[Original Novel] Pressure 3: Beautiful Corpse, Part 9

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He followed her gaze. “Oh yeah. Saw some backed up footage of what you did to Dr. Bizen. Don’t really know what to say about that. I’m in no way a superstitious man but I’ve never witnessed anything like that and I’m damn sure there’s nothing in our understanding of physics that allows it. I’m inclined to guess it has something to do with whatever animates you but you know what they say about assumptions. You’ll learn that I’m a very thorough, methodical person.” The way his eyes wrinkled at the corner gave away that beneath the surgical mask, he wore a wide grin.

“You know, we haven’t tried the muscles.” He glanced at his assistant, who shrugged. “Maybe they generate the ATP they need to move directly inside the muscle where it’s then used.” He made along incision down her thigh, worked his fingers inside and began spreading open the stacked layers of skin, fat, then muscle tissue until he reached bone. Olivia dry heaved.

“Hey Dan, I think I’m gonna need the rotary saw to get her skull open.” He dug through the lower shelf of the table and heaved out an exasperated sigh. “You left it in cold storage didn’t you? I hate going in there for anything. Besides it’s two modules over, it’ll take me at least-” The surgeon snapped at him. “Well then you’d better fucking go get it for me as quickly as you can, hadn’t you?” The assistant scowled and retreated from the operating theater.

The surgeon stared over his shoulder until it was certain the other fellow had left. Then he took a long look at Olivia’s insides spread out all over the operating bed. “You know, some people go into this line of work out of the goodness of their hearts. Others have...their own reasons. Decades of cutting people apart and stitching them together again can warp...certain drives…that were healthy before.”

She wondered what in God’s name he could be talking about until he stood up and began unbuckling his pants. “I’ve always had a certain fantasy. But she would need to be conscious for it. I knew that was impossible….until now. “ Olivia resumed her silent screaming. Mouth and eyes wide open, low pitched gurgle coming from deep in her throat. She couldn’t feel any of it. But with her head bound as it was, neither could she look away.

At some point she passed out. The respite was profoundly merciful. As soon as she awoke within the abandoned school, she began screaming and writhing about on the ground. There was no stopping it until she went hoarse. Here, at least, her tear ducts still worked. It turned out she could also vomit.

For most of an hour she lay on her side, whimpering and convulsing. Whenever she thought she’d recovered enough to get up, the memories returned. As fresh in her mind as if it were still happening. Her legs buckled, and the cycle began anew.

Her mind, blasted apart by indescribable revulsion, finally put itself together enough that she could stand and begin moving around. It was a constant struggle to steer her own thoughts away from what happened and was most likely still happening on the surgical bed.

Surveying the hallway revealed much had changed since her last visit. The floor tiles were gone, replaced by worn, cracked concrete. The ceiling was made from dusty wooden planks, with long rusty pipes fixed to it at intervals. More piping ran along the walls at various levels, as well as vertically. Here and there a valve protruded from a pipe juncture. She knew better than to inspect the logo on it.

“It’s taking over. Making more and more of itself until everything is consumed” she muttered. “What can it mean…” Her only basis for comparison was piping, valves, wood and concrete she’d seen in the Foundry. As if it were slowly creeping into other dreamscapes. She thought back to her sessions with James, when he’d first told her about the Foundry and its intrusion into his own dreams. How many were afflicted in total? Did this sickness extend beyond the Belusarius?

“The Foundry goes before the master.” The voice came from all directions and echoed through the corridors. “Violet?...Vivian? Who’s there?” Olivia cried out. No answer was forthcoming. The more she explored, the less of the school she found. Everything else was indistinguishable from the Foundry. The lockers remained, and the crystal orb within. But upon venturing to the deserted island, she found that it had not been spared the corruption.

Rusty pipes jutted up out of the sand, snaked along the curvature of the shored, then delved back into it. Valves sprouted off these serpentine pipes like flowers from a vine. They were everywhere. “The skeletal substrate is laid down first. The flesh then follows.” Again with the voice, sounding distant and muffled like a defective intercom.

