Quicksilver
by Chris Chris
*** 5 ***
That’s the last entry. And that day was the last day anyone saw Janet. Janet’s landlady might be willing to wait until Wednesday, but I’ve seen enough. I go to the police.
That’s not as easy as it sounds, actually. First, I have to find the police station, about a dozen blocks away. When I get there and tell the desk sergeant I’d like to report a missing person, he gives me a form to fill out and tells me to wait. Fifteen minutes later, I’m long done with the form and still waiting, so I go back up to him.
“Listen, I’m pretty sure my friend is missing—her mother hasn’t heard from her, she’s not showing up at work—and I’m worried she’s been kidnapped. I’ve got her journal here, and the last—”
He cuts me off. “Kidnapped? You think so?”
I give him the journal. “Look, read these entries here”. Janet’s going to absolutely kill me if she’s just away for a weekend.
The cop starts reading, and he keeps looking up at me like I’m pulling one over on him. He’s getting a little warm under that black uniform, I can see.
“Lady, what the hell is this? You putting me on?”
“Ok”, I say, “skip to the end.. that’s what worried me anyway.”
He gives me another skeptical look and keeps reading, but he’s not skipping anything. When he’s done, he calls down a detective immediately, and I go upstairs into the station. The detective is very professional about the whole surreal thing, gets my story, and sends me home.
The next day, she’s still not at work, and I’ve heard nothing from the cops. I tell the boss I’m taking a long lunch and head out to do some investigative reporting of my own. I’m going to Acorn Estates, where the cottage is supposed to be. I find the place on a map easily enough, and maybe when I get there I’ll be able to figure out which one belongs to ‘Constance’.
In fact, I have no trouble finding the right one. It’s crawling with police and entirely taped off with yellow streamers. A crowd of rubberneckers is watching a covered body being loaded into an ambulance. I walk up to a middle aged woman.
“Ma’am, I’m a reporter from the Inquirer. Do you think you could tell me what happened here?”
“The National Enquirer? You want me?", she gushes.
“No Ma’am, the Philadelphia Inquirer, but I would like to hear what happened, if that’s all right?”
I’ve gathered a bit of a crowd of my own now, and they all nod and cluck as the woman tells me the scoop.
“Well, About thirty minutes ago, right before Days starts, I saw this cop car pull up”, she says, happy to be the center of attention. “The police got out, and knocked on that woman’s door. She just moved here two months ago, and I can’t stand her. I live two houses over that way, and she still raises enough ruckus to keep me awake at night. Lord knows how many times I’ve complained, but nobody ever listened to me. Well, the cops finally came today and boy were they sorry they hadn’t listened to me before.”
“I saw the police knock on that tramp’s door, and she let them inside. I watched for a few minutes, but nothing happened, so I went back to my soap. At the commercial I looked out the window, and there’s another cop car pulling up behind the first. They get out, and when they see nobody in the first car, they called all these other cops here.”
I interrupted her. I could see the ambulance about to leave and I told her I’d be right back. I slipped the driver a twenty and he told me the lady was dead, but he was taking her to a special lab in the Penn hospitals, god knows why, they don’t tell him anything. I gave him another twenty and went back to the woman.
She looked indignant for a moment, but was happy to continue. “They all surrounded the house just like in the movies. Then two of them knocked on the door, and she let them in, just like the first time. When they didn’t come out, everyone started yelling at each other, and then they were shooting. I daresay I wasn’t going to get shot, so I moved back from the window and only came out here when the shooting stopped.”
I thank the woman, get her name ‘for the paper’. No one else has anything useful to add. There’s only beat cops guarding the house and they don’t know anything, so I head back in to work.
My boss tells me we’ll have to wait for something more substantial before running a story on this stuff, but that I should find out what I can. After two days, I haven’t found out much at all. The police aren’t saying anything about the scene at the cottage, and nobody has called me to fill me in about my friend.
