RE-ANIMATOR:   ROAD  KILL

Herbert West stuffed one of the last pieces of non-ruined equipment into the suitcase, and threw a glance over his shoulder at his assistant. Dan Cain sat a few metres away from him, hunched over, his back to Herbert, refusing to look at him.
    Herbert wrinkled his brow, disturbed by Dan's distant attitude. "Dan?" he ventured, after a long silence. "Are you...still angry with me?"
    Dan did not reply.
Herbert sighed, and slammed the suitcase lid shut. "Daniel, how long do you intend to hold the Bride Incident against me? I already apologised - rather profusely, I thought. It really is through no fault of mine that Francesca
decided to go back to Peru without you."
   Dan gave a mirthless laugh. "Oh, yeah. No fault of yours. Right, Herbert. Sure."
Relieved that Dan was talking to him again, Herbert crossed the ruined laboratory, clambering over piles of debris and wood to sit down next to Dan amongst the wreckage. "Dan, all I can do is say I'm sorry. I had no idea that the whole Bride project would end in such an utter fiasco. I barely escaped with my life, you know!"
     "Of course I know. You remind me nearly every day." Dan glared at Herbert. "You really brought it on yourself, West. Whose dumb idea was it anyway, to create a woman out of miscellaneous body parts and Meg's heart?"
    Herbert grimaced. "All right, I admit it. It was a somewhat...badly planned operation." He paused. "Well, `disaster' is probably a more apt description...but still, it was really all for the best. If Francesca wasn't
prepared to accept your life's work, then she wasn't worth your time anyway."
    Dan wheeled around, his eyes blazing, to face Herbert. "Who the Hell are you to say who's worth my time and who isn't? Huh, Herbert? To you, the only people worth your time are the ones without a pulse!"
    "Of course! They're more useful!"
Dan clapped a hand over his eyes in despair. "That isn't what I meant at all," he muttered. "That is not what I meant, at all."
   Herbert looked at Dan for a long time, before placing an awkward arm around his shoulders. "Dan..." he whined. "Please don't hate me. I couldn't take it if you hated me. I was just trying to do what was best for the both of us, that's all. You believe me, don't you?"
    Dan looked up, into Herbert's stricken, pale face, and rolled his eyes. "Oh, for God's sakes...of course I don't hate you, Herbert."
   "You don't?" Herbert asked eagerly.
Dan shook his head. "You're far too weird to hate."
"Then we're still friends?" Herbert held out his hand, as if to shake.
Dan hesitated for a moment, then shook his hand. "Still friends."
"And partners?"
Dan pulled his hand away. "No."
Herbert looked shocked. "What? But...but we've always worked together! I demand to know why you want to back out now!"
     "Herbert! Look around!" Dan gestured around the ruined laboratory. "I had a normal life before I met you. I was happy..."
    "Ha! Ignorance in bliss!" sneered Herbert.
"I was in love, with a wonderful girl who loved me back. Then you stepped in, and everything was screwed up. Meg died. The dean of Miskatonic University was killed by one of your experiments - then later became one
of your experiments. You killed Dr. Hill..."
    "He was going to take the credit for my work!" said Herbert indignantly. "Surely you can't blame me for that."
    Dan glared. "Will you let me finish? Then we had to head for Peru - probably the only place where we could get work after that disaster. I metFrancesca. And I could have been happy with her. But, no - you get it into your head, for what reason I really don't want to know, to build a woman. Using Meg's heart. And what happens? Yet another royal fuck-up, that's what
happens. Did you read the morning's papers?" He gestured to the pile of newspapers lying nearby.
    Herbert, looking increasingly guilty, nodded. "I did. I must admit, I never thought Miskatonic University would go so far as to actively deny thatwe had ever attended there."
    "They _disowned_ us. Herbert, I truly don't think I have ever heard of a university disowning its students prior to us."
     Herbert snorted. "Fools. Incompetents, all! What could we honestly hope to gain by associating ourselves with such a backward, prehistoric facility anyway? If anything, we would be bringing them more undeserved glory. Of course, that troglodyte of a Dean _would_ say something like..." Herbert snatched up the paper and read: "`Herbert West and Daniel Cain were insane menaces to society, and Miskatonic has no wish to be associated with such depraved, sick-minded individuals'! He simply doesn't appreciate how visionary our actions truly were! Why, they called Copernicus mad when he proposed that the Earth orbited around the Sun! They called Galileo mad when he proposed that the Earth was round! They called - "
     "Yes, Herbert, but Copernicus and Galileo never, to my knowledge, used human body parts to prove their theories," interrupted Dan.
    "Of course not. They were astronomers."
Dan shut his eyes, and exhaled. "What am I even debating this with you for, Herbert? It's finished, it's over. As of now, the West-Cain partnership is officially dissolved."
    "No!" Herbert nearly shrieked, leaping to his feet. "Daniel, you can't let it end like this! I simply won't let you! There's too much to discover, too much to explore. Before I found you, my experiments were going nowhere - all I could do was bring corpses back to life briefly, before their eyes exploded and they died again. But when I found you, my greatest successes
finally went according to plan!"
    Herbert dropped back down to Dan's level again. "Oh, Dan - I know we've been through a lot together, but isn't that the mark of a true friendship?  Don't you remember all the good times we've had, too? Like when we spent allnight slugging back coffee and talking about the next day's experiment?"
    Despite himself, Dan smiled at the memory. "I remember."
