Page 149 of Devil Inside

Mine, mine, mine!

The drill. There’s a battery-powered drill charging in the workroom.Of course.Why didn’t he think of it before?

Mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine—

The drill bit is cold against his temple, the metal pressed against his skin. The chill sends a jolt of relief through the muscles in his neck, that infinitesimal bit of external pressure already providing just the slightest release. A minor distraction from the pain.

—minemineminemineminemineminemineminemine—

Just think how he’ll feel when he finally gets these voices out of his head.

—minemineminemineminemineminemineminemine—

Just think how much of a relief it’ll be to release the pain building up in his temples.

—minemineminemineMINEMINEMINEMINE—

Just think—

“Open wide,” Doctor Perkins says. He brought all his shiny new toys to play with. See how the prickly implements glimmer under the glaring lights.

“Wider now,” he insists. “Sayaaaaaaaaah...”

All day, Dr. Perkins works within the mouths of men and women. The dull repetition of it has fatigued him to the point where he hardly sees their teeth anymore, all of them blurring together in an endless stream of pearly whites.

He leans into the open chasm of his patient, too bored to evenremember his name, poring over that hollow grotto. So pink. So wet. A faint bouquet of bad breath drifts up. Dr. Perkins takes the aroma into his lungs. Holds it.

There is a spotlight directly over his head. The pearly stage is set. This man’s yellowed teeth gleam under the harsh light. His tongue lags, curling to one side, as if it’s unsure where it’s supposed to go.

What a lovely patch to play in with all his toys. “Hold still.” Dr. Perkins scrapes the residual buildup of plaque along his incisors. The metal pick in his hand pings with each scrape, sending the tenderest vibrations through his fingers. He loves the feel of it, the resonance of teeth, his instrument plucking at the gums. Perhaps he’ll stay here all day, working away, patient after patient after patient.

“Aaw,”the man onstage moans. His lips are unable to seal, his mouth obstructed by Dr. Perkins’s gloved fingers, sheathed in latex, the words unraveling into loose sounds.

Such wet sounds.

We lean back to take in our work thus far, retracting our hands. We see that he’s bleeding. Our patient’s lower lip is a brilliant red. Now it spreads, dribbling down his chin.

Oopsie.Did we do that? “Have you been flossing?”

Something has called upon them. Summoned them all.

A lighthouse to guide them. A voice to draw them in.

What adorable morsel is this?

Jordan. Sweet Jordan...

rebounding around town

Jordan

Visiting hours are over for the day.

So... who’s in the room with me?

It’s dark, for starters. Obvious tip-off that whoever they are, they shouldn’t be here. The lights are turned off. The door is open just enough so the glow of the fluorescents in the hallway reaches into my hospital room. Just this dim green sheen over the linoleum.

I have the sibilant hiss of my respirator, the steady beep of my heart-rate monitor, keeping a rhythm in the room. My body is a snare for a jazz band, the drummer sliding his brush over me with every rasp from the respirator, the air spitting through its tubes.