Asking around, I find one of the secretaries who has a niece at the Penn Hospitals. We call the niece, and she knows someone who works in the lab—everyone’s talking about this weird case but nobody knows any details. She puts us in touch with the friend, and I make a deal to meet with her.
*** 6 ***
The lab tech shows up a bit late, looking nervous and slightly lost in this bar. It’s only a block from her work, but obviously a bit too seedy for her to visit. I’m at a table in back, already sipping a soda, and I beckon her over. She’s awfully jittery. She introduces herself as Laura, but of course I know that, we talked on the phone. She sits down.
“What are you drinking?”
“Gin and tonic”, I lie. I’m not going to take advantage of her—our deal is good—but this will be easier if she loosens up a bit. I motion to the bartender and order gin and tonic for her. She stops him. “Scotch rocks, please”. Even better. We go over our deal, basically $500 for everything she knows about the dead woman her lab is supposed to study. I’ve agreed to hold off on publishing for two weeks, which I probably would have anyway, but she wants that in writing. So I write it on a napkin, dated and signed. It’s probably not legally binding, but I’ll keep my word anyway.
I give her the money, and ask her to tell me about the dead woman.
“Actually—there’s two women, and only one of them’s dead. We got the subjects Monday afternoon, the day before you called me”, she begins, faltering. “I have Mondays off so I can’t tell you much about that except the dark haired one—we call her Alpha—was already dead, though I guess you knew that. I’ll tell you about her first, since we’ve been able to study her more”
“She’s really fucked up, biologically, and there was all this metal stuff inside her. Let’s see, she’s got these metal plates, chrome I guess. One’s on the top of her head, and there’s three more over her nipples and her, um, clitoris.” She pauses, blushing. “But they’re not just over them, they’re like a part. They’ve got these almost organic looking filaments that tie in to her nerves and glands. The big ones run to her spine and meet up. Huuhh. It’s so creepy. The one on her head was so meshed in with her brain we couldn’t tell where most of it went. Then there was this black cube, about a centimeter or so. We haven’t even scratched it, and we’ve hit it with some serious shit. But Dr. Morokis thinks it might be a homing device of some sort, since it gave off a kind of ping when we hit it with x-rays.” She stops and takes a big gulp of her whiskey.
“Do you have any idea what any of the other stuff does?”
“Well, yes and no—I think the scientists might but if so they haven’t told me. But I’ve got some ideas from Beta, who.. well, let me get to her when I’m done with Alpha, OK?”
“Ok. Go on. Hmm.. do you smoke?” I pull out a couple of cigarettes. She waves, so I put them both back in the pack.
“So it’s not just the metal stuff, OK?", Laura continues, “There’s so much weird biological shit that we haven’t figured it all out yet. The most obvious thing is her skin, which is super smooth, and super pale, like no blemishes or even bumps. Plus, it’s kind of waxy and plasticky, no hair except for eyes and head. And her eyes were weird too. The retinas and her whole optic nerve are the chrome stuff—I guess I should have said that earlier—but her irises are some organic thing. They were jet black when she came in, but we’ve figured out that she probably could have changed their color anywhere from green to blue to purple when she was alive, based on how they react to some chemicals we got from her eyes.”
“But the most totally fucked up part was her mouth. Her lips were all purple, like bruised, when she came in, but based on Beta we think they would have been deep deep red when she was alive because Beta’s are flushed with blood all the time. Her tongue’s full of metal—this time we know what for, but I’ll get to that—and her linguiciate’s been severed.”
“What’s that?". Now I want a drink, too.
“It’s like Gene Simmons, the guy from Kiss, y’know? She could probably stick her tongue four inches out of her mouth. Maybe more—I’ll explain. And her saliva is totally wrong. It won’t digest anything, it’d be no help at all chewing food. But it’s really viscous, like slimy and slippery. We can’t imagine how she could eat with a mouth like that, except maybe she didn’t eat at all.. her stomach and intestine were empty when she came in. Don’t know how she stayed alive.”