"Yes. And besides, don't you remember what your life was like before I came along? Oh, sure, you had security, and a nice little safe routine, but it wasn't nearly as much fun as it was after we formed our partnership, was it?  Yes, you were in love with Meg; but I think by the time she discovered that we'd re-animated her hitherto dead cat in the basement, she had well
and truly lost that loving feeling, don't you?"
     Dan gave Herbert a baleful look. "You're not exactly consoling me here."
"It's not my strong point, no. Look, Dan, all I'm saying is, give our partnership a chance. In my opinion, this would be a perfect time to start again. Everyone believes us to have died in the laboratory; we can change our names, move somewhere nobody is familiar with us and our research. Wecould head to California. Or New York. Or Bangladesh, if that's what's what you want! We're rootless. The world's our oyster now."
    Dan said nothing for a while, before shaking his head. "I don't know, Herbert. I just don't know..."
     "Dan..." pleaded Herbert. "Can't you see I'm trying my best here? What more do you want from me? Do you want me to call Francesca and get her back?  I can call Francesca and get her back..."
    Dan gave a snort of mirth. "I doubt that somehow."
"Well? Just say the word, Dan. Anything you want - money, prestige, anything." Herbert opened his hands in supplication. "Anything that's mine to give you. Just don't dissolve the partnership. We've come too far for
that now."
     Slowly, Dan turned to look at Herbert. "Anything, huh?"
Herbert nodded.
"And I can hold you to that?"
Positively demonic head-nodding.
"Right. What I want..." Dan began "...Is for you and me to quit the re-animating biz, and go into legitimate, over-the-table, above-board surgery. I'm tired of death. I want to preserve life."
    The stare Herbert was giving Dan couldn't have been more horrified if Dan had asked him to assassinate the Pope. "I sincerely hope that you are not serious."
"I am." Dan stared back at Herbert coolly.
Herbert blustered, his glasses fogging up. "This is...this is outrageous! You're asking me to give up my life's work, and for what? Some kind of...existence as one of those ghouls who struggle to prolong the life of useless and parasitic individuals whose presence can only be justified as experimental matter! Look at me, Dan. Ask yourself: am I, Herbert West, truly that kind of a ghoul?"
   "That's the only way I'll stay, Herbert. Take it or leave it."
Herbert looked into Dan's eyes, and, seeing the iron determination wherein, folded like a deck chair. "All right. Damn you, all right. We'll go somewhere. Change our identities. I suppose in time I'll be able to adjust to..." He choked out the words as if it were physically painful  for him to utter them: "_Healing_ things."
   "People, Herbert. The word is `people'."
Herbert arched an eyebrow. "If you say so."
    Far off in the distance, a siren wailed. Herbert spun around, his eyes wide with fear. "The police!"
     Dan leapt to his feet, equally disturbed. "Shit! I forgot they'd be coming around in the morning to investigate the crime scene. What do we do?"
     Herbert stuffed a few more items hastily into a black plastic garbage bag, knotted it closed and stuffed it into the already fit-to-bursting suitcase. "We get out of here as fast as we frickin' can, Daniel."
    As the two of them hastily headed out of the ruined basement and out into the dawn light, Dan turned to Herbert, stopping him in the middle of the abandoned street, a look of worry in his eyes. "So what are we going to do now? Where are we going to go?"
    Herbert, his face softly aglow with the orange-red haze of the dawning sun, turned to Dan, his eyes behind the glasses seeming to flash. "Trust me."
 
 

"Paging Dr. Phillips and Dr. Stuart, you are wanted in Emergency. Repeat, paging Dr. Phillips..."
     The tinny voice of the hospital loudspeaker was drowned out by the sound of the panic erupting in Emergency Ward Three. Two doctors, one male, one female, were rushing through emergency procedures on the most recent casualty - a young woman who had been electrocuted by her hair dryer at home.
     Pushing down on the woman's chest, the female doctor shook her head. "She's not responding."
     The male doctor gave a frantic nod and replied tersely "Right. We'll have to give her a jump-start."
   The female turned around to glare at the doors. "Damn it! Where's Phillips and Stuart?"
    As if on cue, the double-doors to the operating theatre slammed open, and Dr. Phillips and Dr. Stuart strode through.
    The two doctors had arrived at Chicago General Hospital about six months ago, with excellent credentials - Howard Phillips had studied in Switzerland under the famed Dr. Hans Gruber, and Gordon Stuart had attended theacclaimed Miskatonic University back in his home town of Arkham. They had been accepted with open arms by the hospital board of directors, and had begun their work nearly immediately. Together, they had saved more lives inthe past four months than most of the long-time staff had within the year, which had led to jealousies amongst the regular staff, not to mention
various whispers speculating on the nature of the two doctors' unusually close partnership.
     They were known as something of an odd couple; Howard was known as `The Creepy One', with intense, haunted dark eyes that seemed to be made up entirely of the black pupil, no iris visible at all; a faint sneer always present on his face; and a haughty, detached bedside manner. So, it was just as well he had Gordon to  compliment him; by contrast, Gordon was handsome and sensitive, with deep, kind eyes that betrayed how much he cared forevery soul he encountered within the hospital. He often took losing patients as a personal blow; this had earned many a criticism for his unprofessional manner, but despite this, he remained by far the most popular with thepatients of all the doctors at Chicago General.
