“I saw him kill my boyfriend,” she replies.
“Ugh, get over it,” the woman says.
Becky cocks her head
to one side - "
Huh
?" - and then she dies.
The woman casually strolls past Becky's collapsing frame. Her hips swing like a pendulum. She discards her handful of the girl's throat and licks her fingers.
Still dazed and on his knees, Jack shakes his head.
The woman stops before the senior citizen - “You'll thank me for this if there's an afterlife” - then takes a fistful of the old man's silvery hair, yanks back his head and slashes his throat with a swipe of a long fingernail.
Wiley's stands rooted to the spot. His mouth is agape, his eyes are wide and the words 'what the fuck' are prominent in his thoughts. He can barely comprehend what he's seeing. First Amanda and Jeff, and now this person. He feels like he's hitched a ride on a train bound straight for Hell.
Jack clutches his throat. Blood gushes between his fingers and runs down his neck. He looks up at the woman, tries to say something, but the only thing to leave his mouth is a crimson spill.
The woman stares dispassionately at the old man, then lets go of his hair.
Jack remains on his knees for a few moments, then falls forward.
The woman approaches Wiley. Her nostrils flare. “You haven't seen her.”
Wiley shifts uncomfortably. “Maybe I have.” He finds the woman's accent odd. She sounds kind of American, yet doesn't. Maybe she's Canadian.
The woman's unblinking stare bores straight through Wiley's skull. “No. You haven't. You're of no use to me.”
Wiley doubts he has ever saw anyone more beautiful than the ice-maiden standing before him. He reckons she could stare down a volcano with those pale gray eyes, and kiss a grizzly bear into
submission with those perfectly shaped lips. She's not particularly tall - standing roughly five foot eleven in what appears to be four inch heels - but every curve, every bump crammed into those sexy tight black jeans and dark blue, lace-trimmed tank top, is impeccably proportioned.
He believes she could be the eighth natural wonder of the World.
“Are you going to put your little knife in me?” she asks.
Wiley doesn't know what to say. He's feeling immensely intimidated by this incredible, deadly woman. “I- I dunno. Do you want me to?”
He can't believe he's just said that. What a stupid fucking line.
The end door behind Wiley suddenly opens, which can only mean one thing: Amanda has arrived. He hopes Ice-Maiden and Amanda-the-thing aren't together. That would be extremely fucked up.
The woman pushes Wiley to one side and strolls towards the disheveled looking newcomer. "Didn't anyone ever tell you you're supposed to knock before you enter a room?"
Relief washes over Wiley. Clearly these two have never met. A pity that one killing the other will only solve half the problem.
The Amanda-Thing curls its fingers around a full-length handrail. It glares at the approaching woman through tight black eyes.
“You couldn't scare me if I gave a damn,” the woman says.
The Amanda-Thing lashes out.
The woman seizes the Amanda-Thing's attacking limb and twists it until it dislocates at the shoulder.
A low rattling sound escapes the Amanda-Thing's throat.
It slashes with its other hand.
The woman snatches her assailant's remaining functional arm and pushes it against the handrail. There's a loud snap, and a large shard of bone pierces the skin at the elbow pit.
A loud shriek tears through the car.
Clearly aggravated by the Amanda-Thing's volume, the woman says, "For fucksake," then rams its head through the nearest window. That not being punishment enough, she drags its face across the jagged glass at the bottom of the frame then snaps its neck.
The Amanda-Thing slides off the seat below the window and flops to the floor. Its face is full of broken glass. Dark fluid oozes from its wounds.
Wiley staggers from the driver's cabin; feels like throwing up. He's saw some crazy shit in his time - perpetrated much of it.
But that
...
The woman approaches him. Her layered mahogany hair flows freely across her shoulders.
Wiley points his knife at her. “Keep the fuck away from me!” His hand is shaking. “I mean it. You're fuckin' crazy!”
“I prefer Laura to crazy.” She stops a mere few inches in front of Wiley; can feel his trembling breath disturb the air in front of her face.
Wiley drives his knife into Laura's stomach - watches her face light up with surprise - then removes it, disbelieving he actually got away with the move.
Laura stares at the wound. When she looks back up, her eyes are on fire. She sneers - "You just ruined my top" - then grips Wiley by the throat.
Wiley thrusts again with the knife, but this time Laura prevents him from wounding her.
“You do realize it hurts when you do that,” she says.
... And then she snaps his wrist.
Wiley screams. His right eyelid begins to rapidly twitch. The knife drops from his hand and clatters to the floor.
Laura digs her thumbnail into Wiley's throat and punctures flesh. Blood spurts from the wound.
Wiley's continuing scream becomes choked. He tries to free himself from Laura's grip. But it's no use. This woman is well on her way to killing him. His vision starts to cloud over.
Laura watches with fascination. It never fails to amaze her how fiercely most people fight to retain their pathetic existence. She notices the involuntary movement of the young man's eyelid - “Here, let me fix that for you” - then drives the index finger of her other hand into the eye socket.
An agonized wail squeezes its way past Wiley's constricted throat.
Laura continues to push her finger into the socket. The eye punctures completely, spilling aqueous humor down her victim's cheek.
Wiley falls to his knees. His entire body violently spasms and his bladder loosens, and then he collapses onto his side, twitching.
Laura squats beside Wiley's quivering body and wipes her hands on his shirt. “I don't gain any pleasure from your suffering.” She lays a hand on his head and runs her fingers through his dirty blonde hair. “Your body has went into shock. It'll all be over soon.”
Wiley gurgles. Blood runs from his open mouth and leaks from the wound on his throat.