“Wow.” This was well worth the money I’d paid her. “Is that all? What about ‘Beta’?”
“So Beta’s the Mexican girl—I guess you’ve figured that out. She’s pale too, not as much though. Her skin is more like, untanned, you know? Same alterations, chrome, skin, mouth, at least as far as we can tell without cutting her up, of course. She doesn’t ping under x-rays, so maybe there’s no cube. The thing is, she’s essentially catatonic, and we’ve got to feed her intravenously. We can’t get her to react to anything. But her eyes are totally wide open all the time and she never blinks, and her tongue is, like, thrusting.”
Laura is flushed, maybe from her second drink, and she isn’t really looking at me, or anything. “What to you mean?”
“Well, it’s amazing—every second or two her tongue comes out of her mouth. Her lips are open all the time, and she doesn’t move her chin or change her expression or anything. It’s just, tongue, tongue, tongue, all day. And her tongue comes out four, maybe five inches. We don’t think it’s just the linguiciate- probably that’s what the metal fibers in the tongue are helping with. And it just comes out, coated in that shiny saliva, over and over.” She pauses and shakes a bit.
“Oh god.. I wasn’t going to tell you this part.. but I’ve just got to tell someone, and I can’t tell the scientists ‘cause I’d probably lose my job. I mean, it’s so obvious. It’s, like, so obviously sexual, how can they not see it? I think everyone actually knows, but they’re too shy or disturbed or whatever to bring it up. Well, god, I’m no lesbian but man, watching that tongue all day I just couldn’t take my eyes off it, fantasizing, imagining the feel of that inside me.”
She looked at me, trying to see if I was sympathetic, and I give a smile and nod—I’m a good listener. She was flushing more now, and I’m getting a bit warm too. This is one hot story.
“So I had to know, you know? So I stayed late yesterday. I was so wet already from the anticipation, I kept rubbing myself, and I had to force myself not to run to the bathroom and bring myself off, telling myself to wait and feel that tongue. When everyone left, and some of those guys do work pretty late, I tore off my skirt and nylons. Literally—I won’t wear those again. I was totally panting as I went into Beta’s room and pushed a stool over to the bed to climb up. She had no reaction as I knelt over her, the tongue still pistoning in and out, and I slowly lowered myself onto her face. Then, god! She stopped! I couldn’t believe it! I was absolutely shaking with lust, and her open lips were kissing my snatch, but her tongue had stopped. What a fucking joke! I mean, the one time someone gets her to change her behavior and it’s the last thing in the world I wanted.”
She is completely caught up in her story, totally ignoring me. In fact I can see that she’s kind of rubbing her nipple a little. She takes another drink and continues.
“I ground into her face, trying to get some relief, but it wasn’t enough. So I got off of her and grabbed a big test tube off the lab bench, and just started ramming it home. I came so fast, and it was incredible. But after, I felt so drained and disappointed. Plus, I had to clean her up, and clean up the tube, and I’d skipped dinner, so....”
She stops, her head bent in her hands. “Wow. And you haven’t told anyone?” She shakes her head, still not looking at me. “Listen, I’ve absolutely got to get into your lab to see this myself. Can you help me out?”
She jerks up. “No.. no, I couldn’t possibly. I’m already gonna lose my job over all this, I can just tell! And if we got caught, I might —” I cut her off.
“Ok, ok. Listen, Laura, you’ve been really helpful, and that was some fantastic information. I’m gonna give you an extra two hundred for this, ok? And I’ll get you a cab now. It’s late.”
Her eyes smiled at this, and I pay the bar tab and call a cab. I ride with her to her place, not too far away, but we don’t talk. When she makes to leave, our eyes meet again, and maybe there is an invitation there. She said she was no lesbian, and neither was I, but that story had clearly turned us both on. I look some more and it is too late, she’s closed the door and turned to leave. The taxi takes me home.
