffed
with heroin. But what he craved was the blood running through her veins.

As he lay at her side crying, he welcomed the pain
shooting through every electrified nerve as his grotesque clawed hands and
fangs began receded back into his body. The swollen blue veins under the pale
skin of his face and neck started disappearing beneath the surface. It would
take several minutes for his features to return to their familiar human color
and tone. His fangs retracted quickly into the roof of his mouth, but it would
take another several minutes for the elongated bones of his fingers to be
reabsorbed into his hands. The process was excruciating.

After thirty minutes, he slowly rose to his feet, unable
to look directly at her anymore. He took his false teeth out of a small plastic
container and pushed them into place. The people responsible for his
transformation didn’t take into account that the spaces needed for the fangs to
fully deploy were already occupied by teeth. During the first mutation, the
pain was so intense the teeth had to immediately be removed. Shortly after the
first episode, they tried to remove the fangs. They grew back stronger four
weeks later.

Richard pulled himself together and walked into the
backyard of the abandoned house located in the middle of the still deserted
Lower Ninth Ward in New Orleans. When the levees failed during Hurricane
Katrina, the house he eventually turned into his lair was under six feet of
water. Even though there were efforts to rebuild the devastated area, Richard
was isolated for over a mile in every direction. Curfews were still in effect,
and it was only on a rare occasion a patrol car or survey crew passed within a
hundred yards. His keen senses greatly enhanced by the genetic alterations
alerted him to any presence. Richard could easily avoid detection and was free
from any interruption for weeks at a time.

Under a full moon, he walked into the shack behind the
house. He lit a small lantern inside the musty building. He reached down and
pulled up plywood covering the dirt floor. Richard started digging the fourth
hole located beside the three already occupied graves of his other victims. An
overwhelming sense of guilt surged through him with every thrust of the shovel
into the hard earth. There was little remorse while he selected, hunted,
abducted, and drained the life out of his defenseless prey. The guilt and
remorse didn’t manifest itself until after he satisfied his uncontrollable urge
to feed.

On the same day every six weeks, Richard Elliot would
wake up shaking like a junkie needing a fix. No other emotion or craving would
occupy his mind except the desire to taste human blood. Even the powerful daily
quest for self-preservation escaped his thoughts as he focused on his
addiction. It was an addiction he wasn’t born with or acquired a taste for over
the years. It was an addiction created at the Michaels Laboratory and delivered
to his brain stem by a manufactured virus.