Dark Soul (SoulScape #1)

CH 4

"Because it was your nature." The figure backed out of the door and closed it. The lock remained broken. He looked at the rusted hinges...and understood now the source of the moisture that had corroded them.

He turned away from the door...and all the others as well. Maybe they were best left closed and locked up tight. For now.

Pulling away from Frank Harlan's mind, he focused outward. The file remained opened before him and he closed it, tucking it under his arm then turned towards the door. A sudden strangled cry burst forth as the lights were suddenly flicked on. His free arm swung across his eyes as he felt the retina's begin to burn.

"Dr. Harlan," a surprised voice clamored. "I didn't realize you were in-"

"Turn off the fucking lights!" he hissed coldly.

"W-Wha-"

The file squeezed tightly into his armpit, he lunged across the room and swept his palm down over the switch, casting the office back into heavy darkness. His face lost in the deep shadows, he smiled darkly. "You're..." he shook his head once. "I forget your name."

The man in the doorway looked at him uncertainly. "Weslow, sir," he said slowly. "Chuck Weslow."

"Ah, yes. Weslow." He looked the younger man over slowly. Weslow. He had a cool indifference towards all the patients, as if he despised them for their problems. But Alec Strom he had despised most of all –because Alec had frightened him. And he'd had his own way of dealing with that fear. How thrilled he must be now that the patient was dead. How thrilled, indeed.

"Dr. Harlan...are you all right?"

"Fine," he assured the young man. "Never better. Just taking a moment to relax after tonight's incident."

Weslow visibly relaxed as some of his arrogance seeped back into his voice. "Strom give them any problems?" Weslow wondered around the butt of a Marlboro he'd produced out of his shirt pocket.

"None," he murmured lightly, squinting at the sudden bright flick of Weslow's lighter. "Took his poison like a good little killer."

Weslow snorted and blew smoke out the side of his mouth. "Shoulda gave him the chair," he muttered. "Lethal Injection was too humane for a monster like that. At least that initial 2500 volts woulda prepared him for the fires of Hell." He snorted again and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. "Good Lord, what's this world coming to when people start worrying about torturing a killer while they're snuffing out his worthless life?"

"You and me," he reached out and squeezed Weslow's shoulder. "We're going to get along just fine."

Weslow grinned around his cigarette. A grin that quickly twisted into a grimace as Harlan's hand slid around his throat and squeezed just enough to let the man know he wasn't fooling.

"Dr. Harlan?" he choked. "What the hell?"

He winked. "Precisely." He yanked the younger man forward and pressed his fingertips hard against the crook of Weslow's jaw, forcing his mouth open. "Alec told me what you did to him...over and over."

Weslow's eyes bulged, his throat working as he tried to speak.

"Fond of Ole Sparky, are ya? Well, I'll personally introduce you," he murmured down the stale smoke depths of Chuck Weslow's throat. "You like sticking your cock where it don't belong? Well, let's you, me and your cock have a little nasty fun. In one of those nice little states where Sparky lets you sit on his lap when you take innocent lives without a shred of remorse."

Weslow's eyes bulged wider. "No." The protest was little more than a gurgling in his constricted throat.

"Oh...yeah." The figure's grip tightened and he forced his mouth down hard on Weslow's and closed his eyes as a noise like a distant whirlwind echoed faintly through the office.

........................

Frank Harlan opened his eyes. He was standing in the center of his office in pitch black darkness; what the hell had happened? He blinked then squinted and noticed someone turning away from the open doorway. He thought he recognized the profile.

Harlan stepped forward. "Chuck?" Then he noticed something else; a file tucked under the younger man's arm. "Weslow, where are you going with that file?"

The man ignored him as if he hadn't heard the doctor speak. Harlan frowned as he realized something was different about the aspiring young psychiatrist. His walk, that's what was different. Weslow had a swaggering, arrogant gait that had always secretly annoyed Frank. But the man walking away from his office strode forward with confidence. And Harlan knew that walk as well.

"Alec?" he breathed.

Weslow paused then turned slowly. "Ah, shucks. You found me out, Doc."

Frank stared at the man; why had Alec let him go?

As if reading his thoughts, Weslow met his eyes steadily. "You did me right, Doc. For that, you live." He shook his head once. "But don't try to stop me, and don't get in my way."

Harlan watched him turn away. "Alec," he called, emotion straining his voice. Weslow stopped but didn't turn. "I'm sorry...that I couldn't help you."

"I am what I am, Doc. You didn't make me. You saw what I was and still you tried. And even a dark soul like Alec Strom knows the value of a friend." He shifted his head a fraction to the right. "You were my friend...weren't you, Doc?"

Something Frank had never heard before resonated distantly in the man's voice. "I was," Frank whispered and swallowed hard. "I am." When the man started to leave, Frank asked, "Why her? Why...Dr. Delaney? You could have...chosen anyone. Why her?"

Silence settled over the dark office for a long moment before Frank received his answer. "She didn't respect you, doc," he murmured. "She should have been nicer to you."

You chose her...for me? After two years, the brutal act still chilled Frank's blood. But...in his own disturbed way...had Alec been defending Frank? Could someone who was pure evil even care that much?

"I'm your friend, too, doc." Weslow took a step forward, then paused. "I know why the hinges were rusted," he whispered.

"Hinges?" Frank frowned. "What hinges?"

"After you locked the door, you stood outside...and you cried." Weslow went silent and still as Frank stared at his back in confusion, though the man's words pulled tears into Frank's eyes. Weslow turned his head and the light from the corridor outside the office fell across his face. "You cried for me."

As the man shifted away, Frank caught a glimpse of wetness in his eye, reflected by the light.

Or maybe he imagined it. Surely it was just a trick of the light.

Alec wasn't capable of feeling emotion.

Yet he took a life...in defense of you.

Frank didn't attempt to keep him from leaving. He didn't call the authorities. What could he have told the police anyway? He stood at his office window and watched the man walk onto the Asylum's front lawn where he paused, turning his face up to the dark sky and the black moon and breathe deeply the night air. The evil had escaped, after all. But it was leaving Black Moon County, and that's all that concerned Frank Harlan. Yet the loss he felt inside was undeniable...as was the darkness inside of Alec undeniable. And he pitied the poor souls who met up with it out there along the way.

And Chuck Weslow –when he shook hands with Ole Sparky.

When the man faded into the night, Frank retreated from the window. Would Alec return one day? Seek him out?

His mind prayed against it.

But his heart...