Adermoor Cove: Dissolved Girl - 6. Chapter 6

Ramona stretched, first her arms and then her legs. She yawned. Lane thought of the way a cat stretches after it takes a short cat nap. Only this isn't one of those little docile house cats, he thought. This is a big cat. This is a fucking lion.

The blanket wrapped around her chest fell away to reveal her breasts. There were scars on her belly, from where glass had cut into her when the bear had dragged her through the kitchen window back at the Sterling house.

Lane resisted the urge to look away. Now was not the time to worry about modesty or personal preference. He needed to keep his focus on her at all times, because just looking away for one second could get everyone in the room killed. Lane didn't want to take any chances, not even with Carlos and Nichols standing just outside the room.

Ramona looked at him with those inhuman eyes, black as tar. Somewhere within those colorless depths Lane could sense real human emotions, but he couldn’t be quite sure what those emotions were. He knew Ramona - the real Ramona - was in there, but the question was whether he could pull the darkness out of her. Once again he was in unfamiliar territory. In the past there had only been one way to end the darkness.

As they examined each other, another thought struck Lane: If I can save her, it will be one less dead body weighing on my soul. Also if I save her it means there was a chance I could save the others as well. Dad, Charlie, Brendan, and Ted.

Ramona pointed her head towards the ceiling and sniffed. Her nostrils flared. She smiled as if he’d just shared some dreadful secret she found funny and said, “I can smell the blood of your filthy forefather, Henry Stanton, running through your veins.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust and she spat out a large wad of saliva at Lane’s feet. “It smells like shit.”

“You don’t smell so good yourself.” Lane glanced at Moira out of the corner of his eye. She had her cell phone out and was pointing the camera at them; somehow she was managing to keep her hands steady.

Ramona giggled.

Lane decided to start asking her questions. The more he could keep her talking the more footage Moira would get and the more information he could find out. Even if they couldn't save Ramona - and he would do everything in his power to try - he didn't want to walk away with nothing.

"What are you? You're nothing like the others I've encountered before. You're more sophisticated, stronger."

Ramona's eyes glittered with what might have been enthusiasm, the way a serial killer might be enthusiastic to talk about their methods for preying on innocent people. "The dark king has given me a gift. He has made me into something more. I'm still Ramona" - she flicked a longing glance in Moira's direction before turning back to Lane. "It's hard to explain in words. To know what I'm talking about you have to experience it for yourself. The others, however, are nothing like me. They are mindless beasts. Rabid. Their only purpose is to infect whoever they get their hands on. They do not possess memories or emotions like I do."

"What does your master want?"

Ramona giggled girlishly. "Isn't it obvious? What every parasite wants. To be. To rule. To engulf. Right now he is simply too weak, but he won't be for very long."

Lane barely managed to repress a shiver. "What happened? Why is he so weak?"

"Because of Henry-fucking-Stanton!" Ramona spat. Her face turned into a mask of the purest hate. "He and the colonists he brought with him came to this island from Britain when no one else lived here, but the wildlife and the natives born on its soil. They started tearing down the trees to build their homes, their little town."

Images started to form in Lane's mind. He imagined Henry and the other colonists sailing to the island that was now Adermoor Cove, seeking the grand opportunity, the fresh start, only to discover the island wasn't as uninhabited as they thought.

Ramona continued to tell the story. The chief of the tribe of natives made contact with Henry. At first things started peacefully. A truce was agreed upon: Henry could build his colony as long as they didn't start tearing down the trees in their territory. The chief was fascinated with Henry and his people, for the technology of the British at the time was far more advanced than the tribe's. As a gesture of goodwill, the chief invited Henry and a party of his men to his tribe.

There the chief taught Henry and his men about the tribe's culture. The chief told them about the god they worshipped, who lived within the soil of the island. The chief took Henry to meet the tribe's god, who dwelled within a magic cave; this cave could appear and disappear at will.

Henry Stanton, a gifted man of seeing and sensing what other men could not, did not like the cave or go into it. The chief threatened Henry to step into the cave or he would kill the colonists. When Henry refused a fight broke out, for the chief had planned an ambush. Unprepared, Henry's men lost.

"The chief offered up Henry's men as a sacrifice to my king," said Ramona.

"They were infected," said Lane.

Ramona nodded. "But Henry escaped before it was his turn to go into the cave. Before the natives could catch him, Henry made it back to the colony and warned his people. The chief knew a war was coming and he knew they would not win the war against the British due to their superior technology, so the chief asked my king for favor, and favor my king gave."