Olivia knew she wouldn’t find Violet in the library. So this time she instead searched for a different orb. It was no small task as there were hundreds, but finally she located the one through which she could see a familiar industrial facility. Horror her mind could not accept lay behind her in the waking world. Horror she at least had intimate understanding of lay ahead of her. No way out except in.

Setting foot on the concrete floor of the Foundry filled her with an uneasy mixture of anxiety and comfort. But a splinter in her mind drove her onward. “Behind the puppets”, she thought. “At the end of every umbilical.”

On her way down the spiral stairwell, the moans and murmurs of entranced captives surrounded her. All hopelessly immersed in the master’s best effort to simulate their heart’s desires. There was a sense in which she envied them, but she refused to succumb until she’d at least rescued Violet. Just then, she heard that name spoken.

Whirling around in an attempt to home in on the source, Olivia heard it again. And again. Narrowing it to one of three cages, then identifying with certainty the portly old man responsible. “Violet”, he muttered. “Your mother took you away from me. But now I’m here for you. My sweet little girl. Papa will never leave your side again.”

He was clothed in rags that had at one time been a crew uniform. The faint, flickering imagery surrounding him resembled the backyard of a modest suburban home. Someone who looked very much like a younger Violet lay cradled in his arms. Another piece fell into place.

Whispering to him didn’t work. Nor did shouting. She knew better but felt compelled to try all the same. She made note of the floor she was on and continued downward. It was easy enough to send others through the shadows, but she did not yet feel confident enough to use them herself without understanding how they worked.

The stairwell ended in a vast underground cavern, with a few concrete buildings suspended from the roof by chains. Improvised wooden walkways and rope bridges linked them. Traversing these was harrowing, but at the end she found herself safely standing in the largest of the hanging structures. Wooden debris and brittle scraps of blank parchment littered the floor. In the corner lay a coil of rope.

Her fear subsided somewhat when she realized she could no more die here than she could while conscious. Tying one end to the rope bridge, she eased herself over the edge and began to descend. Below, what looked like a grey cloud layer roiled about. Before long she was immersed in it, unable to see even her own hands. But careful, persistent descent soon saw her through it and below her the abbatoir came into view.

Curiously, from above she could see a dark wasteland around it with what looked like a dozen other abbatoirs unlit and abandoned. There’d evidently been a number of attempts to build it before getting it right. Awkward bony creatures could be seen either cowering in crevices among the ruins or picking through them for who knows what. Disfavored creations of the master, left to their own devices. Simply forgotten? Or forsaken?

It was a relief to reach ground level, where the surrounding wasteland could no longer be seen. One of the scavengers, she felt sure, had looked directly at her on the way down. The familiar machines of bone and sinew furnished the queer chamber. A loom for weaving muscles. Some sort of spindle and carving tool for fashioning bones. And of course, the wrought iron bed suspended upside down and at a steep angle where most of his work was done.

The favorite puppet he always used was nowhere to be seen. Nor was the umbilical. Only the bizarre, throbbing opening she remembered him emerging from, and to which the umbilical typically led. Why come this far only to stop here? It was an opportunity to follow the rabbit hole to the end, for the first time. Perhaps even discover something she might use to her advantage.

The reasoning was sound. But climbing into a damp, veiny orifice was another thing altogether. She dwelled on what awaited her should she wake up. Then affirmed her conviction that if it was hiding something, she would certainly find it on the other side. Taking all things into consideration allowed no other path. Head first, she entered the unknown.

The passage was ridged like an esophagus. It pulsated along the length, undulated in a serpentine fashion, but there was nothing resembling a regular heartbeat. For the first minute or two of crawling she held her breath before remembering there was no need. A dull yellow light approached.

Her egress from the passage was more revolting, if anything, than her entry. Olivia tumbled out of it coated in some kind of mucus, her umbilical trailing behind her. The landscape which now spread out before her was equal parts astonishing and disturbing. She felt some mixture of awe and terror, a rarely explored emotion described only in holy texts and firsthand accounts of schizophrenia.

