Peeper part four

Peeper part four

        Ismar's parents were debating a heated argument, casting glances now and again in the direction of Ismar's slumbering form, which was curled up on a makeshift bed at the corner of the room they all occupied. The argument came to a halt with both of them agreeing on a point, a point which looked as though it caused them some distress, the woman flung herself into her mate's arms and began to weep softly.

         When she had calmed down a little she walked over to her child who looked no more than ten years old, and gave him a tender shake to awaken him. Ismar looked up at his mother with concern written upon his features, he could see she had been crying and was mystified to the reason why. He asked his mother a question to which her reply was accompanied with a comforting hug for the frightened child. She let go of him and stood up offering him her hand which he took gingerly.

         She led Ismar to the table where his father sat and placed him upon his knee, his father placed a protective arm around Ismar's shoulder and began to explain something to him. Although the language barrier prevented me from understanding what he was saying, I was getting emotional feedback from Ismar which enabled me to grasp the situation.

         Ismar's race had produced a mechanical means of boosting their psyche enabling them to make the crossover before they were evolved enough, unfortunately some of Ismar's race were incompatible with the machinery and were unable to crossover  to the entities, and Ismar was one of these unlucky few.

         Ismar's father told him what they meant to do to which Ismar's reply was a vigorous shake of the head and an outburst of pleading. His father took him in his arms and stood up placing Ismar on the seat he had just vacated.

         Ismar started to add physical resistance to his argument. Standing up he grasped his father by the arms shaking him and  pleading with him to find an alternative to the solution he and his wife had found. His father's shoulders slumped and with a small wry smile playing on his features he reached out and took hold of Ismar, hands either side of him and knelt down giving him a fatherly embrace as he did so. Ismar buried his face and wept into the comforting space of his father’s shoulder. He clasped his son hard, made soothing noises and gently rocked him.

         Ismar didn't even feel the hypodermic syringe enter his neck and pumped a sedative into his small body and as he slid relaxed into his father's grip. His mother stood back flinging the syringe into the corner, disgusted with herself for using such an underhand procedure to subdue her child.

         Her husband looked into her face and nodded reassuringly,  he stood and carried Ismar's inert form to his bed and gently lay him down. She joined him by the bedside and they both looked down at him in silence, until at last his hand slipped into hers and bringing his face up to stare at her he nodded solemnly. She bent and placed a small kiss upon Ismar's forehead and retreated with her husband to a table at the far end of the room.

         Through our connection I could feel Ismar's senses in turmoil. Conflicting emotions were crashing through him at a speed I felt anyone incapable of sustaining. Fear changed to anger, love into hate, nostalgia into loss, each emotion  following the other in light speed waves that broke upon Ismar's  spirit. One emotion overrode all of these, curiosity, from  this point onwards Ismar until now had no insight of what became of his parents.

         The couple seated themselves at the table and reached out to grasp a device placed in the middle of the table top. Made of a golden alloy, it glinted in the soft light of the room, glints that were reflected and magnified by a hexagonal crystal globe located in the centre of the device. Each facet of the crystal  was tinted a different shade from the rest giving the same diffracting hues as oil upon water. Ismar's father made some small adjustments to the base of the machine, until it emitted a high pitched whine which caused the furniture and fittings of the room to vibrate with the same frequency.

         By the look on their faces the noise was causing the parents considerable discomfort, but they carried on with their task nevertheless. The female was first to touch the crystal, now throbbing with latent power. She gasped as her fingers were absorbed by the hexagonal globe, stopping as the knuckles touched the surface.

         The room was alight with colours and hues projected from  the crystal, blurring everything into soft edges. Ismar's father placed his hands into the globe and the whine increased to an intolerable pitch. The colours on the walls of the room grew intense and finally started to fade along with the whine until both had disappeared.

         The two of them detached themselves from the globe at the same time, the mother slumped lifeless in her chair, the father began to rise but unable to muster any energy, collapsed to the floor reaching out for his wife as he did so. He managed only to brush her with his outstretched hand, but the momentum was enough to knock her from the chair and she landed beside him,  both were motionless.

         Rage and loss were exploding from Ismar as the scene reached its climax. I could feel him struggle underneath me, trying to escape the sight of his parents, trying to escape the scene which sent him on his way to be a world destroyer.

