Monica: Part II

White eyes watched her from the dark. Blood dripped from pointed teeth with bits of flesh stuck between the gaps, and hands—so many hands reached for her through the pharmacy grate.

Moans and snarls wailed through the bars, rising to an echoing crescendo as the force of their bodies shook the counters in a complimentary drum roll.

She was trapped in the tiny room, locked in with nowhere to run.

At first, the Soapies were faceless; strangers with no name or attachments. Then, they transformed into grotesque images of people she knew: Corey, her cranky assistant, yet the man who'd pulled her over the counter at the last second, her parents, Eric...all of them pushed against the bars, focused on her with insatiable hunger in their gazes.

The foundations of the wall groaned, sending shelves toppling over and pills scattering across the floor like spilled candy. The thick security door creaked on its hinges. The backroom closed in around her and the lights flickered until they blinked their last and died, leaving Monica in the dark, surrounded by hungry, growling monsters.

Something, a piece of debris, plunked onto her forehead, pulling her attention up. The ceiling crumbled, sending bits of silicone and dust from the metal fixtures. A panel shattered overhead, and hundreds of squealing guinea pigs fell out of the hole, so many that they filled the room and rose to her ankles.

Horror seized her chest, silencing the ear-piercing scream in her throat as she danced on her toes and pulled herself on to the nearest counter, drawing her legs into her chest.

All around her was a sea of black, brown, and white rodents. When a shuddering gasp escaped her lips, thousands of round, opaque eyes snapped up at once, all the same shade as the Soapies outside. Pink noses dotted the furry mass, all sniffing and moving together toward the source of fresh food in the center of the room.

Tiny, furry bodies slammed into the cabinets and each other, skittering in a forward direction despite the barrier. Then the smart ones climbed over those on the bottom, forming a ladder of wiggling, squirming creatures.

Monica struggled to move, as if lead flowed through her veins instead of blood. Slowly, she reached for one of the shelves atop all the others, and crawled on. Teeth snapped at her feet; the guinea pigs were jumping like a shark reaching for its prey. She jerked her leg away, slamming it into the sharp metal as she continued to scamper to the next surface, away from the ravenous horde.

The pile of pocket-sized monsters doubled and tripled until it resembled a walk-in ball pit, except for the part where the people instead where zombie snacks. Balls of fluff in multitudes of color creeped up like the high-tide, flooding the receding surface and cutting off her means of escape.

The drive-through window appeared ahead, and Monica continued through the obstacles course of shelves, ceiling panels, and countertops until she reached the opening. The outside was dark, like she was looking through a blacked out pane of glass leading to a secret room. In her memory, it led to an asphalt parking lot. Here, it was a blank panel, and she wouldn't know what lay beyond until she opened it.

A bang against the door behind her made her jump as the Soapies rattled the cage behind her, fighting harder than ever. With her heart racing faster than a rocket, she forced the window open, sliding through before she became dinner.

Her soundings changed. Down she tumbled into the darkness until she was submerged into the water. Bubbles roared around her ears, air whooshed from her lungs, and she drifted weightlessly beneath the surface. She couldn't see; there was still no light, and she didn't know where "up" was.

As if her mind sensed she could no longer breathe, air suddenly filled her chest, and she gasped, even though she knew it wasn't possible. She kicked her legs and propelled herself forward, looking for a way out, when dead, rotting faces materialized.

She screamed, flailing backward, only for someone to grab her from behind.

The water disappeared, and Monica spun around, completely dry in the lab. Golden-blonde hair framed the face of her best friend as Scotch colored eyes gleamed in the light. Jeannie was whole, with two arms instead of one, and smiling wide as she reached out for her.

"Monica!"

She couldn't speak—her mouth was dry like cotton. All she could do was run into her embrace and hold her, tell her that she was okay, that they were safe. She held her tight, afraid to let go in case she lost her again when a pair of unnaturally strong hands gripped her shoulders. Fingers dug in so hard, her skin throbbed, and when she blinked, transparent eyes glared back at her as Jeannie's lips curled over her sharp teeth.

"You left me to die," she rasped. "It's your fault they locked me in a lab, to experiment on me like an animal. Now you will join me and all of your victimsss..."

