Karst

Chapter Eight: Imminient

"You piece of shit." She spat in his bruised, grimy, bloodied face. She finally dropped him and he rolled like a bowling ball onto his side, groaning in agony. "Why did you kill me? And then let your best friend get the blame on top of that? Scum like you don't deserve a place even in hell." She kicked him again, he retracted into a ball, and coughed up dark red blood. "I didn't kill you Melody, Karl did...n.." He whispered. She punched him in the face and sent him sprawling across the floor. "Liar!" She screamed and pounded him until he saw white lights shining at the edges of his vision.

"Am I dead yet?" His knees felt weak, his whole body aching with excruciating pain, his head throbbing, covered from mind to toe in dark blue bruises. He was lying on a bitter cold tiled floor. He shivered from the constant pain of his injuries and the wind that blew through the gap in the broken window that was in front of him. Dim, faded light flickered through the small hole, the only source of light in the room. He tried to crawl towards the door but it was futile. He couldn't move without feeling like he was going to break into a million pieces. He leant against the wall and tried to control his rough, uneven breathing. Suddenly he heard the lock clicking. The door creaked open. He prayed that Melody hadn't come back again. If it was her, this time she would kill him. But it wasn't her. It was somebody much worse.

The woman's face was hidden by a crimson lace veil, her blonde, neatly ironed ringlets falling down her back, curling in towards her neck. She was wearing a velvet dress that went down to her pale ankles, she wore a giant diamond necklace that shimmered and gleamed, tinkling whenever she walked. "Quentin Bellerose. My, my, its been a while since I've heard that unimportant name. I'm sure you know why you're here." He froze and stared vaguely at the wall, pretending he was unconscious. "I know you are awake." She said in a nonchalant tone. She took off one of her leather gloves and smacked him across the face. His swollen eyelids fluttered for a second. The walls loomed in towards him, the reek of his own vomit filling his nostrils. The woman backed away again, her pointy heels clacking on the tiles. She opened her designer wallet and pulled out a small polaroid of a scientist, wearing a large smile and holding a vial of strangely coloured liquid. Quentin recognised him at once and jumped in surprise. He hadn't seen that face in two years. In a way, he was glad he hadn't.

"You know him don't you? I could see it on your face. The look of surprise and slight terror. I've seen it many times before." She said curtly, before putting the photo away again. "We have a lot to talk about so firstly lets get started. I suggest you don't resist me, because the end results shall be rather unpleasant. I'd rather this be a civil conversation so first of all, your full name please?" One of the lady's associates had brought in a rich, silk decorated chair and had placed it slightly to the right of her. She sat down gracefully, and took out a pen and a little black notebook from her purse. He lay on the ground stunned for a silent minute then uttered as calmly sounding as he could muster "After you, of course, Madam." The woman laughed. It didn't feel right somehow, it almost felt as if they were on stage, acting. This was all a part of the show. Her elaborate costume, her plastic diamonds, her nobility. All but a fantasy for her, the actress. After the show she would go home, wipe the dirt and makeup off her face and wonder why she was doing any of this. Why she talked like both a dainty Lady and a General. How she condemned people to a sentence of auto da fé, just by being ensnared in her gaze, her career ending in a fiery, passionate explosion. He felt unimportant, just a stand in for the actor who was sick that day and she treated him in that way too. As far as she was concerned, he could just be a part of the scenery, nothing more. The main act was about to begin.
"I go by many names as you know. The Spider, The Widow, but for now, you may call me Isabella Capello. Now you still haven't told me yours." She stared at him intensely. "Quentin Sebastian Bellerose." He finally spoke, his will caving in. She smiled, showing the whites of her unnaturally straight teeth, that were a glistening ivory white. Quentin could feel that with every piece of information he told her, she became more powerful if that were even possible. This was what this was about. A game of lies. And the one who tells the truth, loses. He was already down 1 point.

"Where are you keeping them? The prisoners? If you show me them, I will answer any questions you have." Quentin was used to blackmailing people. Sometimes it was the only way to deal with things. Her expression drastically changed. A murderous look of disgust and hatred flashed across her face momentarily, until she regained her usual emotionless state. She turned and faced the door. 'Oh no, maybe I shouldn't have..' Thought Quentin, clenching his fists. She yelled something in a language Quentin did not understand, then he heard noise coming from the hall. A man was shoved harshly through the door, his nose gushing blood from the impact with the ground. He stood up, straightening himself out, before grinning defiantly. It was R. His greasy hair and clothes were covered with mud and dust, his face discoloured and washed out looking, his eyes tired and weary, his goggles broken in one eye. However he still had a spark in him, R would always, he would never lose his spark, unless he died. R was a survivor and had seen the world in indescribable perspectives. He was flung like a piece of trash next to Quentin. "Unfortunately I cannot continue this conversation with you much longer, i have important business to attend to. I have sent your friend to inform you of the current events. Farewell, until we next meet." The Spider left as quick as she came, and just as mysteriously and abruptly. A weedy, stick of a man poked his head through the door before hastily slamming it shut. R and Q heard the key turning in the lock.

"Why are we still alive?" Questioned Quentin immediately after the man left. "Because they want K dead." R replied, and he sighed. "And Astrid?" Quentin continued but hesitated when he noticed the spark in R had slightly diminished. "She is as good as dead now." R said bitterly. Quentin closed his eyes, leaning against the wall behind him. "I'm sure you want to know the whole reason why we're here."
"Yes, of course. That would be a good start."
"Okay, I'll start from the beginning then.

It was before any of this happened. The disease, the death, the conflict. It was when everything was peaceful. I remember how I used to hang out below the train tracks under the bridge, just sitting there, thinking about things. It was a whole different world from this one. One of tranquility and security. It wasn't just K who did it. That woman you just met there, The Spider. She was the cause of a lot of this. And Lucien. He was so talented. What a waste. They probably have disposed of him by now. He was a kind man. A good man. You knew him better than I did. He created the virus. Lucien Ren created the source of the disease. Originally, it was used to cure brain cancer. And it worked. He was a hero worldwide. Or at least he should have been. He wasn't acknowledged for his work. Someone else forged his own papers and published them before he could. Lucien had never felt so betrayed. It was a terrible time for him. But worse times were to come.
Someone broke into his lab. Stole the cure. They then cultivated it, thinking they could sell it off to hospitals passing it off as the real thing. However in the lab, it mutated into something else. The virus. It spread everywhere, changing shape and form so no one could develop a cure for it. It spread all over the city, so they quarantined it. Lucien was given all of the blame. He disappeared. They still haven't found him even today. Which is why they are questioning us. They think we know where Lucien is. They don't want him dead. They want him to mass produce the virus. He is the only one who knows how to create the cure. The secret has been hidden along with him. If they got a hold of even a few parts of the virus, it could spread and have a devastating effect. Also, they are trying to kill K." R paused. He looked nervous, which was something Quentin had never seen R be before. "Why do they want to kill K now?"
R looked at the ground. Quentin hadn't noticed it at first when he looked at R, but he saw it now. There were tear stains on R's cheeks, and his eyes were raw and red. He shifted slightly and looked Quentin in the eye.

"K murdered Isabella's sister. She is a serial killer."