Evolved

I rushed into the hospital with Melissa. Her converse squeaked on the floor as she weakly dragged her feet along. Typical Melissa, she’d insisted she could get in there on her own. I caught her as her legs gave out, scooped her up and ran to the nurse’s station. She was limp in my arms. Her usual healthy colouring had been replaced with an anaemic, sickly complexion. Her long, black hair was soaked with the cold sweat that covered her athletic body. Her breath came in sharp painful bursts. I tried to tell the nurse what had happened despite the panic that swirled around my head, making it hard to think straight. I explained that she’d been fine just a few hours before and listed all of her symptoms; the pain in her head, dizziness, the sweats, chills, shaking, passing out. Had I missed anything? The doctors asked me question after question as they loaded her onto a gurney and checked her vitals. Had she been drinking? No. Had she taken anything? No. Had she vomited? No. Medical history? Was she allergic to anything? Was I a relation? Fill this out. A clipboard was shoved into my hands. I scribbled in the tiny boxes as we rushed down the hall, other patients staring after us. Blood started to pour from Melissa’s nose. The river of red spread across her face, standing out against her ghostly skin. I kept asking what was wrong with her but no one answered, they just shouted numbers and names to each other that I didn’t understand.

      I was told to wait there as they ran her into a room. I caught a glimpse of blood trickling from her ears just before the double doors swung shut. I tried to follow but a nurse stopped me. “Please. I’m her brother. You have to let me in there.”

“Let the doctors do their job.” The short, grey-haired woman told me in her thick Scottish accent. “You can’nae do anything in there. You wait her now, Love.” I yielded, knowing that despite her kind and sweet demeanour she wasn’t going to let me anywhere near those doors. So I stood there and watched helplessly as needles and monitors were thrust upon my baby sister. Helpless. Something I hadn’t felt in two years. Not since we got in the car and drove away from Mom. Mom and her abuse. I’d always tried to protect Melissa from it as best I could. I’d hold her as she sobbed when Mom screamed at us that she should have aborted us both, how Dad had overdosed because of us, how we were worthless and nothing but a daily reminder of her mistakes. When she would come at us with her belt I’d lay my body over Melissa’s. The scars on my back still hurt when it’s cold but it was worth it. Sure, I could have left when I turned eighteen but that would have left Melissa to take Mom’s crap alone. So I hung around for another four years. We couldn’t risk leaving before then, if we were caught, though I doubt Mom would have bothered to look for us, I could have been charged with child abduction or kidnapping or some shit and again Melissa would be alone. On her eighteen birthday we woke up at 5am, got in my car and drove three states over almost non-stop to New York City. And things were good; my paintings were selling and Melissa was waitressing and had just enrolled in college. But now this. I lingered in the hall the smell of disinfectant assaulting my nostrils. I never took my eyes off them. And I couldn’t help thinking how pissed she was going to be when she woke up and saw they’d cut off her favourite Rollin’ Stones T-shirt. I reran the day’s events, looking for what had gone wrong. The tattoo. That must be it. She was so excited when we’d entered the studio as she clutched the piece of paper in her slender hand. It was a smaller version of a painting I did about three months ago. I’d felt so honoured she’d chosen it. What did that guy do to her? Is it a reaction to the ink? Was the needle not clean? No. I saw him take it out the packet. Didn’t I? Yes, I did. Definitely. The bright florescent lights made the pounding in my head twice as bad. My temples hurt so much they felt like they would burst. Anxiety churned in my stomach, threatening to expel the left over pizza I’d had for lunch. I’ve never believed in God but at that moment, in that sterile deserted hallway I prayed like Hell. “Please, please let her be ok.” Suddenly I saw Melissa move. For one naïve second I thought she was coming round. Then I realized what was happening. She was convulsing. Her body rived up and down like she was possessed. The doctors started shouting for medicines I’ve never heard of. Nurses started rushing around, handing the doctors things when instructed. She stopped as quickly as she’d started and was still again. And then a sound. What is that? Oh God, no. Is that her flat lining? It can’t be. It’s someone else. Some poor bastard dying in the next room … What’s that doctor doing to her? Fuck, is that a defibulator?! My sister’s body jumped as the paddles shocked her. “Come on, Melissa.” I whispered into my clenched hands. “Come on. You can do it. Come on.” An eternity passed. The monotonous tone of the machine rang in my ears, occasionally interrupted by the thump of her body hitting the table. Why are they stopping? Do it again! The words wouldn’t come out my mouth as much as I wanted to scream them at the doctor who placed the paddles back in their holder. A nurse covered Melissa with a sheet as a deep voice declared “time of death 6:37pm.” A tsunami hit me, I thought it would literally knock me down. No tears came though. I just stared at the body shaped lump, frozen in the moment when I’d lost the only person I’d ever loved. Gone just like that. I’d never see her smile again. She’d never again fall asleep on my couch during movie night. Never get excited about another concert. She was gone.