         His struggles brought us out of the spell of the visions hold and back to the reality of the black tower. I prepared  myself for another skirmish, quickly  wrapping my hands around his throat again, but no resistance came. Ismar was  limp and slowly I realised he was weeping clear tears that ran and glistened upon his face.

         I became aware all of a sudden of the change in the surroundings, it was deathly quiet and the light had dropped to a minimum. The wall was but meters away from the tower growling in a low whisper like a chained animal and slowly closing. The energy coming from it made my hair stand on end. The distortion stood at one side of the tower. A shaft  of light coming from the Bedmore's bedroom was transferred  from my world to this, penetrating the gloom with watery luminance.

         I rolled off Ismar and stood shakily to my feet, the blue energy field that had encased us both had now dissipated.  Ismar still weeping rolled onto his knees and with head bowed began to speak to me through misery wracked sobs.

         "I didn't understand, didn't realise the sacrifice they made for me. They didn't die trying to reach something that did not exist, they died so that I could crossover join the rest of my race." He slapped his fist into the tarry substance of the tower.

         "Their life-force went into that globe enabling me to crossover, but I was halted, wasn’t I? They stopped me becoming  what my parents gave up their lives for me to be." He looked at me with his yellow eyes that suggested then more than ever the weight  of his age.

         "I did not understand." He repeated. " All those years, my god, all those planets destroyed for nothing, no, more than  nothing, the process of destruction halted the evolution of so many races, so many races denying them the crossover, denying them their destiny."

         I moved forward to in some way comfort him but was stopped  by the tone of his voice. Bitter and regaining its former tone of arrogance it began to gather force, each word following the last in growing steely resolve.

         "I cannot allow this situation to continue." He stood to his feet, his air of defeat had fled and he surrounded himself once more with the character of the planet destroyer, strong bold and invincible. "I will find this faction and by my might I will make them pay for this charade I have been duped into acting out."

         It did not occur to Ismar that the might he would use for vengeance against the faction of entities that had fooled him was a gift, from them to him, it was like trying to use the scorpion’s sting against itself, impossible. They would strip away his power leaving him mortal and vulnerable before them.

         "Don't do this Ismar, your not capable of doing any harm to them." My voice echoed in the small diameter of the mile high tube that was nearly engulfing us.

         "Do not try to stop me guardian. I will bring to them  the destruction and death that they have made me wrought through out my ageless spell as their puppet, make them taste the fear of dissolution as I work my just vengeance upon them." He snarled each word putting all his anger behind them. It was clear to me that Ismar's guilt was overwhelming his common sense.

         "Ismar, listen you don't have to justify your guilt by turning into a ..." I searched for a phrase, "a vengeful angel, they fooled you, none of this is your fault, you acted in what you believed was the rightful cause..." A flash of energy from Ismar cut me off mid sentence.

         Blue flame covered Ismar from head to toe. His face was screwed up with the effort not of sustaining the flame but  from keeping it from devouring him completely, his rage fanning the flames.

         "Guilt, rightful cause, these are nothing but words they  mean nothing, nothing at all.” Specks of foam sprayed from  his lips, every cord and sinew stood prominently on his ebony body. "I will find them and I will bring them cold justice, justice of the likes they have never seen before." He ranted.

         Enough was enough. I made  the  decision  to somehow subdue Ismar and drag him through the distortion away from the ever nearing wall, and now touching the tower, consuming what little was left on this world.

         Ismar moved before I could even touch him. "I know where they dwell." He howled

         Ismar roared a last yell, leapt towards the dark wall, and sank into it head first. There was an immense blast that threw me across the floor of the tower nearly plunging me into  the opposite side of the wall.

         The crackling power that surrounded Ismar was no match for the awesome destructive might of the looming dark enclosure.  The black wall took Ismar and cancelled him out, an after-shadow of Ismar melted into the fabric of the wall and quickly faded.

         With the demise of Ismar, the distortion flickered and  winked out, it's source of life gone. Leaving me alone in a darkened tube, the only light a pinprick far above me of dying sky.
         
         The sides of the black monolith moved closer, dissolving  the structure of the tower, unravelling its substance inch by inch. In the growing darkness I could hear the wall whisper to me incoherently. Groaning and creaking it ground closer and closer to my unprotected body, emitting a sense of claustrophobia that crushed me deep into the floor of the tower.

