In the Belly of the Beast

41

As the trio left the kitchen, Abby's body fell on the table like a lifeless rag doll. Her limbs felt like hardened concrete, and the neurons in her brain struggled to make the reconnections that would allow them obey her commands.

She tried to focus on what had just happened. Her thoughts came like sludge. A light thud landed on the tabletop, just in front of her face. 

She opened her eyes.

It was a cat, sleek and silken. It dipped its furry face down to meet her eyes. A low meow rolled from its throat.

The faintest whiff wafted by her nose. She could not name it - light, musky. The fog on her brain was starting to clear, but for an instant, she felt Tray's gentle fingertips trace across her forehead.

Tray, she thought. God, she needed him now. She swallowed the scorching lump that had risen in her throat and blinked the tears away.

No time for these things. Where in the hell was she? What had just happened?

She surveyed the kitchen. What the fuck had they done to her?

It felt like brain rape.

***

She heard the clatter and the sirens outside. She heard voices down the hall.

Fire? Mecham? That couple? One female: drop-dead looks. One male: average build, nothing special about his looks.

Or was there?

No wait. 

His eyes. 

Black portals. Bottomless pits. Alleyways to hell. 

What had he done to her? She couldn't remember, but the mere memory of those eyes left a bad taste in her mouth. 

The boy? He was here, but what was his connection to the couple?

Question piled upon question, and she did not have any answers. Hell, she wasn't sure of much of anything, anymore.

That damn cat was all over her. She hated cats, yet, here was her newfound friend glued to her like a brand new soul mate. She felt his leathery tongue lick her face.

Cat spit.

She willed her hand to brush the pesky animal away, but the licking continued. 

What was wrong with this stupid cat? What was he doing? Was it some kind of ritualistic behavior to mark his territory?

Oh god, she thought, what if he hikes his leg and sprays me?

Mercifully, the cat finished bathing her. He jumped down from the table and slinked off into other parts of the house.

She concentrated hard and willed first her arms and then her legs to move. Her brain seemed to be coming online. Her limbs obeyed, and she rose unsteadily from the table.

***

She reached behind her, removing the Glock from its holster in her jeans waistband. Its cold hard weight felt reassuring in her hands.

She moved to the hallway and pressed flat against the wall. She snatched a quick look down the hall. The light was dim, but she could just make out the trio standing in the doorway of a room at the end of the passageway.

They stood riveted, staring at whatever was in the room.

She felt a trickle of cold sweat slither down the nape of her neck. It felt as if every hair on her body was standing at full attention. The adrenaline raced in her brain. Her pulse quickened; her senses sharpened.

If she could edge a little nearer, she'd have a clear line of shot, if events unfolded and she needed one. She risked another fast peek.

Whatever they were looking at, it totally held their attention.

She crouched down and began her way down the wide hall, pressing her body alongside the far wall like a leech. She silently prayed that her foot would not fall upon a squeaky board or a loose tile. It was so dark that it was impossible to tell what kind of floor covering lined the passage.

She crept closer, closer, but the corridor seemed to go on for miles.

It was only her imagination, she told herself, coupled with the edge of fear. She could just hear their muffled voices. The red glow from the alarm clock painted their faces like masks with a feverish hue.

Abby heard the woman laugh. Not a light, joyful sound of mirth, but cruel and malicious. The man was beaming, too.

The boy looked on with a glazed, emotionless expression.

Was he drugged? 

The kitchen door burst open with a loud crash, and the voices of firemen called out. The man grabbed the boy and dragged him up the hall. The women followed.

Abby hid in a dark recess, crouched behind a chair. The trio passed by her.

What were they all staring at? 

She had to find out what was in that room.

She listened hard for the sounds of voices. They were all still engaged in conversation. The voices floated down the hall. It was agreed the fireman should leave. The couple and the boy would remain inside the home.

What the hell was the fireman thinking?

There was no time for this, she chided herself. If she wanted to see what was in the room, she had to act fast. It sounded as if the conversations in the kitchen were winding down.

She hurried to the open door at the end of the hall. The red glow from the alarm clock was like a target upon which she honed her senses.

Her breath escaped in a shocked gasp, and she stifled the urge to scream.

Lying on the bed was a mountainous pile of flesh. The inhuman shape sprouted tentacles that plugged every orifice of its body. Its legs were spread apart, two huge jelly rolls of creased and dimpled skin. Its penis ran from its crotch to its mouth. It looked for all the world to Abby like a feeding tube.

But that was impossible.

She staggered and rested against the door jam. She gathered her courage and entered the room.

She could not be seeing what she was seeing, she told herself.

This huge glob couldn't possibly be alive. She looked down into the mass of flesh. It opened its eyes and looked pleadingly into hers.

"Jesus," she whispered, jumping back in fright.

"Like what you see?" the man asked.

She had broken one of her cardinal rules.

Never let yourself be distracted by anything at the scene.

She swung the Glock toward the silhouette in the doorway.

"No need for violence, little Lady," he said.

"Down on your knees," Abby barked.

"Now, now," he said soothingly, as he advanced toward her.

She backed toward the bed.

"Down! Now, or I blow your fuckin' brains out!" she screamed.