.

Crimson Claws

19.

Goliath and Grant were in agreement that before they used police resources and broke some human rules because this wasn't really a criminal case, they should get to the bottom of it. Elisa wasn't even working today. But Grant's somewhat dejected statement to the nurses that he had probably mixed up Elisa's schedule earned him so much sympathetic mother henning that he wasn't questioned. Some of the pancakes helped too.

When Grant said goodbye as the nurses were called to different patient rooms, he had no intention of leaving. He went to the room Elisa had described to him as the boy was usually with his sister. Which was not the case this time. Grant stopped outside the open door. It didn't seem decent to enter a little lady's room without an invitation and somehow ... he preferred to stay in the bright hallway. The perhaps seven-year-old girl lying in the bed was almost buried in the pillows and mattress. Her arms over the blanket were practically like matchsticks, she wore a colorful headscarf that hid a clearly bald skull. Sunken features were sickly illuminated by the glow of the television and Grant found himself puzzled by the choice of program. Large, deep-set children's eyes stared transfixed at two fellows bent over a motorcycle explaining something. It was better than a horror movie that would scare the kid, but it didn't even have sound! Just then the kid pulled the cheap headphones out of her ears.

"Hi," the little one said, smiling toothily.

"Hi," Grant returned, his voice turned down to the softest.

"You're Elisa's friend?"

"Yes, I am. But ... I must have mixed up her shift schedule and she's not here today."

"She showed me a photo of you. Your shoulders are SO broad, um..." the child thought for a moment before smiling brightly.

"As broad as this bed or even broader."

"Fairly good guess." Grant tilted his head with a smile, trying to remain gentle but demure where he wanted to laugh out loud at the girl's observation. But she looked so tired. Was she having some form of cancer therapy? Elisa had always been so tired after her chemo. And this terrible nausea. He didn't want to be a burden to the child.

"If you're Elisa's friend. Then you're also Goliath's friend?" The child lifted the Gargoyle-Goliath doll which Grant had not seen so far and Grant cringed a little uncomfortably. All gargoyles hated the merchandise Xanatos Media put on the market. Goliath was no exception. It was strange to see him or one of the others on mugs, socks or even as a silly looking doll. But in the hands of this ethereal creature - there was something intimate about it.

"Yes. We're quite close," Grant said with a dry mouth, really feeling the need to cross the distance of the room to be closer to this sick little human. She was so weak - but so captivating at the same time. Grant didn't know if she had a disease that would take her life... but he prayed to all the gods that she didn't. That would be a real loss.

"What's he like?"

"He's ... tall and his shoulders are probably twice as broad as mine."

"Impossible!" the child giggled and Grant chuckled with her.

"Did he ever give you a lift? Gliding. Because gargoyles glide, they don't fly. Or only very short distances because flapping hurts their wings."

"You know a lot about them. Yes, sometimes I've already glided."

"Wow," whispered the girl with awed wonder and a dreamy look that might make you think she had glided (or flown) many times in her dreams. Having gargoyles as friends or being one themselves was the wish of many people, unfortunately not just children. Many were fascinated by them and it was understandable, but it also brought many problems. Gargoyles were not status objects, did not want to and could not be friends with everyone, just as no human in this world could, and when these children became adults or the grown-ups realized the truth that their fantasies would never be fulfilled, it often resulted in frustration or even aversion. Disappointed expectations were something very dangerous and explosive. They had all had their fair share of negative experiences, most of all Nashville of course, who was the most "tangible". But this kid wasn't even close to disillusionment. She shut her eyes with an exhausted smile and her eyelids were so thin that he imagined he could see her eyeballs underneath. She probably wouldn't even live to see that age. Grant felt bad dangling something like gliding in front of a child's nose when going to the toilet was probably already an ordeal for her.

Just as he was wondering how closely the children were monitored here and how thickly he had to wrap the child in blankets and sweaters so that Goliath could glide around the building with her, the boy stepped out of a room three doors down. He saw Grant and was immediately with him. His gaze was so cold and petrified that it could have done justice to a Goliath, and his voice was chilling.

