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DEMON CLEANER Part Two: Heaven turns to Hell ... written by Amygdala
Part 2: ... Heaven turns to Hell ...
Two days after news of the murders hit the headlines, the Massachusetts Academy seemed to have lost a good third of its students. Those that remained on campus existed in a state of shock, infected by glimpses of the horror seen on the news. No one knew the exact details of what had happened within room 23 but everyone knew it had something to do with Satanic rituals, perverted sex and heavy metal music.
<That Scotty - who’d have thought it? And his poor girlfriend. They always seemed so happy together>
<I sat next to him in Math. I mean, MATH! That’s like sitting next to Ed Gein in English, or something.>
<He was into some weird shit, y’know? All that ouija-hocus-pocus-hoodoo crap. He was a disaster waiting to happen.>
Emma threw herself onto the bed and drew a pillow over her face, frowning hard as she tried to concentrate on anything but the voices. As tense as she was, it was nigh impossible to block out the buzzing thoughts of the students. She reached for the packet of cigarettes sitting next to her and lit one up. Perhaps she should be grateful for the respite the voices gave her - after all, anything was better than experiencing yet another flashback of Clarissa’s final moments.
Soothing nicotine spread a choking path through her lungs, smothering the stress of the last few days as it slid into her blood stream. Frost’s body relaxed, thawing into the comfort of the rich, satin sheets. It had been years since she’d last had a smoke (another bad habit she thought she’d gotten over) but the craving had overwhelmed her this morning. This was her fortieth fag of the day and, man, did it feel good!
As she unwound, so the background babble of scrabbling voices slowly abated. Emma closed her eyes and relaxed in the comfort of her own thoughts. It was just a pity those thoughts ended up revolving around the murders ... .
Emma had spent hours trying to figure out how Clarissa’s last experiences had become so firmly etched into her psyche, finally reaching the conclusion that the dead girl was a mutant. Her abilities were probably empathic in nature and the stark, raw feel of the episode indicated that the power was new to the girl (might only have been triggered by the psychological trauma of her brutal killing). The irony of the situation was not lost on Frost; here she was, sworn to protect the mutant students in her care and one of them - as secret to her as the team was to the rest of the school - ended up dying within her mind.
Yet, the girl’s death had left Emma with more than just the aftertaste of violence. At the moment their thoughts had merged the woman had been aware of all that the girl perceived, including her confused terror as something slipped in between the folds of reality. Emma shuddered involuntarily, her imagination dwelling on the vague details of her borrowed perspective. Ripples of hysteria fractured the surface of her icy reserve as she recalled the feeling of evil forming in the supernatural chill of room 23.
Evil. She’d spent the majority of her youth surrounded by evil in one form or another, from the megalomaniacal brutality of Sebastian Shaw right down to the petty spite of Empath. But, compared to the presence in that room, no one she’d ever met - not even the ageless witch Selene - could come close to approaching its level of malevolence.
The young woman rolled onto her side and stubbed out the cigarette with elegant sweeping movements of her wrist. Enthusiasm was running at an all-time low yet she forced herself off of the bed and into the shower. She’d scheduled a training session for that evening and she was determined to make it. She owed poor Clarissa that much, at least.
After checking he was alone, Jenkins dragged the heavy sack from the trunk of his car, through the corridors and into the cavernous boiler room that was his domain. Each step was agony, with the dead weight of his burden pressing down on his fragile vertebrae. He endured the jarring pain with uncustomary stoicism - even welcomed it. At least the hurt reminded him he was still human ... .
The unnatural cold of the room cooled his perspiration-drenched body to the point of hypothermia. Discarding the sack by a pile of brushes, the old man reached for the thick coat hanging behind the door and pulled it around him. Why people always associated Hell with fire, he didn’t understand.
"I did it," he grovelled, stooping over the bag. His spine suddenly locked and he winced in pain. "Don’t ask me how but I did it."
His fingers wrapped around a tuft of hair. Like an amateur magician at his first gig, the old man stood as upright as his prolapsed disc would allow and produced a severed head from the depths of the bag.
