By the time Raymond’s shattered arm has been set and cast Monroe is out of surgery. He has narrowly survived his wounds, and is now resting in a small private room in the Tomb’s medical wing, his face and head swathed in a wasp’s nest of bandages that make it impossible to tell if he is awake. Raymond sits in the corner holding silent vigil. Alone in the breakroom, Eudora is having a panic attack. To keep herself from hyperventilating she tries to memorize the obscure candies moldering behind the glass of an ancient vending machine. Quill’s Peppermint Snaps. Zippy Peanut Butter Pies. Good old Hershey bars…Monroe is gone…Sugar Genies. Zagnut bars…she is alone and cut off…Lemon Twists. Dum-Dum Drops…she understands nothing...Jelly Sticks. Brooklyn Yappies. Choco-Kings…oh, God damn the Choco-Kings. She slips a quarter into the rusted coin-slot and pulls the bolt to release the familiar candy bar, a nightmare from her youth. There is a bean bag thud in the metal basin and Eudora pulls the paper-wrapped sweet from the machine. She studies the docile cartoon negro grinning up at her stupidly, the face of an old enemy happy at her comeuppance, laughing at how far she has fallen. I told you so, stupid girl. How far did you think they’d let you get? You? Stupid little black girl, should have run back to Daddy when you had the chance. Now here you are, buried alive. She rips open the brittle wrapping and pours out a handful of chocolate powder and insect husks. What the hell is this place? Of course Eudora had heard the rumors at NASA, scary stories too fun not to share, about secret government labs running strange experiments, crazy things like plutonium injections, intensive LSD trials, body augmentation, genetic manipulation, radiation exposure, and all style of matinee movie horrors. Most of her colleagues, literal rocket scientists, had laughed off the bizarre tales as ridiculous, but Eudora was never so quick to dismiss. She had known plenty of bio-researchers during her time at Johns Hopkins, arrogant sub-geniuses with chips on their shoulders and few ethical qualms, men who would jump at the chance to play Dr. Frankenstein on the government’s tab. Eudora believed that no matter how exaggerated they had become along the grapevine, those outlandish ghost stories must be anchored in some basic truth. She had not been prepared for any of this, however. This facility is all wrong, an absurd mix of advanced science, bizarre ritual and titanic scale, state-of-the art yet half-neglected. And it seemed to be entirely centered around one man-- a violent, masochistic man, it turns out. A man willing and able to cripple himself to get his way, and who has already named Eudora an enemy. Without Monroe as a guide she is lost. It would be wise to flee this place before it devours her, but the little she has seen is already too much—they will never let her resign. They have buried her alive with madmen and freaks. Monroe has been down here for nearly a decade, most of the enlisted men even longer, and Raymond Love…no one would say. One thing was for certain, they were all clearly insane. Angry shouting draws Eudora’s attention. The commotion is coming from down the hall, near Monroe’s room. Quickly, she straightens her clothing and, against her better judgement, heads towards the problem. A six guards have gathered outside Monroe’s room. Three of the guards are armed with the large cattleprod sticks, but the group is on the defensive, huddled in a semi-circle around the door. As she approaches, Eudora sees Raymond emerge into the hallway. He holds a chair in his left hand like a lion-tamer while swingng his plaster-bound right arm in a wide arc at the guards.
“Get out of here, you bastards,” Raymond shouts.
For the first time, Eudora is struck by Raymond’s appearance. She had previosuly seen him alone in his cell, where he seemed to tower over her, but set against other men he looks completely normal, completely…average. He is not hideously disfigured like the guards, but in the real world Raymond Love would not be considered strong or weak, tall or short, ugly or handsome. He would not physically stand out in any way at all. His personality, on the other hand…
“Scram, all of you! I’m wise to you buzzards! Scram and don’t come back!” “What’s going on here!?” “They can’t come in this room, see! Tell them it’s off limits!” “Mr. Love, please lower the chair.” Raymond takes another swing at the guards.
“Get! Take it on the heel and toe!”
“Please!”
Reluctantly, Raymond slowly lowers the chair. He stands straight in the doorway, blocking it as best he can with his skinny, 5’ 11” frame.
Eudora turns to the assembled guards. “I know we are all concerned about Dr. Monroe, but we need to let him rest now. I’m sure everyone has duties we should be attending to…”
The men stare at her blankly through wet eyes— each of their faces is a grotesque churn of scar tissue, every one unique in its dreadfulness. Raymond Love did this to them, thinks Eudora, It figures they hate him for it, but why provoke him here?
“Please,” she asks.
Slowly and without speaking, the guards retreat down the hallway. Once in a while a few glance back, lions leaving behind stubborn prey. This is unfinished business.
“Mr. Love, what is going on? Where are the doctors? What did those men want?”
“No one comes near this room unless I say so. I’ll kill anyone who tries.” Raymond pauses, making sure he has Eudora’s full attention. “Every last one of you.” With that he turns back to Monroe’s room, locking the door behind him.