Page 39 of Gluttony
What the hell?
The torch failed and darkness engulfed them, but the squiggling lines had burned into her retina. She couldn’t unsee them. Squeezing her eyes shut, she shook her head, as though to smack sense back into her mind, for what she’d glimpsed had not been logical. Black slithering vines massed over the entire tunnel. Above their heads, on the sides… perhaps below. Gathering her wits, she smacked the torch until it worked. The scientist’s hand shadowed his squinting eyes under the glare of her spotlight.
“We should go back,” he said, unaware of what was amassing behind him. “I lost my torch, and yours is fault—“
The scientist froze, body going board stiff. Behind his misted spectacles, his eyes widened in panic.
“What is it?” she hissed, but he didn’t answer. He was petrified, arms pinned to his side, fingers balled into fists from fear, or something else.
Why wasn’t he moving?
“Bosch,” she hissed. “What…” Terror stole her words. Thin tendrils appeared from beneath the collar of his shirt, as though they’d been inside his clothing the entire time, climbing, slithering up his torso.
Bosch had mentioned earlier that the plant had a natural poison. It was supposed to wrap a tendril around any sinner who got too close and numb them. She hadn’t thought the toxin was selective, she’d thought it was always there, but Wayne Bosch wasn’t stunned or petrified as each little squirming spike slid up his neck, over his jaw and onto his face. He struggled against the vines, even when the tendrils entered his mouth… his nostrils… his ears.
Could the plant enjoy watching its prey squirm? Could it use its toxin selectively?
The scientist’s spectacles fell with a splash.
A scream froze in Despair’s throat. She backed up.
Bosch gurgled, mumbled, choked, but the vines soon filled his mouth.
She didn’t know what to do. She should help him, shouldn’t she?
But the plant… the one she’d helped escape was wrapping itself around him, slowly making him disappear as though it were bandages and he the mummy.
One foot back, then another, she backed up. She should run. Forget about the scientist. But Julius insisted she had to end this.
Choking wet sounds filled her ears, and she lifted her hands to cover them, but she still held onto her torch. She couldn’t keep out the disgusting wet sucking sounds. All she could do was watch in horror as the man disappeared while the plant fed. Its writhing vines and tentacles and leaves growing plumper by the second, filling with the lifeblood of a man as it became one with it.
There was no telling how many creatures this thing had absorbed while hunting between the black site and here. It had started out as a simple plant in the lab. Security footage showed it eating rats, physically morphing in shape, and then crawling out of the black site. The creature had taken on characteristics and mannerisms of its prey, mimicking them, becoming something else, something unbiased towards sinners, and just hungry.
Wayne Bosch was no longer. There was no husk this time. All that remained was a coiling collection of vines shaped like a man, and when the thing approached Despair, she flattened herself against the brick wall. She reached for her sword, but something stopped her. The moment she’d moved, the sense of despair flared in her gut. Slowly, she lowered her hand from the hilt of her sword and returned her fist to her side. Hoping against all hope that she would survive, she held her breath and tried not to whimper as a tendril unfurled itself from the being and came toward her face. A scream gurgled in her throat as it brushed against her cheek. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold her breath steady, but all she wanted to do was lose the contents of her stomach. When she next opened her eyes, the creature was gone, as was its despair because it was free.
Thirteen
Tony walked homefrom Hudson House, sucking on a raspberry slushie and kicking an empty can at parked cars lining the well-to-do city street. With his baseball cap down low to obscure his face, he’d meandered the time away with no wayward fans or paparazzi mobbing him. He drained the slushie with big slurps.
He would rather drink something else, tastesomeoneelse. Bailey’s hot, curvy body entered his mind. Again. For the zillionth time that walk. The entire morning with her had been filled with arms brushing against each other, body heat jumping from skin to skin, a casual smile thrown his way. He’d craved no one so much. But the woman who gave him a great morning, had also made him feel two inches tall. She thought he was making fun of her, when in fact, it had been the opposite.
When his feet brought him back in line with his can, he booted it with renewed vigor. The tiny metal projectile went airborne, spun, and hit the side of a slick black Maserati.
The alarm went off.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Could his day get any worse?
“Hey, dickhead,” someone shouted from behind him, but he had no fucks to give. He ignored studiously and kept walking until a police sirenwhoop-whooped. Fuck! He threw his head back and roared his frustration, staring at the darkening sky, only then realizing he’d been walking aimlessly for most of the day. He gripped the slushie, ready to launch it.
“Get off the road, you big lug!” came a feminine voice from the cop car behind him, and for the first time all afternoon, he relaxed.
Finally. Something going his way. Pivoting, he came face to face with Liza as she climbed out of her unmarked detective’s car.
“What the hell are you doing?” She glanced around the tree-lined street, probably looking for his imaginary friends. “Having a pity party for one?”
An affluent couple walking their Japanese Spitz down the sidewalk stopped to watch the excitement. Out of habit, Tony ducked his head to avoid being recognized. He growled at his sister, “How did you know where I was?”
“All of us have microdot trackers on our cells.”