"I followed your orders to the letter," he continued as he carefully unpacked his grisly load. "Now will you let me be? Please?"
Hostile silence answered his pleas. The old man averted his eyes from the gathering shadows, kneeling down upon the concrete floor in the semblance of prayer. An intense coldness seized his temples, crushing through scalp and skull until it had engulfed his brain. Images sheathed in ice violated his thoughts. As synapses spasmed beneath the onslaught, Jenkins became aware of new instructions:
More bodies.
Four of the Academy’s ‘gifted’ element waited in the danger room for a lesson they instinctively felt would be cancelled. They’d hardly seen either of their teachers since the murders; Cassidy was far too occupied dealing with the prying media and anxious parents and Frost ... ? Well, to her students it seemed as if she was teetering on the brink of a nervous breakdown.
None of them would care to admit how much the general atmosphere of the campus had affected them but it was obvious something was very amiss - something that threatened their ability to function as a team. Angelo, Everett and Jubilee were trying to pretend that everything was still okay, their attempts at laughter sounding almost as hollow as the dull thud of the basketball they bounced between them. Detached from the game, Paige’s eyes wandered from the players to the door and back again.
"Ey, chica," Angelo taunted. "You too cool to hang with us, or what?"
Jubilee grinned. "Or are you just in mourning now tall, dark and gruesome’s signed up for the St Croix fan club?"
The young girl blushed and tried to hide her embarrassment behind a show of sarcasm. "Hardly! Ms self-important and Mr self-absorbed - a match made in Heaven!"
Everett suppressed a snort of laughter. No matter what was going on around them, there was one thing that was constant; the tragic, often farcical, on-off relationship of Paige and Jonothon. Except that Paige was involved with Tristan now and Jono had been spending a lot of time with Monet just recently ... . The humour swelled in his throat and he slammed the ball against the wall with an anger he didn’t realise he possessed.
Jealousy, maliciousness, rage - all toxic components of the grim atmosphere slowly poisoning the school. Even up here on the roof, M could feel the raw, negative emotions squirming on the air. She’d never felt so frightened in all her life, not even when she’d been her brother’s main source of sustenance. Her instinct screamed at her to fly into the night but, like it or not, she was part of a team and she couldn’t live with herself if she ran out on them.
<M ... >
The young woman smiled. <Jono, you don’t need to mother me twenty-four hours a day. You might not have noticed but I can juggle Porsches without working up a sweat. I think I will be safe up on the roof for five minutes, no?>
For the last two days, she and Jono had maintained an almost constant presence in one another’s mind - an intimacy that had managed to reduce the level of apprehension both felt but had left them gasping for a little personal space. Or so she had thought. She remembered how he’d been when she was trapped in the Penance shell - remembered he was smothering, protective.
<I know yer capabilities, gel. I also know what Frost’ll do if she catches you usin’ yer powers in public. If I were you, I’d get down to earth right now ‘cos she’s just leavin’ her gaff. See you down in the danger room ... >
Monet hurriedly launched herself into the night and descended under cover of the shadows. Clinging to the darkness took her further away from the school than she would have liked and as soon as her feet hit the ground, the girl sprinted for the door.
The corridors of the building were totally deserted, with the students that remained on campus hiding inside their rooms. Her light footsteps penetrated the cloying silence, miniature heartbeats absorbed by the hungry shadows. Monet felt the hairs on the nape of her neck rise as she succumbed to the sensation of cruel eyes peering at her from all around.
The further she walked into the nightmare that was the academy, the more her terror increased. She had to hold on ... was near the entrance to the covert underground complex ... couldn’t let the others - couldn’t let Jubilee - see her in a state of panic ... . Fear became a stabbing pain piercing her heart, goading her into a lumbering run through the empty corridors. Blinded by sweat, wheezing and spluttering like an old man with emphysema, the girl stumbled over her feet and was sent sprawling across the ground. The force of the impact jolted her back to her senses and she lay still for a moment, breathing in the sobering frigidity of the air.