     At the moment, however, there was no time to consider either of the two doctors. Howard marched into the room, his cold demeanour never slipping, and proceeded to unload several medical tools. "What have we got?"
    "Electrocution. It doesn't look good. She's slipping away, and fast." replied the female doctor.
    "Right." Phillips' face registered no emotion, as he leaned over the woman, taking the two heart-starters from the male doctor. "Paste."
    Gordon applied the paste to the 'starters. Howard pressed them together. "Clear."
With that, he slammed them down onto the young woman's chest, causing her body to jump with the impact.
   A quick glance at the heart monitor showed that this had done very little; she was dangerously close to flatlining.
    Howard put aside the starters and began to press down hard on the woman's heart, muttering "Come on, damn you, come on..."
    "She's flatlining, Doctor!" cried the female doctor, pointing at the monitor.
Gordon stood by the side, his expression growing increasingly distressed as the heartrate on the monitor became fainter, and finally...
    Howard uttered a sigh of exasperation, and straightened up. "I'm calling it."
The monotonous beeping sound of the monitor droned on as the doctors numbly prepared for the young woman's body to be taken to the morgue. Gordon turned away, an expression of anger and grief on his face more powerful than words
could express.
    "We should have gotten here sooner, Phillips."
Howard gave Gordon a quizzical look. "There was nothing we could do, Stuart. She would have died anyway - she suffered severe electrocution. Nothing could have brought her back at that point."
    As he pushed his way past Gordon into the corridor, nobody heard Howard sarcastically whisper, almost imperceptibly: "Nothing  you'd agree to,anyway, right, `Gordon'?"
     At this, Gordon looked back at the two doctors in alarm, but, thank God, they were too preoccupied with the gruesome job of shifting the corpse to hear Howard's remark. Following Howard out into the corridor, Gordon managed to make his reply heard, muttered under his breath: "To think I actually thought a job like this might arouse some compassion in you."
    "You should know me better than that. People die every day, Daniel Cain, no matter how much you and your bleeding-heart compatriots wring your hands in woe." He gave Gordon - alias Dan Cain - a shifty look. "Of course, we
could always..."
    "No chance in Hell," Dan responded firmly. "I made a choice. I'll live with it."
"Well, you don't really have a choice, then, do you?" Howard said snippily, taking off his glasses and polishing them. "But to accept death as irreversible, I mean. Just thought you might like to know that I do have that emergency supply of re-agent, just in case you ever change your mind."
      He gave Dan a glare. "Or fall in love with someone who is going to die very soon."
    Dan returned the glare coolly. "I don't think so, Herbert. If it were up to me, I'd take that re-agent and throw it all in the river - but I appreciate that you like having that security. As for falling in love, get back to me on that one as soon as you have the faintest idea what love is."
    "And you get back to me," responded Herbert "As soon as you get sick of pretending to be ignorant of what lies beyond death. Oh, yes. Do you think I don't see the fear in your eyes, Daniel? It's the fear of a man who knows what happens after you die. Only you and I are privy to the secrets denied other mortals. I realise you have renounced your ties to those secrets; I realise you wish to let go of who and what you were, and what you knew. But I never let go, Dan."
    "If you even think about re-animating that girl -" hissed Dan.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Daniel. A promise is a promise, after all. Just don't forget where you came from, and what you used to be."
      Giving Dan one last meaningful glance, Herbert walked away, leaving Dan standing and staring after him.
 

The black Sedan pulled up to the curb outside Chicago General, silent, menacing. It was to be indeed the harbinger of bad news, and certainly the catalyst for the events that would follow its arrival. But of course, in these early days, no-one, least of all the Sedan's driver, had any knowledge of this.
      The door opened, and a well-shod foot slipped out, stepping onto the pavement. The foot was followed, as feet often are, by a leg, clad in a dark-colored trouser. The owner of both the leg and the foot slammed the door of the Sedan shut, and straightened his clothes. He was quite a young man; he was in fact twenty-eight, but looked about twenty or so, with elfin,
almost feminine features, short, neatly parted blond hair, icy blue eyes, cheekbones you could hang a hat off, a pointy nose, and thin, mean lips. His youthful appearance had earned him quite a bit of derision from his fellow FBI agents, but of course, this didn't really worry a professional like Agent Lance Madsen at all. Let 'em laugh. He had bigger fish to fry.
      Fish, he thought to himself that cold December morning, as he looked up at the towering building before him known as Chicago General, by the names of Daniel Cain and Herbert West.
 

The hospital cafeteria was, for once, almost deserted - at this time of the morning, most of the doctors were in surgery or suchlike. The only occupants around right now were a couple of orderlies and an off-duty nurse or two.  And, of course, Dan Cain.
      Dan was sitting in his usual booth, hunched over a Styrofoam cup full of coffee that, more often than not, tasted much the same. Today, however, some kind person had bothered to use real coffee rather than brake fluid; thank God for small comforts.
    Small comforts were pretty much the only kind of comfort Dan had been getting lately; his life, ever since he and Herbert had relocated to Chicago, had been one long sigh of misery. He had thought that, since Herbert had agreed to stop the experiments, life would be smooth sailing from now on. Right. Sure.
    When would he ever learn? Herbert was fun to be around, sure, in his own way; but Dan saw the friendship for what it was - destructive and desperate.  Dan was the only person who could tolerate Herbert's misanthropy without retching in horror at the gore and havoc that his work inevitably brought with it. Herbert, for all his pretensions of independence, was incredibly
affection- and approval-starved; Dan shuddered to think what Herbert might do if he, Dan, actually did pack up and leave someday.