"What are you doing here?"

"He missed Elisa," his sister volunteered smiling broadly, presumably rescuing him without trying. "And he wanted to share with us what he wanted to bring her."

"It's blueberry and minced meat pancakes. My um - nephew made them. He's excellent in the kitchen," Grant rushed to explain, giving the girl his most grateful smile. She didn't look like she ate much, but she had earned all the pancakes in the world. But her justifiably protective brother eyed him with barely concealed suspicion.

"It's almost midnight. Zizi has already brushed her teeth." Nevertheless, the boy took the bowl, opened the lid, examined the contents and closed it again. "We'll eat it in the morning," he said and carried the bowl to his sister, where he whispered to her, now in a much more affectionate tone.

Grant remained standing on the spot like a coffee that had been ordered and not picked up. That random cup sitting there, steaming away, and no one knows whose drink it is or why it's there. Rarely had he felt so superfluous and uncared for. Most of the time, he found that events often revolved around him. As if he were the star of a television series. That was probably how many people experienced it, but here he felt really unwanted and had to remind himself strictly of his actual mission. It was a good thing that the boy turned around again with that grim look that made it clear he would have liked to slam the door in his face.

"Do you want anything else? Or are you just so lurking around in the room of sick little girls?"

"I haven't set foot in her room," Grant pointed out and they both looked down at the floor where his polished shoes hadn't crossed the threshold.

The boy narrowed his eyes in hostile disdain as he looked up again and Grant took a step back to placate him. Bickering with a child would get him no closer to solving the mystery.

"Actually... I wanted to talk to you for a minute."

"To me?"

"Just for a minute." Grant smiled charmingly but the boy wasn't buying it and the man thought that was immensely clever. After all, it was suspicious. He appreciated careful people. Especially when they meant to protect others.

"It's okay, VooVoo," the girl said softly and her brother looked at her as if apologizing. Then he shrugged and marched past Grant.

"Okay, but I'm going to the restroom first."

"Fine."

"Bye, Mr. Grant. Say hello to Mr. Goliath for me."

"I'll tell him one hundred percent, milady," Grant promised with a little bow, earning the most beautiful, pained smile of the year before her brother closed the door with a piercing stare. The boy walked across the corridor to the visitors' restroom and turned around again.

"Do you want to come in?" he asked coolly, clearly trying to fluster him.

"'Im good," he said, a little perplexed really, and the boy looked at him briefly, searching whatever in Grant's face, then nodded. "My sister is off limits, understand?"

"We agree on that," Grant commented sternly, and really had the impression that he and the boy were talking past each other even though they seemed to have a common ground. Probably off limits for any questioning and really- Grant and Goliath and Elisa would be able to agree on that.

Then the man stood again, a little lost, in front of the toilet and waited. Rarely had he felt so stupid and the longer the boy took, the greater the feeling.

Grant realized that it was strange that the boy hadn't used the toilet that belonged to his sister's room. He sighed and stepped into the toilet. Where a window - just big enough for a boy his size - stood open. He must have climbed onto the sink and out. And yes- as Grant stuck his head out, he saw the ledge on which a brave boy had been able to cover the yards to the pebbled roof of the second floor cafeteria.

Grant briefly considered whether Goliath should follow the boy's trail. But that would probably be shooting sparrows with cannons (or rather with gargoyles), wouldn't it? The boy had earned his successful escape and the feeling of having outsmarted an adult. Even if Grant was minimally frustrated - he appreciated a little challenge even when it came from a child.

Like Elisa had said - a tricky little guy. Grant and Goliath liked that too.

Grant stepped out of the restroom with a grin. One of the night watchmen, whom Grant had seen several times before - a Mr. Martin who, as far as Grant or Goliath had seen so far, took his job seriously and did it thoroughly - came out of one of the rooms. The same room the boy had just emerged from. Before the door closed behind him, Grant saw that it was a storeroom. Somewhat dumbfounded, Grant stood in the corridor as the eyes of the man in his forties found his.