Once she was certain she was back in control, Monet attempted to pick herself up off the floor, cursing as her hand slipped in a patch of water. She frowned, her fingers sifting through the sticky, organic dampness so at odds with the artificial cold of the floor. It wasn’t water, that was for sure. Tar, then? Or perhaps some spilled paint or sludge from a garbage can or -
Monet leapt to her feet and frantically rubbed her hand against her leg. It was blood! She was covered in someone else’s blood! Her eyes dove into the shadows and sought out the source of the flow, finally coming to rest on a scarlet rivulet trickling from underneath a door.
Time seemed to freeze around her as she brought her hand down upon the handle. What was she doing acting like some slasher flick bimbo? She should go and get Frost or Cassidy or the police, not go in alone. The door refused to budge so she ripped out the lock. And what exactly could a human police officer do that she couldn’t? No, she had to go in - now. For all she knew, there could be someone bleeding to death in the room.
<Evening,> Chamber greeted as he sauntered into the danger room. <Missed much, ‘ave I?>
Everett gave the newcomer a filthy look. "Where’s Monet?"
<I ain’t ‘er keeper, mate.>
The others looked on as Everett adopted a confrontational stance mere inches away from his adversary. If he had hoped his impressive physique would intimidate his rival, he was sadly mistaken; a veteran of the Saturday night pub brawl circuit, Chamber would have grinned if he could. Instead, he leaned back a little and indicated for the younger boy to take his best shot. Synch’s right arm drew back, muscles tensing ... .
"Bring it down, boys," Jubilee warned.
Angelo quickly got in between them. "We’re all amigos here, yeah?"
Normally, Skin’s infectious smile would have been enough to defuse the situation but this was anything but normal. Agitated by the residue of negativity lingering on the air, the two combatants refused to back down.
"I’m sick of his bad attitude, Angelo!" Everett growled, jabbing an accusing finger at his opponent. "Always thinking he’s sooo superior to all of us - "
"And thinking he’s the only one who’s ever had it bad," Paige interjected, suddenly very animated. "I had to watch my pop die, had to watch a strong, healthy, happy man wither away before my eyes!" She retreated to the corner of the room and sat down, sobbing her heart out.
<And maybe I’m sick of you, Thomas, you arrogant tosser. All this ‘I can use your power better than you can’ wank - like I’m some lame cripple who needs yer bloody charity!>
"This’d never happen to the X-men," Jubilee lamented under her breath.
Not quite quietly enough, unfortunately. Angelo overheard and rounded on the young girl. "Chica, I swear if you mention the X men again, I’ll - "
"You’ll what?" Globules of iridescent light started to dance above Jubilee’s fingertips. "Don’t make me laugh, Skin!"
Taking a deep breath, Monet entered the boiler room and turned on the dull 40 watt light. Dim shards of yellow luminescence only just managed to pierce the hide of the thick shadows, leaving the majority of the room bathed in impenetrable darkness. She called out but, receiving no response, was forced to tiptoe further into the suffocating gloom.
The darkness pressed tight against her, pawing, mauling - almost lecherous in the way it slithered over her form. Monet hesitated, suddenly aware of the sound of heaving breathing ebbing and flowing on the cold, wanton atmosphere. It took her a petrified, agonising moment to work out the source of the noise was herself ... . She giggled nervously, using her embarrassment as an incentive to go further into the room.
A rapid burst of plasma-explosives combusted inches away from Angelo’s head, the concussive heat knocking the youth to the floor. Jubilee blew on her fingertip and made a show of slipping the digit into an imaginary holster.
"Don’t mess with the Jubester," she sneered. "I was dishin’ out the pafs when you were still in short pants!"
"And I was kicking ass for my colors when you were still in diapers, nina."
Angelo staggered to his feet but was knocked back to the ground by a punch levelled at Chamber. Synch’s fist connected with the boy’s nose, spreading it across his face in a spectacular spray of blood and mucous. As Skin clutched his broken visage and as Jubilee shrieked with laughter, Jono launched himself at Everett.