What the fuck? What victims? No! She didn't leave Jeannie behind! Taylor told her she was dead!

When she opened her mouth to defend herself, she couldn't breathe again. Her voice, her words, and her air were all cut off as she faced a white ceiling, strapped to a hard metal surface at her wrists and ankles. Ceiling tiles slid open in two corners as two laser cannons descended, swiveling until the muzzles faced her. A green light blinked three times before it flashed red and fire spewed from both weapons, burning her alive...

"ARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHH!"

Monica jolted upright, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her muscles spasmed and trembled as her heart raced and sweat rolled down her body.

Images of fire, guinea pigs, and white eyes flashed through her mind, all rolled into one, and she shrieked, sobbed, and flailed as she tried to get to safety.

"Doctor Wainwright!"

"Go away!"

Something touched her and she swung blindly. The heel of her hand connected with flesh before someone overpowered her and forced her back.

"Let me go! Get away from me! Go away!"

"Monica, you're safe!" The voice said again. "You were having a nightmare!"

"No!" She kept her eyes shut, fighting against her restraints, gasping and coughing when she screamed herself hoarse. When her voice stopped working, she sobbed with pathetic bleats.

"Open your eyes, Monica. You will see, there is nothing to be afraid of. You are safe here."

The voice was softer this time, now that he didn't have to speak over her hysterics.

Her eyes refused to open, like they were glued shut, and her thoughts were disoriented. She couldn't tell who was speaking, though his voice was familiar. She wasn't underwater or on fire. The room was cool and sterile, like a hospital.

Her heart pounded heavily until she could hear it pulsing in her ears. She inhaled several slow breaths through her nose, held it, and released it.

When the pressure in her chest eased, she tried again to take in her surroundings. A bare room came into view with LED lights overhead. It wasn't like the labs, but it was cold and unwelcome. Doctor Benson and someone else she'd never met stood beside him, wearing a white coat and a stethoscope. He appeared several years younger, like a young man fresh out of medical school and no life experience. His eyes weren't haunted like anyone who had been outside of these walls, and his features were gentle.

She sat up, taking in the medical bed and course sheets beneath her. The rails were up on both sides of her, and the disarrayed equipment to her right showed signs of a struggle.

Doctor Benson handed her a cup of water, and she drained it in one gulp. Taking it from her, he said, "That was a hell of a nightmare you had. Are you feeling better?"

Monster.

She couldn't express how she felt, verbally or otherwise. All she could think of was how this man tested humans and animals alike, showing no care or remorse for now he treated them. When he was finished, he burned them and tossed them out like garbage.

He was worse than the creatures outside of the compound. He deserved a slow, painful death. He deserved to feel every victim's pain until it spilled from every pore in his body. There was nothing he could experience that would atone for his actions.

She bunched the bedding into her fists, pulling at it and closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to answer.

The young man spoke, his voice thick with the hint of an Eastern accent. "I am going to take your vitals," he said, enunciating his words. "Try to breathe normally."

She flinched as the stethoscope touched her chest and moved to her back. She didn't want him or anyone who wasn't Jayson near her.

When he removed the stethoscope, she shuddered, still trying to dispel the horrific nightmare and scene from the lab. "I'm fine," she croaked, moving to slide down from the bed.

"Wait just one more moment, please," he commanded in a soft tone. "I would like to take your blood pressure and temperature."

"Really, this isn't necessary," she protested. "I fainted and had a nightmare, that's all."

"I insist. Doctor's orders."

When their gazes clashed, Monica leaned back and gave into his demands. He was nothing like Benson, full of dark secrets or twisted thoughts. Each line was one of concern for his patients, and his body language was so open and inviting. Despite whatever brought him here, she could tell he was a man who wanted to save lives and make the world a better place.

His movements were steady and controlled, and his distance respectful as he took her temperature and blood pressure. Once he was finished, he lowered the bed rail and stepped back. "Thank you. My name is Doctor Amari, but you may call me Sam. The guards brought you in after you fainted in the laboratory."

She swallowed a bitter retort and nodded. Clearing her throat, she said in a shaking voice, "I was... unprepared."