The land was everywhere parched and cracked. The soil, if it had ever been soil, was a sickly desaturated brown. The sky above was a rich yellow bordering on orange and the light which fell everywhere despite the absence of any apparent source was the same color. Where was the sun? Absent also were any sort of plants. There were occasional dead trees, their branches gnarled and split, but nothing green grew anywhere she could see.

In the distance, enormous stone monuments littered the hills. Some in the shape of human heads, their mouths hanging open in expressions of anguish. Others were angular, abstract megaliths. It was during this survey of distant landmarks that she saw the first one. At first she could not convince herself of what it appeared to be, but as she watched it move, the truth became incontrovertible.

A malformed roughly humanoid figure towered above the megaliths and sculptures, easily several hundred feet tall. Its skin a mottled, pale beige. Joints either impacted or extruded somewhat, giving it a hobbled gait. The moment she recognized what it was, it turned and looked directly at her with six thin red eye slits. As if her awareness of it somehow gave her away, like a flashing neon beacon.

It began lumbering towards her. Olivia turned away, intending to pass back through the opening to the Foundry only to discover the orifice had vanished. She froze up, glanced back at the rapidly approaching giant, and shrieked. Just then another slightly larger giant of the same type rose from a hiding spot among the megaliths and tackled the other.

Why? Were they rivals? Had one been waiting to ambush the other? Or were they competing for prey? Another giant appeared, this one crawling out of the open mouth of one of the immense stone heads. Yet more appeared on the horizon, even larger than the rest. The two original giants swung fists at each other, one clawing at the other’s face, the third who just now reached them lunging into the fray. One formed a mouth, which split open and emitted an Earth shaking low frequency bellow.

How could there be so many? Was the master just one of his kind? Had he trapped the others here, to have humanity all to himself? Or were they all parts of him? That seemed impossible given the events now unfolding before her.

The barren plain afforded no hiding spots. A river of some kind snaked down a hill and passed close to her. As she drew closer, Olivia realized it was not water but some type of thick translucent syrup, and thought better of allowing it to carry her away.

The ground began to rumble. Giants in the distance appeared to take notice of it and retreat, but those closest to her were too fixated on their brawl. The largest of the giants to engage the rest thus far towered so high that his head was not visible, most of the upper body receding into a sort of yellow haze. How large could they get?

As if in response, something began to rise above the horizon. Not a sun, moon or other celestial body. At first just a pale white dome. Then a ridge which revealed itself to be a brow. Then eye sockets, with small shiny black eyes recessed deeply within. Then the final touch she desperately hoped wouldn’t come next but did anyway: an ear to ear, sharp toothed grin.

It peered down at the ongoing battle with a deliriously happy expression, as though approving of what it saw. It was the most fascinating, yet upsetting spectacle she’d yet witnessed. No apparent meaning to any of it, just a profound sickness which grew in severity the more of it was revealed to her. It all came to a climax when she spotted for the first time something resembling a black moon in the sky, which she soon realized was a massive pupil.

She awoke the way she’d fallen asleep. Screaming, thrashing as best she could against the restraints and psychologically coming apart at the seams. There was no accepting what she’d seen. It was the pinnacle of perversity. An impossible display of morbidity encompassing an entire dimension of things which should never be allowed to exist. That’s what it took, in the end, to drive her back to the waking world even knowing what waited for her there.

Waking up was disorienting. She expected the worst, but the surgeon was gone. It was difficult to be sure as the LED lights overhead forced her to squint, but he’d evidently satisfied himself and left. It took considerable focus not to break down as she thought about what he’d left behind.

Gunshots rang out once more. This time much closer. Olivia wished she could at least move her head, but no dice. There was nothing to do but await the next violation. The surgeon walked back in, this time without his mask. She stiffened up.

“What did they do to you? Barbarians. Don’t worry, I took care of the rest on the way in. It’s me, Olivia.” He leaned closer and she noticed both a trickle of blood coming from one nostril and the corner of his mouth, as well as a different set of eyes. The veins were black, the irises yellow and the pupils were a sort of plump cross shape.

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^{Stay Tuned for Part 10!}