<You start twattin’ my mates, you gotta deal with me, all right?>
Over in the corner, her eyes bloated and red with tears, Paige watched her friends mutilate one another and tried to summon up enough strength to stop them. But she was so small, so insignificant - a pathetic little girl struggling to eclipse the sun that was her brother’s success. Sam had been to the furthest reaches of the galaxy, had met Gods in Asgard, had even survived the horrors of Limbo. He was a leader and an inspiration to his team whilst she ... ? She couldn’t even decide what boy she wanted to be with most! Why should any of them listen to her?
"Hello? Can anyone hear me?"
Pipes made brittle by the glacial cold stretched and creaked, the only response to Monet’s questions. By now, her eyes had started to adjust to the shifting gloom and she could make out blurred shapes crouching within the cloaking darkness. Somehow, the gift of sight only served to make her more edgy, with her fertile imagination sculpting Boschian nightmares from the pliable vagueness.
For what seemed like a small eternity, the girl explored the convoluted twists and turns of the boiler room for signs of life or death. The shadows clung to her every movement, gracefully sinister in the way they swamped the dim light and kept her bathed in darkness. It was as if they were alive - were toying with her as a cat may play with a mouse. The further she went into the room, the more oppressive the feeling of being watched, of being tested.
As soon as she’d looked around this last corner, she’d leave. Monet tried to get a grip on her imagination, telling herself her unease was a by-product of the tension whipped up by the media. All that talk on the news of devil worship and Marilyn Manson cults was simply preying on her mind - was forcing her to react in the exact way the reports wanted her to. CNN had created the school’s current sick atmosphere and now it was affecting her! There had been no blood on the floor, nor were the shadows trying to torment her. There was just a young woman and her impressionable mind, nothing more and nothing less.
Feeling a little more reassured, Monet strode purposefully around the wall flanked with its network of knocking, moaning pipes and peered into the darkness beyond. Her eyes strained against the hostile night, processing the shock of ill-defined shapes enmeshed in the thick shadow.
The girl felt her strength waver, felt her stomach lurch into her mouth as, one by one, her mind unveiled the amorphous forms for what they truly were. Mesmerised by the sheer horror of the construction before her, Monet could only fall to her knees and pray:
"Mon Dieu!"
"My God! What’s going on here?"
Frost’s furious voice cut through the shouts, screams and displays of pyrotechnics. Skin grinned sheepishly at the striking blonde, his rubber fingers slowly unfurling from around Jubilee’s head. Across the room, Chamber removed his foot from Everett’s neck and tried to adopt a nonchalant expression. Paige dabbed at her running nose with her sleeve and stood up.
"I tried to stop them," she whimpered, in full creep mode.
Emma fixed her with an icy glare. "Obviously you didn’t try too hard, girl." Her cold eyes ran over her battered, bruised charges as she continued: "This is utterly intolerable! I’ve got enough to contend with without having to baby-sit you as well. And where is Monet? I requested that you all attend this session - no exceptions!"
In the months that followed her mother’s murder and her brother’s transformation, Monet had been plagued by the foulest of nightmares. Yet even the bloody insanity of her feverish dreams could not have prepared her for the sheer repugnance of the ‘sculpture’ in the corner of the room. Choking on the abattoir-stench, the girl scrambled to her feet and tried to wrench her eyes away but there was a terrible compulsion to wallow further in the senseless, evil beauty of the construction.
Human limbs bound together by intestines had been shaped into a rough oval approximately six feet high and four feet wide. The deep red discoloration of the skin, lacerated by a network of distended, purple veins, indicated the materials used were perhaps three or four days dead. Worse than the grisly surround was the central structure it held in place. Five spinal columns, each positioned in such a way as to suggest the outline of an inverted pentagram, formed a bridge between the perimeter of the ovoid and the severed head placed directly in the middle. Much of the flesh had been pared from the vertebrae but the nerves snaking out from the spinal cord remained in situation - the lower of which had been used to tether the bones to the outer ring of limbs. Those nerves that had once carried impulses between the brain and the five senses were now connected to the exposed brain of the disembodied head.