         The environment suddenly  bloomed into lightness, my eyes automatically slitted against the swamping brilliance. "Hands on the floor..NOW." A voice cracked the silence behind me.

         I swung my head around, my eyes adjusting to the brightness which was not so blinding after all. It was daylight, the contrast between it and the darkness of the wall made the difference seem enormous. My leg flared up with pain. I was back in my bedroom.

         Ismar had summoned me to his world and his death had, though somewhat belatedly, brought me back to my own reality, safe from the danger of obliteration. Though I must admit the prospects of my continuation wasn't looking to great in the  plight I found myself in.

         Two large snub nosed pistols were pointed accurately in my direction by two cops, who looked no more in control of the situation than I.

         "Last warning buddy.” One of the cops was displaying a serious scowl across his face. "Hands on the floor."

         With Ismar gone the scope held no more threat, but I had to be certain, with my outstretched hand I made a sudden grab  for it. The movement was accompanied with a thundering noise which lifted me from the floor and shoved me into the tripod. My whole left side went numb.

         The tripod teetered precariously and slowly overcame its centre of balance, landing on the floor in a neatly folded heap. The force of the fall was concentrated on the tip of the scope which hit the floor before the rest of the structure and with a hollow pop its main lens shattered.

         It wasn't until I turned around and glanced at my side that I understood I had been shot. The side of my shirt hung in bloody tatters and being the brave soul that I am, I fainted.

         Coming around in hospital was a very disorientating process indeed. It seemed to me I was instantaneously transported from my bedroom into the clinic. I was to learn after that I had been screaming and raving throughout a two day period of unconsciousness.

         A man in a dark suit was seated next to me, nearly swallowed the book he was reading when I rose from the bed and inquired about my whereabouts. His over endowed Adam’s apple strained against the skin of his throat as he tried to swallow his fear and answer my question at the same time.

         He regained his composure and with a slight grimace of distaste on his face reached towards my left hand side and pressed a small button in the wall just above my head. No more than a minute later Dr Paston appeared and introduced himself. "Glad to see you in some state of rationality Mr Meerston.”

         He explained to me that when they admitted me into the hospital they had changed my bloody and torn clothes. As soon as they were removed they could see the lumps all over my body, knuckle sized bumps that strained up against the skin. Dr Paston was called and he soon discovered I was riddled with tumours. Tests were done and the tumours were found to be benign. What troubled Dr Paston is that these tumours had invaded every organ in my body. He sat down and took the time to say that my chances were less than five to one of survival.

         That really brings me back to the beginning of my tale. I now find myself on a charge of first degree murder. Mr Bedmore's body or what was left of it was found in Johnny's  bedroom and I was the one who Mr's Bedmore saw smash down her front door and battle with her husband on my way up her stairway. All the evidence is there to convict me and I don't believe there is a sane jury in the land who would even accept the truth.


Howton county hospital July 28th.

         At eleven o'clock this evening Dr Paston carried out his last medical duties. He checked me for the re-emergence of my tumours, which thankfully was negative. My gun shot wound received its final dressing prior to me being released into the clutches of the constabulary the next morning.

         Paston with his disability was even more careful than the nurses when it came to replacing dressings, taking time, not allowing his twisted hand to tangle up my bandage as he slowly unravelled it from around my body. We had struck up an unusual friendship, the cripple and the convict we called ourselves, and I think this was his way of spending some time with me before I was incarcerated.

         I had tried telling Dr Paston the truth about my ordeal. Even with his apparent acceptance of my tale I got the feeling he thought my confessions were symptoms of my illness, either that or I was trying to wriggle my way out of the murder charge by mimicking insanity.

         He could see I was in a gloomy mood so he was chatting away in his sharp, quirky manner trying to cheer me up as best he could, peeling layer after layer away as he spoke. Making some observation about local politics, he took off the last covering part of my bandage and stopped mid-sentence, his eyes fixed to my side. Reading the shock in his face I quickly followed his gaze and my heart sank into a deep pit of dread.

         My wound which up to then had the appearance of most injuries of that type, a bloodied central area surrounded by  a livid bruise, was now a deep shade of black. A shade I had  only seen once before, in Ismar's skin. The tumours I had experienced was not my bodies allergic reaction to the link  inserted in me, as I had at first thought, but a sign of transformation. A transformation into the faction's animal.