      That would probably send him completely over the edge, Dan reflected gloomily. Of course, Dan was aware that Herbert had long ago stepped off the plank of sanity and done a swan dive into the chlorinated depths of looniness; however, this seemed like more of an incentive to stay with the guy than ever. Not only was Herbert perfectly capable of doing harm to
himself, but he was even more capable of doing harm to others. God only knows, Dan didn't want an army of the undead unleashed by a vengeful scientist. Hell truly hath no fury like a West scorned.
     And so, Dan stuck with Herbert, quietly suffering, loyal to the last. Face it, Danny boy, he thought bitterly to himself. In Herbert West's eyes, you might as well have a hunchback and hump around the laboratory drooling, `Yessss, Mahster. Igor go get brain now, Mahster'.
       Dan's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the intercom, sounding about as bored and monotonal as usual. "Dr. Gordon Stuart, your presence is requested in the director's office immediately."
    "Crap," muttered Dan, exhaling with irritation. Couldn't he even have a cup of coffee in peace? As if Herbert's constant yammering wasn't enough...Sighing bitterly, Dan downed the dregs of the coffee in one gulp,
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and left.
 

The first thing Dan noticed when he entered the hospital director's office was the expression on his boss' face. Usually a genial, gentle British man with a cheerful disposition, today Director Brian Warner had an expression reminiscent of the proverbial wrath of God.
     As Dan was about to find out, there was a good reason for this. Warner looked up as the door opened, and flashed Dan a grimace of pain before beckoning him inside. Closing the door behind him and approaching the director's desk, Dan began to ask: "What's the emergency, Si -"
      Before Dan could finish the sentence, the chair facing Warner spun around in Dan's direction, and all of a sudden Dan found himself facing a small, blond, petulant-looking little gnome.
    The gnome was dressed in a serious black suit and trench coat, and his fingers were steepled, as he peered seriously over the round-rimmed granny glasses perched on the end of his paper-knife-sharp nose. Something in his demeanour reminded Dan strongly of Herbert; and, in an undertone, and far more sinisterly, of the late Dr. Carl Hill.
     The gnome cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. When he spoke, it was in an unusually soft, almost girlish voice, and, while directed at Warner, was delivered while staring directly at Dan. "I don't believe you've introduced us, Mr. Warner?"
    Warner scowled even harder. "Gordon, this is Lance Madsen. Mr. Madsen, this is Dr. Gordon Stuart."
     Dan held out his hand warily to shake. Madsen took it, with a quick knife-slash of a smile. "Actually," he said "That's wrong. It's not Mr Madsen. It's Agent. FBI Special Agent Lance Madsen."
    "Oh," was all Dan could think to say, as his insides froze up. FBI? Oh, God... In his intestines, he could feel that sinking feeling that years with Herbert had allowed him to familiarise himself with thoroughly. "Uh...nice to meet you."
    "Oh no," replied Madsen, quick as a striking snake. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Stuart."
    "You can call me Gordon," said Dan.
Madsen gave him a reptilian smile, frightening in its utter lack of warmth. "I'd much rather not."
     Dan released Madsen's hand, and sat down in the other chair facing Warner. Madsen continued to regard him with that strange mixture of amusement and contempt. Dan shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, vaguely wondering why he was letting someone who looked about twelve years old to intimidate him this much.
     Warner began to speak. "Agent Madsen informs me that he's been sent by the homicide division of the FBI to investigate reports of a couple of criminals who he claims are believed to have split for Chicago."
    Dan widened his eyes in a convincing enough show of surprise. "Criminals? My God. What did they do?"
    Madsen responded with an icy smirk: "Nothing all that exciting. Medical malpractice, I'm afraid." A beat. "Nothing I'm sure you'd be unfamiliar with, Dr. Stuart. In your line of work, that is to say."
    Dan gave Madsen a frown, hoping that the beating of his heart wasn't as audible to the FBI agent as it was to him. "So what's this got to do with me?"
    "Agent Madsen's asked me to screen every new addition to the staff from the last six months," said Warner. "Apparently, the FBI feels that these criminal doctors might have decided to return to the practice." Noticing Dan's nervous look, he added kindly: "Don't worry, though. I know you wouldn't do anything like that. This is just a formality; every new staff member's going through the same process right now."
    Despite the comforting intentions of the words, Dan's heart began to beat even harder. "Uh...every new staff member?" Oh, God - Herbert!
   "That's right," Madsen interjected again. "Every new staff member. Including the man you arrived with, er...Dr. Phillips, isn't it? Dr. Howard Phillips."
    Dan tittered nervously. "That's just silly. Dr. Phillips studied with the best. He'd never fall into malpractice. He takes too much pride in his work."
     "Oh, yes," said Madsen, an odd look in his eye. "Very involved in his work, Dr. Phillips. At least, from what I've heard of the man."
     As luck would have it, at that very minute, the door opened, and who should step in but the doctor in question - Howard Phillips, alias Herbert West.
     Herbert opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again as he began to take in his surroundings. Dan was sitting in one chair, looking distinctly pale. Warner was sitting behind the desk, a scowl on his face. And in the third chair, a small, slender, elfin young man in a suit and coat sat, hands folded primly in his lap, a slight smirk on his face.
