Darkside Dreams - The Complete First Series Page 3

  Ray used the control panel to move the camera around, getting a good idea of the hall's layout. He then looked around the booth for anything he could use to help him navigate through the large building. He found a series of four laminated sheets, fixed together by a ring driven through the upper left corner. Each sheet showed a diagram of a different level of the facility. Three floors, and a basement.

  He opened the interior door and exited the booth, storming back into the building as quickly as he could. Ray glanced down at the laminated sheets and abruptly changed his course after he noticed a corridor marked CONGREGATION QUARTERS along the rear wall of the second floor.

  Back out into the atrium. He ran past the bodies, past the altar where this whole nightmare might have begun. He soon found spiral stairs, leading down to the basement and also up all the way to the third level. Ray went up one floor, stepping over yet another cadaver as he hopped onto the second-floor landing.

  This part of the building was huge, at least two hundred rooms. But it was designed in a way that any one of them could be reached fairly quickly, if you knew where you were going. Thanks to the laminated sheets in his hands Ray had a pretty good idea of where he needed to be.

  He ran toward a distant light, and found himself in the same hallway he had seen on the camera feed. And there was the camera, a barely noticeable little thing sticking out of the wall on a tiny, articulated stem.

  No sign of the killer or his soon-to-be-victim. But Ray knew which direction the screaming man had fled.

  Looking at the map again, he saw a way to maybe cut them off. He could go around, down an adjacent hall, and meet them somewhere near a room marked ARCHIVE C.

  Turning on his heel, he ran back to the atrium balcony, along it for about forty feet, and then cut into another offshoot hallway.

  He ran forward, through the dark, jumping over a laundry cart that had been knocked over. He saw, but did not dwell on, another dead body nearby. This one was a nun. Or at least she used to be. Probably on her route, doing her duties as a Sister, when the madman decided to cut her down.

  Ray didn't have an overabundance of respect for hardcore religious types. In his heart of hearts he thought they were all nuts. But there was a big difference between a nut and a psychopath. A clear-cut line that separated a zealot from a murderer. He could tolerate the existence of one, but not the other.

  Archive C appeared at the end of the hall. A large, frosted-glass door in the back hall which ran perpendicular to this one. Ray nearly crashed into it, skidding to a stop, ignoring the little curious voice that wanted to know what stood in Archive C. He turned to his right, facing down the hall where he thought he might meet the running man and the killer who was chasing him.

  But he saw and heard nothing.

  Most of the lights were out. There were LED fixtures along the ceiling, one every 10 feet or so, but only about a quarter of them were turned on. They offered pools of bright lights, with huge, stark pockets of shadow between them. Someone running toward him would have appeared briefly at each pool of light, disappearing for longer periods in the darkness that separated them.

  Ray waited and listened. Surely a man running in fear of his life, running at top speed, could not be as silent as this. Not when raw terror took over, and the only goal was to get as far away from the killer’s blade as possible.

  With his gun held steady, his flashlight unflinching, Ray prowled down the hall. It was about eight feet wide. A bit too wide for the veteran cop’s comfort. Not a desirable cone of fire. Plus, each door was set back in its own little nook. A killer could press his back against one of those doors and remain hidden, lunging out at the last second. So Ray stayed in the very middle of the hall, flicking his eyes back and forth like a nighttime driver watching out for deer.

  Another sign of his age, he was still making analogies based on cars that no longer existed. He was old. Perhaps too old for any of this. Adrenaline was keeping him going for the moment, keeping him fairly limber. He would feel the pain tomorrow, but for now he was okay. All thanks to a regimen of exercise that only grew more militant the older he got. Ray had seen so many of his counterparts forced from the job because of lost battles with father time. It had happen to so many good men. Sharp and fast one year, dull and broken the next. Too much sitting. Not enough stimulation. He didn’t want the same thing to happen to him. He’d go out on his own terms if he could help it.

  Ray's mind raced with random, pointless thoughts as he walked down the hall. His brain was searching desperately for a place to root itself. But there was nothing there. Nothing but the twisted, delirious hall of mirrors that lay before him. No comparisons to be made with normal, everyday life. This place was a madhouse. Hell. A waking nightmare.

  His flashlight beam reflected from the frosted glass doors, stinging his eyes. He stepped through pools of light, then back into darkness. Finally, he saw an open door to his left. Darkness beyond it. He pressed himself against the wall opposite the open door, looked to either side, then strafed along until he was looking straight into the opening.

  He focused the beam of his flashlight, narrowing it to an inch-wide ray of strong illumination that went all the way to the back of the open room. He walked forward slowly, using one hand to hold his flashlight and widen its beam gradually, sweeping the room with a spreading cone of light.

  There was a dead man here. This one did not look like a doll or a wax statue though. He looked like someone who had been warm and breathing only a few minutes before Ray arrived. The blood in the gash to his throat was still fairly liquid. The puddle around him glistened in the light.

  Ray turned in a tight circle, whipping the barrel of his gun around to bear on each hiding spot. He got low, looking under tables and chairs. No one there. The killer had already gone. It was a wonder Ray hadn't run into him, or seen him leave.