Which is how the plague came to be, Lane thought. It was all coming together now, at least enough he thought he could fit the rest of the puzzle pieces together.

"Still, Henry won," said Lane.

Ramona nodded. "It was a massacre. Henry and his men killed anyone who became infected with my king's gift. After the chief and all the tribe's men had been killed - men, women, and children - they were thrown in a mass grave and burned. Henry went to the cave to face my lord. He managed to defeat my king but not kill him. Over the past few centuries Henry and his offspring have been at war with my king. My master has risen, only to be defeated, and rise again. But now you are the last, Lane Hardy, and this time he will not be defeated."

Lane had had enough of this conversation. It's time to end this one way or another, he thought. He was aware of the others still standing outside the cell, still watching, still listening, hoping he would save the day.

Trying to be the good guy is a shitty job, he thought. But someone's gotta do it.

"Are you able to communicate with him?" Lane asked.

"Yes," Ramona said slowly. Lane thought he detected reluctance in her voice. "He can look through my eyes and hear through my ears whenever he wants."

"Is he listening now?"

"No," she said a little too quickly.

"I want to talk with him. I want to meet him face to face."

Ramona's eyes widened in surprise and perhaps fear. She whispered, "Why would you want that?"

"Can you do it?" Lane persisted. "Can you summon him?"

"Yes." She was growing more distressed now, her voice tight with fear. The blanket fell from her waist, showing the visible ridges of ribs beneath skin stretched tight and pale as rubber, due to malnutrition. If Ramona didn't die tonight, then it wouldn't be long before her body shut down from starvation. "But I don't want to."

Lane felt like he was finally onto something, like he was reaching Ramona. The real Ramona. "Why not?"

She shuddered. Tears began to fall down her cheeks, leaving trails of white from where they washed away the dirt. "Because I'm afraid of what he'll do." Ramona was sobbing now. She buried her face in her grimy hands.

Part of Lane was tempted to draw back from the interrogation, another part knew he couldn't. He had to keep pushing. For Moira, for Ramona herself.

"If you're listening, fucker," he hissed, "I'm right here. Show yourself."

"No," Ramona moaned from behind her hands. "Please, don't…Not with Moira in the room."

"C'mon." Lane's hands were clenched into fists; he was so focused intently on Ramona he didn't feel the sting of his nails biting into the soft flesh of his palms. "Come on you son of a bitch."

"Lane, no," Moira whispered, still recording the scene with her phone, but Lane didn't hear her. For the moment only Ramona and he existed. He was lost in his rage for the entity that had ruined his life beyond repair.

"COME ON YOU SON OF A BITCH!" he roared.

The effect was immediate, as if a switch had been thrown. Ramona’s hands dropped from her face. Her back and shoulders stiffened, straight as a board. Her head snapped back so hard, so abruptly, the crackle of bone was audible. Every bone stood out visible against her paper-white flesh. Her eyes were wide, but in them Lane could see the presence of Ramona was gone. Something else had taken over. Lane could feel the familiar presence of its power, of its age. Somehow he knew it had existed long before the birth of the first human.

Ramona was scary enough by herself, but the sudden appearance of the parasite taking control of her skin, using her like a puppet, frightened Lane more than words could describe. The interior of the cell, already quite cramped, was closing in around them. It was too small. He felt like he was being crushed. He stared at the Ramona with wide eyes, paralyzed in mind and body with fear. Now that the parasite was here he had no idea what to do.

Ramona opened her mouth and let out a piercing wail. The sound coming from her throat could not be produced by human vocal cords. The sound battered Lane’s ears, reverberating through his body. He clamped his hands over his ears but there was no blocking the terrible scream. It was a scream of rage, of pain, and he couldn’t stand it.

Lane managed to stay on his feet. With his ears ringing in agony, he begged Carlos and Nichols - someone, please someone, I don’t care, just get me away from this thing - to let him out of the cell.

Carlos was fumbling with the keys, when the thing using Ramona’s skin screamed, “NO!” in a voice that sounded like metal scraping against metal. With superhuman strength, she grabbed Lane by the back of his coat and flung him against the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Before he could register what had happened, Ramona had him by the throat and was lifting him off his feet with a single hand.

“Die,” the dark parasite said. Her hand was closing tighter around Lane’s throat, cutting off the air. Already he was beginning to see stars, to fade out. All over her body, Ramona’s body was writhing. There were living things moving underneath her skin.

The cell door flew open and Carlos came running into the cell. He took aim, and fired. The report of the gun going off filled the whole cell. The bullet took Ramona in the shoulder. Instead of blood, viscous black fluid poured from the wound. Ramona turned her head and snarled at Carlos but did not release Lane.