*** 7 ***
Well, I wasn’t going to ask Laura to help me, but I still wanted to see that lab. Her building isn’t high security, and I noticed a maintenance door in the back when I staked out the lab this afternoon. It’s not meant to be opened from the outside, but I saw people using it to leave the building, so I tried an old, simple trick. I taped a flap of thin plastic on the outside of the door where it locks, so that when it falls closed again the plastic gets squished inside and keeps the latch from closing. Hopefully, the sullen janitors I saw using the door earlier didn’t notice it.
I try to check my watch, but it’s too dark. I hate those modern watches with buttons and gizmos, but I’d trade my trusty classic for some awful thing with Indiglo right now. I’ve been watching the building from these bushes since midnight, and it seems like it’s been about twenty minutes. Everything’s been quiet, so I make my move.
I’ve got to cross a fairly open lawn to reach my door, and I wonder again if my choice of clothing was wise. I’m wearing the obvious black turtleneck and sneakers, but I feel like a beacon of light is reflecting off of the expanse of white leg I’m showing below the high hem of my black skirt. I had jeans on but changed, the skirt being more appropriate for the fantasy that I might add to this investigative trip. If I’ve got the nerve.
I’m not sure I’ve got the nerve for any of this. At least, I can hear my heart pounding in my ears as I reach the door. It looks good—the plastic is still there, and it’s closed between the door and the jamb. There’s no handle on this side, but I slip my fingernails into the seam and -damn! break a nail. But I can tell the door is open, and encouraged I get it on the second try. I slip inside, pull the plastic in with me and close the door. I’m in a stairwell, looking up, trying to press that door closed with my back as if the police are trying to break it down. The momentary panic leaves me and I relax and head up.
The third floor is a corridor of metal doors, the walls lined with steel tanks of gas that look like evil clowns in the shadowy light. I don’t know which lab I’m looking for, except for the name Morokis, so I peer through the narrow window set into each. Maybe I’ll see a nameplate, or a sign that says “In here for the alien Mexican with the six inch tongue!". When I find the room, it’s because of the doctor’s nameplate. No sign.
Of course the door is locked, but now I’m safe from the public view and I’ve got time to pick it. You don’t get as far as I have in journalism without learning a few shady tricks. Lucky for me, it’s an easy lock since my shady tricks are in fact few. Again, I find myself pressing the door closed from the inside. I know it’s irrational but I feel like every door I close behind me makes more of a shield from discovery. When I calm down again, it’s time to work.
My first find is some information on ‘Alpha’, which pretty much confirms what Laura told me. But the x-rays make me shudder—the metal filaments look like the root system of a tree, but a tree rooted in the gray matter of her brain, the flesh of her breasts, and the depths of her groin. And then I see the real thing, four creepy silver parasites in glass canisters. Lumps of chrome with a canopy of mossy silver hanging down from each one, occasionally cut short where the scientists obviously couldn’t separate the fibers from the woman’s tissue. I morbidly run my finger down the glass, wondering what it would be like to be a puppet on those sliver strings.
I take some pictures, keeping the exposure long to account for the dim light and bracing the camera on a chair. They might not come out, but I’m afraid to turn on lights or use my flash. I’m not taking pictures of the black cube, which is here too. Nobody wants to see a black cube. And then, all of a sudden, nobody can see the black cube, because it vanishes completely. I suck in a breath. It’s exactly one in the morning, and I’ve got a pretty good idea what that cube does. Janet’s diary said Constance vanished at 1am, and this cube must be how it’s done. The lab wouldn’t even notice, since they’re all gone at this hour. But I’ve noticed, and now I really want that cube.