    After many years of experiments in the field of re-animation, Herbert's natural instincts for sensing danger had become finely honed, picking up the slightest hint of threat. And this strange new person was a definite threat.   Even if he did look about twelve years old.
    Cautiously, eyeing both Dan and the newcomer, Herbert moved up to face Warner. "What seems to be the problem, Sir?"
Madsen chuckled. "That would be me."
Herbert, unfazed, turned to Madsen and lifted an eyebrow pointedly. "I beg your pardon," he said, a statement, not a question.
    Dan had to restrain himself from shivering. Herbert at his coldest was a sight to behold, with a tongue that was often razor-sharp. Against the blond ice maiden sitting next to Dan, however, this would be a clash of the titans all right.
     "I said," replied Madsen, staring Herbert right in the eyes "That would be me. I requested your presence here. Allow me to introduce myself, Dr -Phillips, is that right?"
     "Yes," Herbert said, the edge in his voice unmistakable. "That...would be right."
Internally, Dan groaned. Way to act unsuspicious, Herbert.
    Madsen and Herbert continued to face off against one another. The hostility was still masked - the fangs and claws were not yet fully unsheathed - but all the same, it was unmistakable.
    "Well...good," Madsen said, a twinge of disbelief in his voice. "My name, as it happens, is Agent Lance Madsen." Slowly, leisurely, he produced his wallet, flipped it open to exhibit his ID, and languidly drawled "F. B.I.", obviously thoroughly enjoying his position of relative power. Dan glared at him. How dare this insignificant little prick act as though he
controlled Herbert and himself?
     Herbert drew back a little at the sight of the ID, a quick look of surprise flashing across his features before he covered it up with a poker-face. "How interesting," he replied, in a bored tone of voice. "Good for you. I imagine it must be rather pleasant to have a position you can lord over others in an effort to bolster your own minimal ego. However, I fail to see what this has to do with either me or my colleague."
      Madsen, unperturbed by Herbert's zinger, replaced the ID inside his coat and turned back to Herbert. "I'm looking for two criminals, Dr. Phillips. Two criminals who are guilty of some...most heinous crimes.  Medical malpractice was what we at the FBI decided, eventually, to classify it as. We believe they arrived here in Chicago six months ago, which is why I'm here to evaluate every staff member who arrived here in the past six months."
      "Really." Herbert seemed put out. "Well, Agent Mad-sssen -" Herbert pronounced the name as if hissing it out through his teeth - "I can assure you. Dr. Stuart and I are no criminals. If we were guilty of medical malpractice, would it really be likely we'd return to the general medical practice, hmm?"
      "Actually," shot back Madsen "In the majority of cases of criminals on the run, it's an established fact that they tend to return to either their old haunts, or, if those are unavailable, to similar surroundings. But you knew that, I'm sure."
     Herbert smirked. "Oh, but these are obviously learned men you're pursuing, Agent Madsen. I sincerely doubt they'd be stupid enough to do something like that rather than simply go underground."
      "I don't doubt it at all," Madsen said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "If they're stupid enough to get caught out in the first place, then they're stupid enough to do it again. Oh, and Dr. Phillips..." Madsen gave a quick grin, then struck. "How exactly did you deduce that it was two men I was sent to track down?"
     BAM. The death blow. Dan quickly glanced at Herbert, his mind panicked. Herbert by now looked, to those who knew him, extremely distressed. He did the worst thing possible under the circumstances. He flustered.
    "Well...I...just...naturally assu -" Herbert suddenly gave a gasp, and reflexively clutched his head. "Just..." he bravely tried to continue "Nuh...naturally...assumed...th...that..." He gave a grunt of pain, and grabbed his head, tearing off his glasses. "Ex...cuse me," he muttered quickly, and ran out of the room.
      It was all Dan could do to restrain himself from groaning out loud this time. Madsen sat back in his chair, looking utterly triumphant. Warner looked enraged by now. "Well, Agent Madsen," he said in a tone approximately seventy degrees below zero, "I hope you're quite satisfied. Dr. Phillips suffers from chronic stress headaches, and it appears you've just brought
one on. I hope there are no more staff members you need to see today?"
      "Oh, no," smiled Madsen, tapping his tapering forefingers together thoughtfully. "I've seen..." He twisted his head around to smile at Dan, his eyes twinkling. "...All I really need to see here. Thank you for your time,Director...and you too, Doctor. it was most...enlightening."
    Straightening his coat petulantly, Madsen gave Dan a nod, and left the office. As soon as the door shut, Warner relaxed, leaning the side of face on his hand, exhaling and closing his eyes. Opening them again, he gave Dana tiny smile. "My. What a sad little loser, mmm?"
    Dan tried to smile back, but the worry in his eyes and heart only allowed him a small grimace.
 

Herbert rushed into the bathroom, into one of the stalls, and slammed and bolted it shut. Don't come in here, don't come in here... he mentally commanded anyone who might be passing. With shaking fingers, he reached into the pocket of his white lab coat, and drew out  the items he needed.
      There were not too many things Herbert considered himself dependent on in this life. Dan was one of them; all his life Herbert had been isolated, and Lord knows his parents had never been supportive of his ambitions. The first person ever to show him real understanding had been Dr. Gruber, and losing him had been devastating - both times. It was no surprise that, on the rebound from such a trauma, he would latch on to the first person to exhibit any signs of sympathy. And so Dan was one of the things Herbert considered himself incomplete without.