Laura notices the crucifix around Wiley's neck. She stands upright - “Be with your God now” - then turns and walks away.
Through his remaining eye, Wiley watches the woman leave. The door at the end of the aisle is locked due to the engaging of the emergency brake, but it isn't a problem for her. She somehow forces it open.
No sooner has she gone, he hears movement, like shuffling, then the sound of broken glass crunching underfoot.
The Amanda-Thing comes lurching into view. Its torn pink top and dark wash jeans are stained with inky fluid. It shuffles down the aisle like a badly operated string-bound marionette. Its head is hung low and its face is obscured behind a lengthy tangle of dark brown hair.
The lights in the car briefly flicker
.
Wiley whimpers. He finds and holds his crucifix; prays for death to come before the Amanda-Thing reaches him. To his dismay, that doesn't happen (perhaps God has abandoned him due to his numerous transgressions), and the strange, demonic woman is soon standing over his still beating, still breathing body.
The Amanda-Thing jerks its right shoulder, snapping its dislocated arm into place. It then swings its limply hanging, broken left arm in front of its torso. There's a clicking sound, and the arm retains its position in front of its body. Slowly, it lowers the appendage. No longer is there a shard of bone jutting out through the elbow pit. After a few seconds, a small piece of glass drops from behind its hair and bounces off one of its pumps.
Wiley tightens his grip on the crucifix and squeezes shut his eye. He listens to the sound of several more pieces of glass fall to the floor. Eventually, the sounds stop, and all he can hear is the frantic beating of his own heart. He lies there for almost a minute before curiosity gets the better of him and he's forced to take a look. To his horror, the Amanda-Thing is on its hands and knees, and staring straight into his face through its freakish eyes.
His bloodcurdling screams travel the length of several cars.
*
The train pulls to a stop in the middle of the subway tunnel.
Michael pulls on the handle of the end door. It's locked. He can easily force it open if he wants, but decides this is a golden opportunity to confront an unforgettable part of his past without interruption.
He turns.
The thing in the form of a man - apparently named Jeff - is standing at the midway point of the aisle, glaring at him through reptilian looking eyes.
“There are so many things I want to know about you,” Michael says.
The Jeff-Thing digs its nails into its sweater and tears it apart, revealing a lean, muscular torso. Its mouth widens into a black, toothless grin.
Michael wonders what's going to happen next when a rapping sound comes from behind.
It's Amber, peering through one of the glass panels on the door opposite.
“I'm okay,” Michael says with his voice raised. “Just stay there. Keep those people safe.” He turns away from her, not wanting to keep his back to a potential threat for any longer than is necessary.
The Jeff-Thing discards its sweater then uses the thumbnail of its right hand to make a deep score in its chest. It cuts itself from
pectoral to naval. A thick, black, lusterless substance quickly spreads from the opening, and coats its entire body like a second skin.
It's a sight that sets Michael's nerves on edge. Despite it still having on jeans and sneakers, this was exactly how this thing looked on the harried streets of London many decades ago.
“Ask,” the Jeff-Thing says.
Michael is surprised to hear the creature – or whatever it is - speak, but doesn't hesitate to do as requested. “What did you do to the girl?”
The Jeff-Thing takes a few moments to answer. “Isn't there something else you'd rather know first?”
There's something about the Jeff-Thing's voice that unsettles Michael. It isn't obviously sinister … and yet it is.
“... like how I got here?” the Jeff-Thing continues. “What I am? My name?”
“I'm not interested,” Michael says.
“Oh, but you are,” The Jeff-Thing replies. “I know you better than you know yourself.”
Michael clenches his fists. “I'll give you one last chance to tell me what happened to the girl.”
The Jeff-Thing points at Michael. “
You
happened to the girl, Levagnion. Just like you happened to the first one.”
Overcome by anger, Micheal rushes the creature. Moments later, it flops to the floor with a broken neck.
Michael stands over the Jeff-Thing's body, his fists still curled into balls. He didn't find that satisfying. Not by a long shot. “Get up. I know you're not dead.
You'd better not be fucking dead
.”
Amber's calling to him again. Her voice is muffled. He can't make out what she's saying.
“It's okay - I'm okay,” he calls back to her.
The Jeff-Thing's body twitches, then rolls onto its back. Something begins pushing its way out of its mouth.
It's a snake.
Michael stares at the emerging serpent with a mixture of alarm and disbelief. He starts to back away from it.
The snake slithers across the Jeff-Thing's arm, towards Michael. Its eyes glimmer with malice.
Michael glances briefly over his shoulder. He's running out of aisle. He looks back at the serpent. It's not like any snake he's ever seen. It's almost five foot long and completely black, with a thick red stripe extending from snout to tail.
Sensing it has its prey right where it wants it, the snake rears itself as high as it can go. Its underbelly is bright yellow.
Michael readies himself. A bite from a regular snake, no matter how venomous, can't kill him. This, however, is no ordinary snake, and he has no idea what the consequences from a bite might be.
The snake springs suddenly.
Michael reacts at lightning speed. He catches the serpent mid-flight - directly under its head – then quickly sets about exerting pressure behind its jaws.
The snake's mouth is forced open, revealing a set of formidable looking fangs.
“You call that fangs?” Michael says. “I'll show you fucking fangs.”
He pulls the snake's body taught then sinks his teeth into it. Foul tasting fluid spurts into his mouth. It brings back unpleasant memories of London.
He rips a chunk out of the snake then spits it aside. The taste is so bad he almost gags.
The serpent writhes in his grip for several seconds before going limp.
He drops its body to the floor then wipes his mouth.