Understanding passed through his eyes, and he exchanged a glance with Benson before speaking again. "I do not leave the infirmary much, but I have seen what the virus can do. It is aggressive, instantly degrading the mind as it decays the body from the inside out."

She wanted to ask if he'd seen the victims burned in their holding cells, but she didn't trust Benson not to make her pay for her insolence. It didn't matter. Doctor Sam or Amari or whoever he was didn't pull the strings here. He might know the clinical terms and explanations, but in the end, he was Benson's lapdog and pawn, just like her.

"I've seen it firsthand," she said in a cold voice. "Like everyone else, I only want to find a cure. Thank you for your time, Doctor."

She rushed out of the room before she could exchange any more pleasantries, stopping to pinch her lips when she realized she had no idea where she was. This corridor looked like every other hallway in this facility.

"Fuck my life, why does everything have to look the same here?"

"Need directions?"

She sucked in her cheeks and counted to five. Knowing her luck, she couldn't stab him and expect him to stay down. He probably had radioactive super powers or a mutant gene. Either that or he was one of those slasher movie villains with five lives and ten aliases.

No, if anything happened to him, it would be after the big reveal, and only when half the main cast died after a gallant effort to save the world from annihilation. Then the remaining survivors would cheer and cry their bittersweet tears. Long, drawn out speeches would be delivered to every corner of the Earth, filled with that bullshit hope about being better and rebuilding humanity. The brave would be lauded while the villains faded into obscurity, and then the credits would roll. And if this was a disaster movie with a nice ending, there would be no jump scares.

The other important thing to remember was not to turn one's back on the enemy. She spun around, pasting a fake smile on her face.

"Perhaps a map and numbered hallways."

Not to mention, you keeping your fucking hands to yourself.

She took a huge step back when he reached for her. Her teeth clenched so tight, she was afraid they might shatter. It took several attempts for her to cough politely and say, "For a shrink, you really don't pay attention to social cues. Either that, or you're trying to unsettle me, knowing how much I dislike being touched."

His eyes widened and his brows furrowed together as if he felt ashamed, but she knew better. There was not a single kind bone in his body. "My apologies, Monica. I am a forgetful man sometimes, and my family has always been affectionate. I will try to minimize our contact."

She wanted to minimize the size of his cock, but she had no weapon or opportunity to make that blessed moment happen.

She allowed him to lead her through the facility, and the rest of their walk was silent. When he stopped at her quarters, he lifted his eyebrows and smiled, making her skin crawl. "Remember, everything is confidential. Take a day or two to let this information sink in, screw your boyfriend if you need to release anxiety, but if any of this gets out, I will ensure you remember the price of revealing classified information."

Holy fuck, he wasn't subtle at all.

Only a masochist would cross him, and anyone else would be foolish to even attempt to outwit him. No wonder everyone followed his orders here.

She nodded and waited for him to leave. When he was a fair distance away, she entered her apartment and sank onto the couch in the middle of the room. She kicked her shoes off and buried her face in her hands, terrified of Benson's insinuations.

He couldn't harm her as long as he needed her for a cure, and she wasn't spiteful enough to withhold it when so many people depended on scientists like her to find it. He must have known this, and she feared Jayson would be conveniently eliminated, regardless of her cooperation. She needed a way to protect him while she worked.

While the room had to be bugged with listening devices, Monica wouldn't be surprised if someone peeped at her through a hidden camera as well. She'd have to enlist Taylor to hack the systems, just in case.

While she waited for lunch, she retrieved the pad and paper from her room and took it to the desk in the second room. From what she understood, books were available upon request, and she wondered if she could pass a message to Jayson that way or if she could develop a creative code through sex and orgasms. Even the most perverted mastermind wouldn't figure that out, assuming she was getting herself and her boyfriend wet with pleasure.

She scribbled a note into the pad and folded it into a tiny square before slipping it into the waistband of her panties at the hollow of her hip. It had been a few days since she'd had sex, and no one could blame her for putting on a teasing show with a 'fuck me later' look in her eye when she pulled Jayson to a storage room between meals.

She was screwed, literally and figuratively, but the world would survive, and hopefully, Jayson would too. With any luck, they'd all get out alive, the rules of Horror be damned.