     The second thing was the re-agent. Or the shooting-up thereof. Herbert had first become addicted to the stuff when he'd found himself falling asleep when he could be working, back in Switzerland. At first, itwas merely a more effective substitute for caffeine; by the time Herbert began to experience the horrible headaches and flashbacks that depriving himself of the re-agent afforded him, he'd realised that it was more serious than that.
      By that time, of course, it was too late. He could hardly go to Narcotics Anonymous about a problem like this - "Hi, my name is Herbert West. I'm addicted to a substance of my own making that acts as an adrenaline substitute to the living, and, oh yes, re-animates the dead and produces large numbers of zombies". And trying to go cold turkey - locking himself in a room and suffering through the pain - had proven to be simply too agonising. Herbert had never been very good at letting go of anything, not even his addictions. Especially not his addictions.
      So Herbert drew the syringe and the small plastic packet full of the glowing green liquid out of his pocket, dipped the syringe into the bag, and drew out five CC's. Shaking, he nearly dropped the syringe as he reached across to his other arm, looking desperately for a vein. Finally finding one, Herbert proceeded to slide the needle into his flesh. As the liquiddrained into his body, Herbert suddenly gave a violent start, and slammed back against the door, making a hideous choking noise.
      At last, the seizure subsided, and Herbert opened his eyes, a look of satisfaction on his face, his eyes glittering with the endorphin rush the re-agent supplied him with. Ah. That was much better. Now he could think.  Now he could plan.
     Unlocking the stall door, Herbert ambled back out into the hospital corridor, still smiling slightly at the feeling of the re-agent coursing through his system.
     In fact, so blissful was he that he failed to notice the pair of bright blue eyes staring at him from the shadows around one corner.
     Lance Madsen narrowed his eyes, and pushed his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. By now, there was no doubt about it. Gordon Stuart and Howard Phillips were definitely Daniel Cain and Herbert West.
      Madsen had told a subtle untruth when he had said that the FBI had sent him. Oh, yes, he worked for them, but he hadn't been assigned to this case by them. In fact, no one back at the Bureau actually knew he was here.
       No, this case was self-assigned, a personal obsession that he had to fulfil. The case of West and Cain was considered officially closed; everyone supposed that they had been killed in their laboratory six months ago, by the mutilated, monstrous creations of Herbert West, and God knows there'd been enough human remains lying around on the floor there to indicate that
the two doctors had been torn to pieces.
    But Madsen, of course, had known better. Several vital pieces of lab equipment were missing from the crime scene, and no remains that could be positively identified as West and Cain's could be found. Madsen had done some research on the former doings of the two, and found himself profoundly sickened. The coroner's reports of corpses brought to a semblance, a mockery of life, of human body parts moving around by themselves, and most of all, the disgusting, unthinkable hybrids of body parts that West and Cain hadsupposedly been killed by.
     Madsen had been to many a crime scene, and seen many a corpse, far more blood than most men of twenty-eight should ever have to, and countless litres of gore scraped off the floor into plastic bags. And yet, nothing had quite brought him to the sense of cold, clammy nausea that he'd experienced reading up on the two men the press had dubbed `the Demon Doctors'. He'd had to restrain himself from being physically sick, especially at the photostaken at the crime scene.
     It was this sense of personal horror and disgust that had spurred Madsen on to search for West and Cain on his own. His superiors had refused to grant him permission to pursue it on FBI time, so he'd gone it acapella. Besides, this was his chance to secure his position with the FBI once and for all. He'd stop them snickering up their sleeves at him just because he was young and rather pretty. The man who could bring the Demon Doctors to justice was the man who could command respect.
     For both these reasons, he was here, in Chicago, having followed the trail from Arkham. And, at last, he had found what he was looking for.
      Madsen grinned to himself, elated and pleased with himself beyond description. They were right on the end of his fishing hook, Herbert West and Daniel Cain. All he had to do now was reel them in.
 

Dan couldn't sleep that night.
Outside his window, lightning raced across the sky, over the Chicago skyline. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The night was electric.
    He tossed and turned in his bed, glad that Herbert wasn't home tonight - he'd had to work back late at the hospital that evening. Dan had returned to the apartment they shared at about eight PM, microwaved himself some leftover pizza, sifted through some files, watched a little TV, and gone off to bed relatively early, at eleven. All the same, he got nervous whenever he had to leave Herbert by himself. Without Dan as a placating influence, Herbert tended to make very bad choices that both of them would later cometo regret.
      Dan, tired and cranky, yet unable to get to sleep, eventually threw aside the covers in disgust and moved over to the window. Pulling up the window and leaning out into the night air, feeling the caress of the raindrops on his uptilted face and bare torso, Dan closed his eyes and hoped to God that Herbert wasn't doing anything stupid.
 

Herbert closed the window against the thundering rain, and turned back to the small hospital office before him. It didn't actually belong to him; he hadn't been there nearly long enough to merit an office to himself, but since he was the only person left at the hospital at this time of night, he'd taken the liberty of using his set of keys to work for a while inanother doctor's workspace. It wasn't much to look at; a window with blinds, with a small desk set up in the middle of the room, and lit overhead by failing neon light. A small radio was perched on one end of the desk, currently switched on, and playing a suitably spare, mournful song: Maria McKee's "If Love is a Red Dress (Hang Me In Rags)".