Suddenly Lane could feel the tide rolling through his body. He shaped it into a fist and lashed out at Ramona with it. A wall of kinetic energy slammed into Ramona, sent her sprawling on the floor. Lane fell to his knees, hacking, sucking in breath desperately. He forced himself to get on his feet just as Ramona was doing the same. Carlos stood behind her, gun still pointed at Ramona. Smoke billowed from the muzzle of his standard issue 9.mm. Lane’s nose was burned by the smell of gunpowder.

Once again, Lane was lost in the tide. It was as if he had become a different person, a different being. With the tide, he reached out to Ramona. Ramona, I know you’re in there. I can sense you. I need you to fight him. Don’t give in. Fight this fucker!

Ramona clutched her head with both hands. She made a sickening retching sound, bent over, and threw up some of the nasty black fluid on the floor. Parasites, the same parasites the bear that had dragged Ramona away in the first place, squirmed helplessly within the tarlike puddle. “I can’t,” she sobbed in her normal voice. “Just kill me now.”

I’m getting through to her, Lane thought. I can’t give up on her now. Again he reached out, took Ramona in the grip of the tide. His eyes glowed with a bright white light, the opposite of her dark jewels. He could feel the dark parasite still inside of her. Somehow Ramona had regained control but it was only for a moment; it wouldn’t be long before it regained its hold on her.

With the hold of the tide still on her, he reached inside Ramona with his mind, where he could feel the darkness struggling the way a worm on a hook struggles. The entity was screaming through her mouth again, in fear, in agony, as Lane pushed himself harder than he had ever pushed before to tear it from Ramona’s body. The stains of a familiar looking, mossy substance was spreading across the walls of the cell. Carlos smartly stepped back, gesturing for Moira, Nichols, and Melvin to do the same.

Lane was in his own pain. Someone was hammering nails into his eyes. He could feel blood flowing from his nose. He knew there was a danger to pushing himself too hard. Just a little more, he thought, just a little more.

The parasite was putting up a mental fight, but its resistance was already slipping once more. It needed more power, more time to build its strength. Lane pushed and pushed and pushed. Like a fist gripping the pulsing muscle of a heart, he began to squeeze and pull, a surgeon cutting away a tumor. Blood ran past his mouth and chin. He could literally feel his brain hemorrhaging.

I can’t do this much longer. Ramona, help me, damn you! Help me get this piece of shit out!

And then he felt her pushing, just as he was pulling. She was vomiting up spurts after spurts of the black gunk, her face red with strain. The stains, which had begun to spread along the wall and creeping towards the ceiling began to recede and fall apart, like molecules disintegrating.

He sensed the darkness leave her. Where it went, he didn’t know, didn’t care. It meant he could let go now, before his brain turned to mush. She was coughing it up almost by the bucketloads. He wondered just how much of her body could contain it. She was surrounded by wriggling masses of parasites that died almost as soon as they hit the floor.

God, Lane thought. What a fucking mess.

The coppery taste of blood was strong on his tongue. His head was stuffy, felt full of air. He wanted to sit down. He went to sit on one of the beds but missed the mark, and went down on the floor instead. Luckily he didn’t fall in any of the black shit.

Ramona had stopped retching. Her eyes were wide...and blue. They weren’t black anymore. Which meant he had cured her. Saved her. Well, assuming she didn’t die from starvation first. But a victory was a victory; there was one less dead person weighing on his conscience.

Moira hovered in the entrance while Carlos swaddled Ramona in fresh blankets and helped her out of the cell. Moira was sobbing, her face red and puffy. Whether she was crying in fear or relief or both Lane couldn’t tell, didn’t care. He just knew it was a matter of seconds before he slipped into unconsciousness. Still, he wanted to hang onto the moment as long as he could. It was a good one, a moment to be proud of. Over the past year these kind of moments had come few and far between.

Now that she was fully human once again, Ramona couldn’t move on her own without support. Carlos gently set her in a chair, made sure she was okay and sufficiently covered with blankets, and went to Lane. He looked concerned, even afraid as he knelt down.

“Why the long face?” Lane asked in a slurred voice. “I did good, right? She’s back.”

“Yes,” Carlos said, “you did good. And there’s blood all over your face. That can’t be good. You pushed yourself too hard.”

“I’ll live.” He was exhausted, so exhausted. He was sinking, sinking, and he didn’t have the strength to stay afloat. “I do feel like I could sleep for a year, though.”

Then he closed his eyes and went to sleep.