Read Online From Black Rooms by Stephen Woodworth - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen Woodworth
Ads: Link
the threat of spending eternity ricocheting off the wal s of this soul cage was probably the only reason Markham hadn't simply
starved himself long ago.
Or perhaps he still has some unfinished business in the outside world, Pancrit mused as the door behind him hissed closed with the suction of an airtight seal. A moment later, the door ahead of him slid away to reveal the red figure clamped into the chair at the cel 's center. The prisoner did not move, and the depth of shadow in the man's eye sockets made it impossible for Pancrit to tel whether Markham even noticed him. Only when he entered the room and heard the door
whoosh shut behind him did Pancrit see that the
inmate's violet irises tracked his every motion with feline intensity.
"Good morning, Evan." Pancrit put his hands on his knees and squatted until they were face-to-face, looking for signs of comprehension. "I'm Dr. Pancrit. I want to help you. I want us to help each other."
Blanched by lack of sunlight, Markham's pal id
complexion became almost translucent beneath the cold fluorescent lights, blue veins showing through the thin skin of his forehead. He might have been mistaken for a cunning waxwork if not for the glow of those narrowed eyes.
Pancrit straightened and cast a casual glance around the cel . "Are they treating you wel ? The food leaves something to be desired, I'm sure."
He nodded toward a plastic tray that sat by the door, upon which rested a pair of plastic bowls filmed with the residue of dried tomato soup and chocolate pudding. Markham, he knew, had once attempted to pierce his own jugular vein with the tine of a plastic fork. When his jailers stopped giving him forks, he tried to choke himself with the bowl of a plastic spoon. Now they had ceased giving him utensils altogether, forcing him to eat with his fingers.
The prisoner failed to respond to Pancrit. If anything, the visitor's presence seemed to bore him.
So much for small talk, Pancrit decided. "I know you want to get out of here, Evan. I can make it happen." Markham's expression did not change, but his violet gaze fol owed Pancrit as the doctor idly paced the room.
"I know you're not a sociopath, Evan. The mutilation, the disembowelments, the eyes ripped from their
sockets--that was al for show, to throw the police off your trail. You wanted the cops to believe it was the work of a sadist, because then they wouldn't suspect your true motive. Those Violets were your friends, and you wanted to end their pain. Isn't that so?" He circled around behind the chair. Although
Markham's head didn't move, Pancrit imagined the
Violet's eyebal s twisting backward like owls' heads, as if to stare at the doctor through the back of his skul . Pancrit glanced at the clamps on Markham's wrists to make sure they were secure, then squeezed the
prisoner's shoulders in fraternity. "Like you, I've devoted my life to giving people peace. That's why I need you. If my work succeeds, you and your friends wil never have to suffer again. Wouldn't you like that, Evan?" Here, he bent close to Markham's ear, observing his reaction. "Wouldn't you like to end Natalie's suffering?"
The inmate peered at him, unblinking and seemingly unmoved, but beneath his hand, Pancrit felt Markham's shoulder muscles tense.
The doctor smiled and sauntered back around in front of the chair, stil gauging the effect of his words. "I visited Ms. Lindstrom a few weeks ago, actual y. Or should I cal her 'Boo'? Very pretty. So's her daughter, from what I hear--" Pancrit smacked his temple in mock consternation. "Gosh, that's right! You probably haven't heard. She had a kid with that FBI guy...what was his name? You know it better than I do." Markham's nostrils flared, and the blue Y of a vein rose on his forehead.
"Oh, yeah! Atwater, wasn't it? Not like it matters now--he's out of the picture. Natalie and her girl are on their own now." The doctor shook his head. "A shame, real y. Won't be long before they're both slaves to
starved himself long ago.
Or perhaps he still has some unfinished business in the outside world, Pancrit mused as the door behind him hissed closed with the suction of an airtight seal. A moment later, the door ahead of him slid away to reveal the red figure clamped into the chair at the cel 's center. The prisoner did not move, and the depth of shadow in the man's eye sockets made it impossible for Pancrit to tel whether Markham even noticed him. Only when he entered the room and heard the door
whoosh shut behind him did Pancrit see that the
inmate's violet irises tracked his every motion with feline intensity.
"Good morning, Evan." Pancrit put his hands on his knees and squatted until they were face-to-face, looking for signs of comprehension. "I'm Dr. Pancrit. I want to help you. I want us to help each other."
Blanched by lack of sunlight, Markham's pal id
complexion became almost translucent beneath the cold fluorescent lights, blue veins showing through the thin skin of his forehead. He might have been mistaken for a cunning waxwork if not for the glow of those narrowed eyes.
Pancrit straightened and cast a casual glance around the cel . "Are they treating you wel ? The food leaves something to be desired, I'm sure."
He nodded toward a plastic tray that sat by the door, upon which rested a pair of plastic bowls filmed with the residue of dried tomato soup and chocolate pudding. Markham, he knew, had once attempted to pierce his own jugular vein with the tine of a plastic fork. When his jailers stopped giving him forks, he tried to choke himself with the bowl of a plastic spoon. Now they had ceased giving him utensils altogether, forcing him to eat with his fingers.
The prisoner failed to respond to Pancrit. If anything, the visitor's presence seemed to bore him.
So much for small talk, Pancrit decided. "I know you want to get out of here, Evan. I can make it happen." Markham's expression did not change, but his violet gaze fol owed Pancrit as the doctor idly paced the room.
"I know you're not a sociopath, Evan. The mutilation, the disembowelments, the eyes ripped from their
sockets--that was al for show, to throw the police off your trail. You wanted the cops to believe it was the work of a sadist, because then they wouldn't suspect your true motive. Those Violets were your friends, and you wanted to end their pain. Isn't that so?" He circled around behind the chair. Although
Markham's head didn't move, Pancrit imagined the
Violet's eyebal s twisting backward like owls' heads, as if to stare at the doctor through the back of his skul . Pancrit glanced at the clamps on Markham's wrists to make sure they were secure, then squeezed the
prisoner's shoulders in fraternity. "Like you, I've devoted my life to giving people peace. That's why I need you. If my work succeeds, you and your friends wil never have to suffer again. Wouldn't you like that, Evan?" Here, he bent close to Markham's ear, observing his reaction. "Wouldn't you like to end Natalie's suffering?"
The inmate peered at him, unblinking and seemingly unmoved, but beneath his hand, Pancrit felt Markham's shoulder muscles tense.
The doctor smiled and sauntered back around in front of the chair, stil gauging the effect of his words. "I visited Ms. Lindstrom a few weeks ago, actual y. Or should I cal her 'Boo'? Very pretty. So's her daughter, from what I hear--" Pancrit smacked his temple in mock consternation. "Gosh, that's right! You probably haven't heard. She had a kid with that FBI guy...what was his name? You know it better than I do." Markham's nostrils flared, and the blue Y of a vein rose on his forehead.
"Oh, yeah! Atwater, wasn't it? Not like it matters now--he's out of the picture. Natalie and her girl are on their own now." The doctor shook his head. "A shame, real y. Won't be long before they're both slaves to
Similar Books