    Herbert shivered at the bitter cold, wrapping his arms around himself, and glared at the radio. "Damn country music," he muttered, but couldn't quite bring himself to turn it off. The hospital was too quiet without it, unnervingly quiet; so quiet that Herbert could not help but allow his thoughts to drift in the direction of the morgue, and of course the desire to re-animate had kindled in his scientist's soul. But, remembering his promise to Dan, on many an occasion Herbert had bravely resisted. Even
tonight - a perfect opportunity, no one around, Dan safely at home - Herbert wouldn't fall victim to such an impulse. Oh no. He was stronger than that.
     Herbert sat back down at the desk, cracking his knuckles and setting to work on the reports that were due in by tomorrow. But, of course, after about twenty minutes of this, his thoughts got up and wandered back down to the morgue, musing on whether or not there might be some really fresh corpses down there, just begging to be brought back...
     Herbert slammed a fist against the desk, causing the papers and radio to jump. "No!" Goddamn it, he would not allow himself to fall into that trap. He wouldn't betray Dan's trust, tenuous as it was right now.
      To remove all traces of temptation, Herbert stood up and dug into his lab coat pocket, muttering furiously to himself "No, no, no. Not again.  Never again. You're respectable now. You don't need to do that any more.
Never again..."
     He retrieved the syringe and bag of re-agent from his pocket, and held it up to the spare light. The re-agent glowed dully, enticingly. Herbert stared at it forlornly for a few long seconds, then gave a snort of disgust.
    Quickly moving back over to the window, Herbert threw up the sash and leaned out into the darkness, drawing back the arm holding the syringe and bag, his teeth gritted. "Never again!" he growled, and moved forward to throw the two items out the window.
     A calm, smooth voice cut in: "I'll take those, thank you." Without looking over his shoulder, Herbert felt the syringe and re-agent being plucked from his hand. Shocked, Herbert spun around, to find himself staring directly at the young, smug FBI agent from earlier that day.
     Madsen examined the re-agent and syringe casually, then drew a zip-lock plastic bag from his trench coat pocket, bagging them. Feeling Herbert staring at him, Madsen looked up, and flashed him a smile. "Evidence, you understand," he explained, in a friendly tone. "Can't go back to the Bureau without the proper evidence of your existence, now can I?"
      Herbert could feel his cheeks burn with indignance. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, making a grab for the bag. "What are you doing here? Get out of here this instant, before I call Security!"
     Madsen chuckled, a high, unpleasant sound, holding the bag out of Herbert's reach. "Oh, I don't think you'll do that, Doctor. If you do, they'll be forced to take into account these -" He shook the bag at Herbert "- Little artefacts. It really wouldn't do if the hospital board were to discover that Chicago General's newest, best and brightest was secretly dabbling in some...unprescribed medication, shall we say, now would it?"
       He gave Herbert a shifty look from the corners of his eyes. "Of course...that's what they'll assume. But we both know better, don't we, Doctor?"
      Herbert opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, then finally opened it again and spoke. "It would be interesting to see exactly what's going on inside your head at this moment, Agent Madsen. Maybe there I might find some inkling as to what exactly you are attempting to insinuate, because at the moment I certainly have no idea."
    "Oh, come now, Doctor," Madsen rejoined jovially, moving forward, backing Herbert up. "It's not as if you have to keep up this ridiculous charade in my presence. Not any longer. Your little disappearing act in Warner's office this morning rather dispelled any doubts I might have had as to your true identity..."
     Herbert forced out a barked laugh. "True identity? Do I look like some sort of criminal on the run to you, Agent Madsen?"
     "You look like Dr. Herbert West of Arkham, Massachusetts, who studied the theory of re-animation under Dr. Hans Gruber for seven months in Switzerland, came back to America and recruited young medical student Daniel Cain as his assistant, served as a field surgeon in the Peruvian civil war, received a dishonourable discharge after it was discovered what exactly he was doing to the corpses, and was responsible for two separate massacres inArkham. In fact, Dr. `Phillips', I might be so bold as to say that you are the aforementioned Dr. Herbert West, under an assumed name, and that Dr.Gordon Stuart is in fact your assistant, Daniel Cain." Seeing the look of shock flash across Herbert's face. Madsen added with a smirk: "So, in
response to your question...I would say that adds up to a definite `yes', wouldn't you, Dr. West?"
      Herbert narrowed his dark eyes, seething with barely restrained hatred. "So what?" he challenged. "You have no proof to support these allegations. You can't take us in without proof..."
     Madsen chuckled again, that high-pitched, malicious giggle. "Well, I didn't this afternoon. Now, however..." He gestured to the bag and its contents. "Different story, hmm?"
     With a sinking heart, Herbert knew that Madsen was right. The FBI lab boys would run tests, find that the liquid in the bag matched the traces of re-agent from the Arkham crime scene, and he and Dan would be found guilty and certainly get life sentences - possibly even Death Row. These thoughtsdrove Herbert into a state of silent panic. And when Herbert
panicked...things tended to happen.
      Attempting to keep calm, the despair overtaking his entire being, Herbert sat down in the nearby chair. "All right," he said softly. "I'll go quietly."
      Madsen beamed, and tucked the bag into his pocket. "Excellent. I'm glad you've decided to co-operate, Dr. West. This will just make my job that little bit easier. Of course, the FBI will be very surprised to hear about this."
     Herbert looked up quizzically. "Surprised? Why? This was what they assigned you to do, wasn't it?"