      Everyone in the room began to pull off their gloves and unplug machines. They were so busy no one saw what was about to happen. Melissa’s body snapped upright. The sheet slid off revealing her white back and flowing dense hair that came to a jagged holt half way down her spine. Her muscles twitched. Then her arm swung quickly out to the right. The woman closest to her fell backwards into a tray of instruments, screaming as she started to bleed uncontrollably. Three huge gashes across her face exposed raw tissue to the elements and she held her hands up in a vain attempt to stop the mass of blood that poured from her wounds. Melissa leapt off the table onto the only doctor left in there. A few minutes ago he tried to save her life and now he was begging for his. Speckles of blood showered the window and the sound of the poor doctor gargling his own blood escaped the room. Another nurse who had watched in horror made a run for the door but Melissa was soon on him and threw him across the room. He screamed like the others and she silenced him quickly by slamming his head into the wall. Thud … Thud ... Thud ... Crack. She let go of him, allowing his lifeless body to fall to the ground and stood for a moment breathing heavily. Then she turned and I saw her face for the first time since they wheeled her in there. She was something from a nightmare. Her eyes were glazed, no longer that fall brown but heavy cream, no hint of a pupil anywhere. Her mouth curved high up into her cheeks, it almost touched her eye sockets and was lined with long, needle teeth. Thin veins wriggled across her face and naked chest like small blue worms had burrowed under her skin. She stared at me. I know it sounds crazy, how can I know she was staring at me when her eyes were like that? I felt it, felt those blank eyes burning into me. She let out a piercing screech and ran at the door. The glass in the tiny window smashed as it hit the wall behind. Melissa took a few steps forward, the glass crunching under her feet. I backed away a little, still in a daze after watching the massacre. Is she coming at me? No. I’m her brother, she would never hurt me. She loves me. “Shit.” The only word I managed before turning and running from my once gentle, beautiful sister. She’d have caught me if that old guy hadn’t stepped out of his room when he did. The light on the ceiling reflected in the varnished wood of his cane. The stick danced in his hand as flesh was ripped from his face and he let out a sound that was more a groan than a scream. Melissa dropped the slice of cheek she held in her teeth, screeched again and was back to chasing me.

      I burst out the hospital entrance, my body flooded with adrenaline. “Shit.” I was lucky I’d parked so close to the door; others weren’t so fortunate. As I threw myself into the driver’s seat I saw Melissa in the rear-view mirror. She was no more than ten feet away, smashing someone’s head onto the sidewalk, shrieking and growling. She was covered in blood. I didn’t hesitate, I took the opportunity to try to get out of there. It might have been cowardly, hell, of course it was. In the movies a guy would try to save someone or a whole group of people. It’s not so easy in reality. Heroism. It’s not some switch that you flick on when the time calls for it, you know? So, yeah, seeing my sister attack people, tear them open, worse than a rabid wild animal would, self-preservation kicked in. It wasn’t just me; people were slamming into other cars trying to get away. One guy drove off before the woman he was with could get in the car. She screamed his name and ran after him but he didn’t stop. Next thing, she’s hit by some crapped out Ford. Just ran right into her. She was thrown over the hood and rolled along the concrete. When she stopped she looked like an over-played with doll; wild hair, arms and legs pointing in all directions, head on backwards. Her yellow summer dress was wrenched up, showing off her rich, tanned thigh and a slither of white underwear. Poor woman. It was all so crazy. How could one girl cause such panic? Then I saw someone storm out the hospital that stood apart from everyone else. He was acting the same as Melissa and was quickly followed by two others. Four of them. Four … what would you call them? Monsters sounds so hollow and meaningless these days but that’s what they were. They all had those freaky eyes and the big, wide … grin? I suppose it could be called a grin. A maniacal, creepy, inhuman grin. I left Melissa and her new crew to their human lunchboxes knowing there was only one place to go.