         "Dear god Paul." Paston mumbled, eyes wide in the shock  of realisation of my stories truth.

         "Help me Kev, cut it out, burn it off ,anything, just get rid of it."

         Now that I was aware of the stain it began to throb into life with a rhythmic pulse. With each beat I felt it bite deeper and deeper within me, turning cell after cell into pitch-black degradation. Around the edges of the patch flickered the blue energy and with each beat of my heart the energy grew in area leaving nothing behind it but the colour of the faction’s presence.

         The stain wasn't the only thing eating into me, I felt  an overwhelming wave of manipulation swamp me and lock away  my control into an unfathomable place well beyond my reach. My hand clenched, my arm lifted. Each of these movements I fought against, but the factions hold upon me was too great. I was a spectator in my own body, helpless to intervene in whatever action they wanted me to take.

         Ismar was a willing servant of the faction until he realised the truth, but it was plain that the faction did not need the co-operation of their host for its control. It was probably  amusing for them to control their victim by persuasion rather than enforcement, it is certainly more productive to have a  host who believes your lies and follows them with gusto than have an automaton carrying out your orders but resisting them  at every step, as I tried to do, tried and failed.

         I sat up on the bed obeying strings pulled by faraway  puppet masters and swung my legs onto the floor. Paston noticed  the distant expression on my face, realised something was amiss, swung round and sprang towards the door as fast as his deformed body could carry him, but his speed couldn't match mine. My hand circled the back of his neck as he struggled to open the door and without any effort I lifted him clean off his feet.

         Although I was not in control of my body, I could feel the power that would kill Paston gather inside of me and flow through my arm into his suspended form. I saw the hair on the back of his head  stand  on end  as he started to jerk and thrash to the rhythm of the power injected into him. His convulsing form reminded me of an abattoir animal being shocked before it is slaughtered.

         The feelings I had experienced, horror and fear,  were slowly being replaced  by ones of power and domination. I was starting to enjoy the sensation of having the ability to kill, the faction did not control me but it could pervert me and slowly turn me into their creature given time, a creature addicted to the taking of life.

         Paston's white smock was smouldering by the time he perished, his legs giving one final instinctive jerk hitting  the door and then he was still. I released my grip and let Paston's semi-cooked corpse slump to the white tiled floor where it lay in a disjointed heap, sputtering with the heat it contained.

         I felt nothing at the death of my friend, no horror, no remorse, no pity, my whole emotional spectrum was covered with ice, freezing and numbing it. The faint aspect of the sensation of power buzzed through me and the craved demand to use it again.

         Paston's dead eyes turned and looked me directly in the  face as if accusing me, his head nodded slowly to and fro. His dying kick against the door had alerted the plain clothes guard posted outside it and the action of him opening the door was causing Paston's head to move.

         The guard had sensed something was wrong and began to exert more pressure against the door which made Paston's corpse slide in an arc across the floor leaving a trail of sticky fluid in its wake. His head popped inquisitively around the space  he had created, the bubbling corpse drawing his gaze magnetically. I yanked his tie which dangled from his neck  like a dead snake and dragged him through the door space into  the room and suspending him in one hand I kicked the door shut with my foot, sealing us in the room.

         I rejoiced  at the opportunity to kill again, the  hunger to use my power was a thousand times more compulsive than anything I had felt before in my life. I dispatched him in the same manner as Paston. He vainly clawed at my face with outstretched hands until it was over. I swung his body to the floor where it landed next to the doctor’s, both bodies making a heap of steaming flesh.

         The feeling of manipulation snapped as the guard's body  hit the ground and my normal emotions swim back to the surface. The guilt almost crushed me and for the first time in twenty or so years I wept.

         I got the notion that the manifestation of the faction’s power within me was incredibly hard for them to sustain with a small amount of their black mark upon me  and that with the increase of that mark their hold would be easier to maintain.

         I suppose that the act of writing this down is my way  of holding back the inevitable. There is only one way to halt the faction’s progress. Their mark consumes me by the minute, its advancement unabated. Already in the quarter hour that  has passed since the death of Paston it has covered the area from my hip to my shoulder.

         From here I will make my way to the roof. I hope I can  get there before the factions hold reappears. I don't know whether my death will stop the reproduction of this thing or could it carry on after my demise? I  guess I'm about to find out.

The end.