       Madsen gave a contented sigh, and sat down opposite Herbert. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret, West. I lied to Warner. The FBI didn't send me. I'm an agent, of course, but your case was actually considered closed at this time. Everyone really does think that you and Cain are dead. Of course, you didn't fool me. I made it...a personal crusade, if you like, to track you down and bring you to justice. Not only did I do this out of my own personal sense of hatred for your so-called work, but alsobecause this is my big chance to make a name for myself in the FBI."
      "From the way you acted," Herbert replied frostily "I would have thought you were already in a position of considerable authority over there."
      "Heavens, no," laughed Madsen, missing the sarcasm in Herbert's tone. "Look at me, West. What was your initial thought upon seeing me? That I looked about twelve, am I right?"
      Herbert nodded. Madsen sighed. "The curse of eternally youthful looks, I'm afraid, is that one is doomed never to be taken seriously. I've had to struggle to maintain any sort of reputation at all back at headquarters. Of course, all that will be over, now that I have my..." He grinned at Herbert"...Prized bounty. Now, I think we'd best be going to collect Dr. Cain,
don't you? And don't try anything funny..." He pulled back his coat, revealing a revolver in a holster. "I came fully prepared."
      An idea was beginning to form, like a kind of cancer, in Herbert's brain. A very nasty idea. Nobody knew Madsen was here...The FBI still considered Herbert and Dan to be dead... "Wait."
      Madsen raised an eyebrow in irritation. "Now what? I don't have to read you your rights, do I?"
     "No, no, nothing like that," Herbert said hastily, the picture of innocence. "It's just, that isn't all the evidence. Sure, you can prove I have the re-agent in my possession, but not that I in fact created it.  However..." He gestured over to the desk. "In the top drawer of that desk,you will find all my notes. The handwriting corresponds, and I can verify all the calculations. If it will help me in court, it's better I reveal these facts than have them revealed by the prosecution."
      Madsen grinned. "Honesty. I admire that." He moved over to the desk, and opened the drawer a notch. Peeking inside, he turned to West. "There's a bunch of papers in here. Would that be them?"
      Herbert slowly got up, and moved, almost in a stalking manner, over behind Madsen. "Yes. That would be them, "he
replied, in a low, grave voice. "You have to open the drawer a little more to get to them."
      Madsen opened the drawer to its full length, and, still leaning into the drawer, rifled through them. Herbert watched him, teeth clenched, an unbalanced gleam in his eye. Madsen's slightly muffled voice emerged from the drawer: "Wait a minute. These are just staff notices. What -"
      It happened in a flash. Like a cat, Herbert sprang forward, and, with near-supernatural strength, slammed the drawer shut with all his might. Madsen didn't even have time to scream before his head separated from his shoulders in an explosion of gore and blood, the latter spurting up high into the air like a slick crimson fountain, splattering wetly across the walls of the office, washing like a tidal wave across the desktop, and spraying all over Herbert, into his face, still tensed and insane, his knuckles white from still holding the desk drawer closed on the now-dead FBI agent.
      Finally, as soon as the fountain had died down to a mere dribble, something resembling sanity returned to Herbert, and he looked around the blood-soaked office dispassionately, cleaning the blood off his glasses lenses. Looking back down, he opened the desk drawer, allowing the body to slump to the floor, where it continued to ebb blood across the ground, its
limbs twitching grotesquely. The opened desk drawer revealed the severed head of Lance Madsen, frozen in a scream of terror, the neck dripping gore, the cold blue eyes now lifeless and staring.
      Herbert held the head up to his line of vision, and examined it with a scientist's cool. "Alas, poor Madsen," he said softly, and gave a snort of soft laughter.
       Placing the head in the center of the desk, Herbert dropped down to the level of the headless corpse, and lifted it up by the shoulders. He smiled, a deranged little smile that anyone who knew Herbert would have recognised. "Oh...I know what we can do with you."
     Digging into the pocket of the trench coat, Herbert retrieved two items: Madsen's wallet, seen earlier that day, which contained his ID; and, of course, the zip-lock bag containing the syringe and re-agent. The reagent gave that glow again, seeming to egg Herbert on. Go ahead...put me to use.
       Herbert smiled, pocketed the ID, and removed the gun from its holster. "Wouldn't want them to find you with this, would we?" he muttered with obvious pleasure. Placing the bag on the desk next to the head, thenpicking up the corpse under the armpits, Herbert dragged it over to the window, opened it, and bent the body over the sill. "Good night, Agent Madsen," he whispered, and pushed the headless body over the edge.
      It fell about six stories, through the wind and rain, and much faster than Herbert expected it would, and landed with a wet SMACK into the dumpster in the alley directly below, frightening a few feral cats away and causing the dumpster lid to slam shut. Herbert gave a pleased nod, and turned back to the room. "Not making the mistake of keeping the body again, that's for sure," he murmured to himself. Looking up at Madsen's headon the desk, Herbert gave a grin that made his impish face seem positively demonic. "Now...where were we?"
      He moved over to the desk, picked up the bag, tore it open, and shook out the contents - the syringe, and the re-agent. "Ah, yes."
      Herbert straightened up, filling up the syringe with half the contents of the bag of re-agent, then turning around to face the head. As he stood there, the glowing green syringe in his hand, lightning crashed outside, illuminating the room, casting Herbert in a typically dramatic pose, adding an unearthly light to his dark eyes.
      "Let the re-animation...continue."

If you have a good head on your shoulders, please continue onward to Chapter 2

The Author asserts & reserves copyright.