At 07:05AM, Stephanie Nielson pulled it the parking lot of a squat 4-story medical research facility in western Long Island. She was running late, so she jogged up to the building and through the double doors. Surveying the lobby, she saw a nice dressed man with a briefcase sitting in the waiting area. He looked up with a smile as she approached; hand out stretch. "Mr. Owens? Stephanie Neilson; I am sorry I am late, traffic was terrible." she said shaking his hand.
"It's quite alright, I understand."
Pointing to the elevators, she said, "Let's head up and find Dr. Goodson. He can give you a brief rundown of what he has and the sample." They walked past a security guard who was busy reading the morning sports section. They reached the elevators and she pushed the up button. They made small talk as they waited for the elevator, which arrived shortly. The door opened and Stephanie stepped forward, only to pull up with a start. She had almost run into a janitorial cart. A middle-aged maintenance man sheepishly said, "Excuse me" as he moved the cart to make room for them. "Which floor, Miss Nielson?" he asked after they had stepped in.
"Three, please, Stan", was the reply.
"Ah, that’s where I'm going, too."
Once the car came to a stop, the doors opened. All three and the cart exited the elevator. Stan, the janitor, stopped in the lobby area of the 3rd floor and started to mop, while Stephanie and Mr. Owens continued down the hall. They went halfway down and stopped at one of the doors. The door was unlocked, which was unusual, because the doctor had a habit of locking it if he came in before normal business hours. She said nothing. In the office were a number of desks and workspace, which are normal fare for a medical lab. On the back of one of the chairs hung a worn jacket, Stephanie made note that it was the same one the Dr. had on the day before. Had he worked all night, she wondered silently. "Dr?" she said, only to receive no answer. "He must be in back; in the clean room. That's where we keep the serum", she said leading Mr. Owens around the corner.
They rounded the corner and faced a wall with three hooks. From 2 of the hook hung smocks and clear plastic face masks, the third hook was empty. They turned to face a wall, whose upper half was glass. In the middle of the wall was a door, with a magnetic swipe lock next to it. On the other side of the wall were several tables, cabinets and a refrigerator. Several things struck them as odd as they surveyed the scene. The first was that there was no one visible, from their vantage point. The second was that the door to the refrigerator stood open and it looked as though the contents had been dumped. Lastly, and most alarmingly there was a dark substance smeared, which looked like dried blood, across the window of the door. "Omigawd! Dr.!" Stephanie said loudly. Stepping forward she could see more of the room. There was a figure crouched beside one of the tables, it appeared to be inspecting some sort of liquid on the floor. With excitement in her voice she pounded the window, "Dr. Dr., what's wrong?"
The figure slowly stood, as though in a stupor, and turned. Stephanie struggled to get her mag-card out. She swiped it through the reader, and the door made an electric click. She pushed the door open and entered. Mr. Owens who had been standing behind her followed her. As she entered the room the figure had made it completely around to face them. There was blood down the side of his smock, and his right hand was bloody. Stephanie took a step forward, then stopped as she looked into the doctor’s face. There was something not quite right. His mouth was agape; lips dried, and his skin had a grayish tone to it. Most striking were his eyes. They were clouded over, as though covered with a film. The Dr.'s arms reached out, hands forming into claws. As he stepped forward, what can only be described as a hungry growl came from his throat.
Stan enjoyed working the early shift. It gave him time to be alone. Slowly wiping his mop back and forth, he swabbed the floor. Being Friday, his mind wandered to what he would be doing this weekend. This weekend was his monthly trip to the city. He liked his trips to the city, because he could see "his girl". His girl wasn’t actually his. She was actually any number of girls working for an escort agency that Stan frequented. He called the working ladies of New York City "his girl", in order to not feel guilty about paying for sex. Stan was shocked out of his thoughts by a blood curdling woman's scream, followed by the crash of glass. "What the...?" he said aloud. There was another cry, this time from a man. Stan reached down and took the walkie talkie off his belt. Pressing the talk button he said "Bob...Bob...get security on the horn. There is something going on up here on three."
"What is it?' a crackling voice asked.
"I ain't sure, just do what I asked, you idiot" Stan snapped. Holding his mop with both hands he cautiously went down the hall. Once he reached the door Ms Nielson and her guest had entered he stopped. He put his hand on the knob and took a deep breath. Behind the door he could hear the sounds of a desperate struggle. He flung the door open and jumped through the opening. He tried to look as fierce as possible, but it did little good. In front of him were 2 men grappling with each other. He recognized one from the elevator, and the other was Dr. Goodson. He opened his mouth to say something just as the Dr. clamped his teeth on the man’s forearm. Even through the man’s suit, Stan could tell it was painful. The man threw his head back and screamed. Dr. Goodson released his bite and sprang upwards. In a flash he bit down hard on the man’s neck; blood fountained from a gaping wound.
With that, Stan sprang into action. He swung the heavy end of the mop and caught the doctor across the shoulder. The mop handle splintered; the head smashing glassware on the table across the room. The blow was enough to knock Dr Goodson off the man’s neck. Stan fought the urge to wretch, as he watched skin and muscle pull away with the doctor’s teeth. He turned towards Stan, with what Stan could only later describe as "dead eyes". A guttural growl came from between blood drenched lips. He lunged forward, slamming into Stan.
Stan raised his arm instinctively. The doctor’s teeth wrapped around Stan’s bare forearm; pain shot up his arm. Terror gripped Stan. In desperation he swung the broken mop handle up as hard as he could. The sharp tip entered the bottom of the Dr’s jaw. The momentum of the strike pushed the handle through the soft palette of the his attacker’s mouth and into his brain cavity. Blood poured down Stan’s hand, making the handle slippery. Dr. Goodson straightened and his grip on Stan relaxed. Stan pushed as hard as he could and the Dr. toppled over the edge of a desk, taking a stack of papers to the floor with him.
Stan fell to one knee, holding his bleeding arm. He looked at it in shock. Despite the pain, the wound wasn’t as bad as it looked. Much of the blood wasn’t his. He scuttled across the floor to the man the doctor had been attacking. He lay on the floor, withering in pain. He was holding his neck trying to stanch the blood flow. He heard a whimper to his right. He turned to see Ms. Nielson tucked into a corner. She had cuts and scratches across he face and neck. On her upper chest was a round hole, which looked as though someone had taken a bite out of her. He went to her and touched her leg, at which point she screamed and went into total hysterics.
Too Be Continued...
Too Be Continued...