  Straining his ears, Ray listened.

  All he heard was his own breath, and a soft screeching sound as the branch of a tree brushed over a nearby window.

  Where the hell was backup? It should have been here several minutes ago. Dispatch knew he had been heading for the Rapture Center. Even if they didn't, the signal from his red button would have given his exact coordinates.

  What was going on?

  For now, Ray had to act under the assumption that he was entirely alone. And would remain so.

  He knew he would have to proceed with an abundance of caution, but running away was not an option. He had failed to save the poor bastard on the floor. But if he had been alive just a few minutes ago, that must mean others were also alive. Maybe he could protect them. Then maybe one of them would be able to tell him just what the hell was going on around here.

  If there were any survivors left, it was unlikely that they were behaving like this guy had been. He had been running around, out and about. Pretty much asking to be killed. If anyone else was alive, it was a sure bet they had gone for one of two tactics. First, they might have escaped. Like the old guy Ray met on the road. Or else they would have found a good spot to hide.

  So, where was a good spot to hide here?

  Ray shut the door of the room, giving himself the illusion of security, and leaned against the wall to consult his map.

  The place was laid out logically enough. The atrium ran down the center. To either side were rectangular structures. A hall around the perimeter of each, with crisscrossing halls running between. Sort of like roads in a neighborhood. There was no obvious choice for where to hide. The killer was just as likely to look in this room as he was to look in the next.

  Ray flipped to the last page of the diagrams. This one showed the map of the basement. Compared to the blueprint for the rest of the place, it seemed to be a bit of a labyrinth. There was probably no shortage of nooks and crannies.

  The basement, then. That would be his next stop. That was where anyone would go, he was certain.

  No reason to move slow or to be cautious. The killer already knew he was here. Ray had a g
un. The killer did not.

  He left the room and jogged back the way he had come. He had to make a conscious effort to slow down, for fear that he would have a heart attack if he pushed himself too hard. This was the craziest shit he had ever seen. The most alone and vulnerable he had ever felt. The huge building, with its vast hallways and perfect, grid-like symmetry, reminded him of nightmares he had as a child. Being lost in some vast complex, with the dreadful feeling that someone was there with him, hunting him down...

  He reached the stairs and flung himself down, ignoring the noise he was making. He dropped down into the basement level, stepping into a puddle of blood at the bottom.

  The source of the puddle lay nearby. This was an older person, wearing a different color robe. Probably a fairly major figure at the Center. A senior member of some kind. His throat had been slashed and he had been given the stigmata, holes bored through the palm of each hand. Perhaps he had even inflicted those wounds on himself. Maybe they even had spikes set up on a wall somewhere for just that purpose.

  Ray had just reached the basement and he had already encountered another dead person. Not a good sign.

  The map made this place seem like a wide-open area. But it wasn't. It was split by narrow tunnels, leading to access hatches which allowed for maintenance to be done on the various utilities and machines that ran the place.

  Not wide open at all. Plenty of hiding spots, though. Ray couldn't hope to explore each and every one of them, but he figured he should at least make some kind of effort.

  He walked down a hallway, approached a random door, and opened it. He found himself in a kind of storage room. Rarely used by the looks of it. Dust and cobwebs everywhere.

  One spot was suspiciously free of dust. There were footprints, scrapes and scuffle marks evident on the floor. All leading to an empty bookcase against the wall. Ray approached it, too anxious to think of announcing himself.

  He pulled the bookcase away from the wall, revealing a small crawlspace.

  Someone came flying past him like a bat out of hell. Ray stumbled back, grunting in surprise. He turned, aiming his gun, and saw the skirt of a black habit whipping through the door.

  "Wait!" Ray called. "Wait! I'm a cop!"

  He ran after the nun. By the time he got into the hall, she was already on her way up the stairs. Taking them three at a time, bashing her knees and her elbows in her haste to get away.

  Goddammit! Ray thought. But of course, he followed. He couldn't just leave her alone.

  "Lady," he called, as he ran grunting and puffing up the steps. "Sister, I'm here to help you! Don't you understand?"

  He clambered up the last few steps. His toe caught on something at the top and he pitched forward, reaching out his hands to break his fall. He bashed his shin against a lower step and hissed in pain, while his gun and flashlight fell from his hands and went bouncing away across the floor of the atrium.

  The gun skidded off to the right. The flashlight went straight, rolling, rolling steadily across the floor. The business end of it was a bit wider, so it swept to one side and knocked against the foot of the nun.

  She was standing there not five feet away. Perfectly still with her hands up near her chin.

  Ray, still grimacing in pain, switched his hat light to a brighter setting and gasped as he saw that the nun was now clutching her throat. Blood welled between her fingers, and spread down the front of her habit.

  The Jesus look-alike stood there with her, smiling peacefully as he watched her die.

  Ray scrambled around, looking for his gun.

  The killer took one of the nun's wrists, pulling it away from her throat and yanking it out straight. He set the edge of the dagger in the crease of skin where her hand met her arm.

  "My poor, wretched, misguided child," he coaxed. "What have we done to you? To allow you to wallow alone here in the den of sin, to be corrupted by it..."