      The studio was down a small alley but it looked professional and had a good rep’. It was sold to a British guy a few months back; he wasn’t cockney but near enough. Unsurprisingly for that time of night, it was locked up and the lights were off. I checked no one was about and went round the back. There was a single window just within reach. I smashed it and as I squeezed through I heard Melissa in my head. Hope your chunky arse can fit through there. She’d be wearing that infuriating smirk and pouting a little. The window led straight into the studio and I found myself been grateful for the flashlight setting on my cell. I searched the room for anything that might give some idea as to what happened to Melissa. I couldn’t find anything at first, just the usual tattoo stuff; needles, ink pots, black rubber gloves. I got frustrated quickly, I threw a chair across the room and it hit the wall with an unsatisfying thump. As I ran my hands through my hair, a habit when irritated that I’ve never gotten out of, I noticed something in the corner near the ceiling. I directed my light to it. It was a small white cupboard with ‘First Aid’ written on its doors in bold red letters. It seemed pretty out the way for a first aid box. It was a reach but I thought what the hell and climbed up onto the countertop, wobbled a little and opened the two small doors. No sign of a first aid kit, not even a band aid. Instead, there were rows of glass jars, no more than a couple of inches tall. They were filled with a black liquid that was too thick to be ink. I took one out for further investigation and the smell hit me as soon as I unscrewed the lid. It was like rotten flesh, well, what I imagine rotten flesh would smell like. I gagged and held the jar away from my face, momentarily burying my nose and mouth in the crook of my elbow. What the hell is this stuff? Before I had time to answer my own question I heard the front door been unlocked. I gently put the foul smelling substance back and quietly jumped down. I went to the door, opened it a creak and peeked into the waiting room. I saw the British guy holding his phone to his ear. “Yes. Yes, the first ones have been done. The effects have already started to take place. I’ll update you when they’ve evolved.” Evolved? Evolved into what? He hung up and I took the opportunity. “What the hell did you do to my sister?” He looked surprised then a sleazy smile spread across his face. “Oh, that hot little piece I inked today? Mmm, she was …” I punched him, I couldn’t help myself. I did it again and again. Each time satisfaction came to me but not enough to make me want to stop. He fell to the floor and I knelt on his chest as I continued to bring my fist down on his smug fuckin face. I was strangely impressed with the amount of damage I was managing to do. Suddenly, I was pulled off him and hurled across the room. I hit the wall hard enough to lose consciousness.

      When I finally came round I couldn’t move and quickly realized I was bound to the chair I had thrown earlier. I was slowly spun around and expected to see the British guy. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Leaning in to me was another monster. God that word sounds stupid doesn’t it? Anyway. He had the same freakishly long mouth and thin blue veins all over. But he was also different; his eyes were grey, like they were filled with a fog and the deep orange pupils stared into my soul. His long white hair hovered just above his shoulders and his claws raked at my forearms, tearing my skin and making me inhale sharply. “You almost broke my human.” The snake-like hiss in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. I swallowed my fear and cringing at the tremble in my own voice, asked. “What did you do to my sister?”

“You really want to know?” Before anything else could be said, the British guy entered wiping the last of his blood from his face. “Can I kill him now?”

“No. This one is curious about our plans.”

“But …”

“What have I told you?!” The tattooist shut up and walked to the counter behind me. There was a moment of silence but it felt like decades with that thing grinning at me. Excitement danced in its eyes. The tattooist came over to me. I struggled when I saw the needle in his hand which was ridiculous really, the ropes were so tight they were cutting into me, there was no way I was getting out of them. He smiled sadistically, jabbed the needle into my arm and flooded me with the black poison. I guess injecting it made it work quicker. I managed a slurred “fuck you” before passing down.

      I woke up alone and on the floor. Not wanting to make my stay any longer than necessary, I dragged myself to the smashed window and pulled myself through. Hope your chunky arse can fit through there. I staggered to my car. God knows how I made it home without hitting something, draped over the wheel barely able to focus thanks to the vicious stabbing in my head, but somehow I did. The fever and sweats set in half way home. By the time I reached my apartment I was shaking so much I had to use both hands to get the key in the lock and even then it took a few attempts. And now I’m here. Sat against the bare brick, looking out my favourite window, for some reason recording this on my phone. I suppose this sort of thing should be documented, right? Maybe if someone finds it it’ll help somehow. I’d like to think so. I should hurry up. It’s hard to breath now. My lungs burn. My bones hurt. My nose is bleeding pretty bad. I’ve already passed out a couple of times. I don’t think it’ll be long now. Doesn’t feel like it. So I guess I’ll just sit here and enjoy the view.

Copyright Anna Smith 2020