How long ‘til it comes back? I think Janet wrote that half an hour passed. I can wait. The rest of the lab is unexciting to a layman like myself, with no sign of ‘Beta’. I go out into the hall. There’s an obvious choice for her room, right across the hall, but it’s too dark to see inside. It’s quick work to pick the lock. There are no windows in this room, so I snap on the lights, revealing a curtained bed and a large lab area. I try to explore the lab first, saving the best for last, but my resolve wavers quickly and I draw the curtains back.
It is Beta. Unmistakably. I imagine I can hear her tongue slurping in and out, but it’s motion is as fluidly silent as it was when I couldn’t see it. I can’t break my eyes from that glistening snake, but I pull back her sheets to reveal the rest of her. She is on her back, eyes unnervingly wide open, but she has no reaction to my presence. My reaction to her presence is immediate. My nervous cold sweat has warmed quickly to a flush I can feel burning from my cheeks down my neck, spine, and into my core where it is cooled only slightly by the air under my skirt. I feel a trickle on my left thigh and lick my lips with desire.
The woman’s skin is creamy, smooth, and pale except for her blood red lips which glisten with alien saliva as the tongue slides through them. I’m getting queasy with fear of discovery, and the knowledge that what I’m planning to do is deeply perverted, but my lust has fixated on that tongue and will not be denied.
I climb onto the bed and straddle her head, knees touching her shoulders. I can see the chrome tips of her breasts, and the smooth skin of her flawless feet, but her head is now concealed by the tent of my skirt. I can sense her tongue moving between my legs, but I am still too high above it for it to touch. Slowly, I work my knees outward and lower my naked pussy to her face. Still I feel no tongue, and then a jolt blows through me as my clit touches her chin. She must have stopped.
When Laura told me her story, I immediately guessed the reason Beta had stopped. This woman was possessed to be one of a pair, the six of a sixty-nine. My stomach tying itself into nervous knots, I bend forward, knowing that I can still turn back but won’t. Her smooth, hairless lips fill my vision, and her scent fills my head. I can feel her breath between my legs. Is she aware of any of this?
And then I lick her, gently, tentatively, and gasp as her tongue rams itself deep inside me, filling me like a dildo, but with the pulsing throb of a living thing. I can feel her kiss on my pussy as she pumps the thing inside me, but her lips and head are completely still, her body single-mindedly devoting itself to the thrusting. I’m losing myself in the act as well, every lick I take of her felt ten times stronger inside of me as she mirrors my movements. I feel like I’m tonguing myself.
The room, the break in, it all fades away as my orgasm approaches and I focus totally on her sex. I think my hips are grinding, powering my cunt into her face, and my last rational thought is that I hope I’m not suffocating her. Then I’m over the edge, kaleidoscopes of black dancing in my eyes. My tongue is still forcing inside her, my moan of ecstasy muffled into grunts as I involuntarily keep lapping, and the amazing worm inside of me brings me back to the plateau again. The orgasms fade into a continuous blur.
When I slowly come out of it, I am stiff, still straddling her head and mindlessly licking her snatch. My pussy is pulsing with warmth, slick with wetness, and still being fucked, deep and smooth. But I’ve got my senses back for a moment and reluctantly pull myself off of her with a loud slurp.
I feel incredible, glowing with energy. Beta looks unchanged. Same blank stare, pistoning tongue. Only her face is now liberally coated with my slick juices. I get some towels and clean her up, and it takes all my willpower not to climb back on when her tongue brushes the side of my hand. But the sexual fog has lifted, and I’m feeling a sense of urgency to leave now. I take some quick pictures of her, both naked and covered—it’s a family newspaper.
Back in the main lab, the cube is back in it’s canister. It’s 1:40, and I’ve been here too long already. I unscrew the lid and take the thing, elevating my crime from breaking and entering to burglary, but this is for a higher purpose. I’ve been careful not to leave fingerprints, but I wipe anyway, and then it’s out the way I came in. Hopefully, they’ll decide the cube disappeared due to some alien mojo rather than a simple robbery.