  He slashed her wrist. She tried to scream, but her throat was perforated; it was like trying to suck water through a straw that was covered in holes.

  The malevolent Jesus imposter pulled her other wrist away now.

  "I commend you to my Father, and I send you to His final judgment."

  He slashed the other wrist. Then he stepped away slowly, spreading his hands, looking toward the ceiling, as the nun toppled over backwards and rolled down the stairs toward the basement.

  Ray spotted his gun, hiding in the shadows of a nearby bench. He lunged for it, feeling his old joints creak.

  "And God saw that the light was good, and He separated this light from darkness," the killer intoned, as he receded into the shadows of the atrium, seeming to glide rather than step in his flowing white gown which was still miraculously free of blood. Just like that he vanished amongst the dark.

  “What's the matter with you?! Why can't you leave these people alone?!” Ray barked, as he snatched up his gun and twisted around, firing into the darkness. The bang of his gunshots echoed into the hall. Each shot brought a brief flash of light but the killer was nowhere in sight.

  “Let the women learn in silence with all subjection. But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence…" the killer finally remarked, his voice seemingly coming from nowhere.

  “You killed her because she spoke?!” Ray scoffed. “What kind of bullshit is that?!”

  “She spoke the Word… to the children of this world, yet it was never her place to do so.”

  “Give me a fucking break! You’re a goddamn lunatic, man! Teaching Sunday school?! That’s her great crime against humanity?!” Ray growled.

  “So saith the word, my child...”

  “You're gonna pay for this you son-of-a-bitch! Do you hear me?!” Ray fumed as he whipped around a dark corner and brandished his pistol. Ray was hoping to have cornered the Jesus imposter but the mysterious man was still nowhere in sight.

  “Forgive him Father, for the witness knows not what he does…” the killer said, as his voice trailed off into silence. Ray continued to peer into the darkness, hoping for some indication of where the Jesus look-alike had gone, but the killer had seemingly vanished.

  CHAPTER 3

  ◆◆◆

  It seemed hopeless to Ray, so much so that he considered throwing in the towel. He even made his way back towards the front door at one point but something in him just wouldn’t let him abandon that place. A nagging voice in the back of his mind. A chilling sensation in the pit of his stomach warning him that others were still alive.

  For lack of a better plan, he returned to the security booth and had another look.

  At first nothing seemed any different. Then he spotted a change. It was in the lavish hallway with the big doors at the end. Double doors. One of them was now open by a couple of inches. Ray saw a quick flash of motion, as if someone was peeking out into the hall. It was just a theory to him at first but when the door suddenly shut again he was sure of it. Someone was in there.

  Ray checked his map again, looking for any room that matched the one in the camera feed. It took him a few seconds to locate the room but eventually he found it tucked away on the third level. A spacious room in the distant corner, marked FOUNDER'S QUARTERS.

  Ray left the booth with the intent of heading straight to the third floor, but his mind wandered as he ventured back into the main building. His feet carried him on their own and when he finally came back to reality, he realized he was nowhere near the Founder's Quarters. He was back on the second floor. Staring at the glass door that led to Archive C.

  Why had his subconscious mind dragged him back to this place? What were his instincts trying to tell him? A part of him wanted to proceed to the third level as soon as possible but he also couldn’t shake the feeling that something of extreme importance was just behind this frosted glass entrance.

  He pushed the door open and stepped inside, expecting another scene of slaughter.

  There were people here. Four of them. At first glance Ray thought the
y were dead. Then he realized that they couldn't be. They were all standing, and there were no wounds. They weren’t dead but they didn’t seem to be alive either. They were silent, and completely motionless. Just standing there in their robes, their eyes completely shut, arms hanging aimlessly at their sides.

  Ray approached one of the figures and poked its cheek. This was no mannequin. The figure’s flesh felt far too real. Ray checked the man’s neck for a pulse, and he was shocked when he couldn't find one. But how? The body was still warm, and there was a gentle hum that seemed to emanate from it. Not a pulse, but something more constant. Like an electrical current.

  On a hunch, Ray pulled up the figure’s sleeve.

  The arm looked real up to the elbow. And then the illusion failed. It was all circuitry and metal above that.

  Androids. These four figures were androids. Humanoid robots that were so realistic that Ray couldn’t tell the difference at first glance. He had heard that several tech companies were racing to develop advanced android tech— life-sized robotic companions that would change the AI assistant business forever, but as far as he knew, they weren't quite market-ready yet. But it seemed the Rapture Center had managed to beat them all to the punch.

  Ray stepped away, thinking hard. He didn't know exactly how the android thing fit in with the rest of the chaos that he had witnessed. He tried his best to wrap his head around the new development but in the end, he still had no idea of what was happening here.

  He took one last glance back at the four androids and then the truth hit him like a kick in the nuts. The Jesus look-alike was an android. Ray was sure of it.

  Ray's heart pounded with anxiety as he turned and left the room. This time, he made sure to maintain conscious control of his body; he went all the way up to the third floor, gun and light aimed warily, and approached the double doors at the end of the lavish hall.