Monet stared at the rolled-back eyes of the head. Even though death had made the features slack, latex-like, she recognised them. Recognised them as belonging to a girl that, although insignificant in life, had become a media ‘celebrity’ in death: Clarissa. As tears warmed the frost-bitten contours of her cheeks, Monet tried to smooth atrophying lids over the dead girl’s eyes.
"I do not profess to understand what is happening here, but I promise you, we will find the monster that did this and we will make him pay!"
Monet turned to leave. In the instant it took her to rotate around, the darkness seemed to coagulate into one vast, formless mess and set around her body, holding her as securely as concrete might hold the steel skeleton of a skyscraper. A hungry, clammy coldness pressed against her, crushing in its intensity. The girl opened her mouth to scream and the darkness gushed in, filling her with such loathsome, Hellish images she felt totally defiled - unclean inside and out. Held fast within the grip of her shadow-assailant, drowning on the stagnant, fetid evil sewn into the suffocating gloom, Monet reacted the only way she possibly could ...
" ... a lesson in responsibility!" Frost had almost reached combustion point, her anger scalding her pale complexion a lobster-red. Not one of her students dared interrupt her diatribe. "This sort of behaviour - all this in-team jealousy and hatred - it’s what killed the Hellions and I’m damned if I’m going to let it happen again! Who started this?"
Synch and Chamber both stepped forward, their eyes trailing along the ground. Emma’s face crumpled with disappointment.
"I am surprised. Everett. Jonothon. The two I had marked as potential leaders. Ha! What a fool I was to put my faith in a couple of immature little boys!"
Grateful in part for a focus upon which to vent all the pent-up stress of the last few days, Emma continued her harpyish tirade. Jonothon wiped the flecks of Frost’s saliva from his half-a-face and studied her closely. Her behaviour - all of their behaviour - was more than just a reaction to the general atmosphere of the school. It was almost as if they were being manipulated. He suddenly recalled an enemy the team had encountered early in their history - the demon D’spayre.
<We’ve gotta find Monet!> he interrupted, breaking into a run for the door.
Frost’s mouth dropped open in amazed surprise. As she floundered and flapped, beached by her own rage, the woman became aware of a slight irritation at the back of her mind. Soft, ticklish, an itch she couldn’t scratch ... . In the flash of a neural impulse, that hint of pain became a searing, white-hot ball of fire ripping through her brain. The White Queen collapsed to the floor, her body convulsing under the strain of the psychic assault.
Halfway across the room, Chamber suddenly dropped to the ground as if he’d been pole-axed. Paige started screaming, although whether the cry was born from concern for her team-mate or as a reaction to the spectral sensation of pain that briefly swept through her brain, she could not tell. The others winced as they, too, were washed by the wake of the telepathic tidal wave. Everett, his mind reeling, rushed over to Emma’s fallen body and checked for life-signs. The fit had passed and she was already coming to by the time he had located her pulse.
"Are you okay?" he enquired.
She nodded, groaning as the movement shook her bruised brain. "I’m fine, thank you. The others - did they - ?"
Everett threw a quick glance at his colleagues. Jubilee was trying to comfort Paige and Angelo was helping Jono to his feet. "We’re all alive, I think. What the heck happened? Some sort of psychic attack?"
Emma gave a wounded, hopeless smile. "If only it was. It might make it better if it was."
"I don’t understand, Miss Frost ... ."
The teacher buried her face in her hands and tried to compose herself. From the depths of her unconscious mind, the last moments of her previous team replayed for the millionth time since their deaths. It was happening again - the loyal pawns setting off to do battle with the unbeatable, certain as only youth can that their abilities ensured their immortality.
"It wasn’t an attack, Everett. Far from it. It was - "
< - a call for help, sunshine,> Jono filled in, staggering over to the couple. <I think ... I think Monet’s dead ... >