"Problems?" Martin asked, pulling his pants up a little higher by the belt in what Grant thought was a ridiculous gesture of human male subconscious challenge that always reminded him a little of the spoof western movies.

"I don't think so. Good night."

Grant forced a smile and stepped up to the elevator.

.

.

Brentwood let the front door fall into the lock behind him, kicked his shoes off his ridiculous human feet and headed for the kitchen with his arms full of groceries. Neither Thailog nor Sevarius could be heard. Perhaps the master had flown out. WITHOUT him. Because he had to take care of that ugly, disgusting thing. Any joy was taken from him because of the Doctor's new body.

Grimly, he packed his groceries in the fridge and pantry, ignoring the stupid paper bag with the stupid stuff for EN-25.1. as long as he could. Otherwise, he liked to go grocery shopping, even if he had to morph into a human with the mint-stripes they stole back then, which you had to stick under your tongue. He liked to wander through the corridors of Whole Foods, Target or Morton Williams. Looking at everything, comparing prices, scratching melons or pumpkins with his tiny human fingernail so that others who bought these fruits later would be annoyed because rotten spots quickly appeared

On particularly good evenings when these shopping cart users weren't paying attention and didn't have their cell phones, purses or handbags in view for a few seconds, Brent was able to smuggle them into other carts and enjoy the unfolding argument or at least increasingly distraught searching people. Once he had been particularly lucky and had even fetched a baby in his baby carrier from a shopping cart as the mother was picking up powdered milk one aisle away and quickly and inconspicuously as only a webwing in human disguise could packed it into one of the freezers. Unfortunately, after a few seconds it had started to bawl and had been found. Oh well. Otherwise, Brentwood liked to redeem his coupons, proud as the crazy people on the TV shows because they saved 20 percent on dairy products or 40 percent on instant soup on Tuesday nights. Not that Brentwood cooked instant soup, he and Thailog deserved good, freshly prepared meals with fresh ingredients and when the doctor had one of those days where he wasn't constantly throwing up from his meds or struggling to breathe from being sick, he got something too. Because Brentwood was a damn fine fellow and was proud of his cooking, even if he hated Sevarius.

Only when it could no longer be avoided did Brentwood grab the last paper bag and go upstairs. EN-25.1. lay covered by a thin blanket on a fluffy low day bed surrounded by machines that were to take over further imprinting and muscle stimulation. Unfortunately, the process was slower than it would have been in the incubator. The body needed a day's rest after each interval because it was difficult to predict what so much information would do to an already "awake" brain. EN-25.1. was a precedent as Sevarius had called it. But Brentwood defined an awake brain differently.

He closed the door quietly behind him, not knowing if the doctor was asleep just one door down or gone and not interested in finding out. He placed the bag on the floor, pulled out the adult diapers. THAT had been a strange purchase the first time. And ... the following times. Brentwood was basically a stranger to human shaming because who cared about human opinions, but the way the cashier always looked at him when he bought it always made his thin human skin get all hot. What did these stupid people think? That he was buying diapers for himself? Besides, the female clone's hips were wider than his - the size wouldn't have been right. Anyway, it wasn't the buying that was bad but the changing of the diapers- urrgh!

He carried the diapers into the bathroom where he also took off his clothes except for his loincloth. Of course not the one from 1997 but a nice red piece of fabric from Target's sewing department. The watch on his wrist beeped. His timing was good. After turning off the alarm, scraping off the stripe and finally being gloriously Gargoyleesque again, he went to the daybed, pulled the blanket off the body, which was naked except for the diaper, and began to remove the cuffs that had been stimulating the clone's arms and legs with electrical impulses throughout the day.

The arms and legs twitched for a long time afterwards, but not so much that it bothered him. The thing's skin was cold at the extremities even though it was more than 77 F outside, even at night. Just out of interest, Brentwood put a hand on one of the tits. Although the nipples were erect - this one was warm and soft and when Brent squeezed roughly for a moment, he felt the clone stiffen. Nothing that this concerned Brentwood - the clone was not in existence for comfort and he had no desire to provide it with such a thing.

The little gargoyle unplugged the funny astronaut cap with what felt like a thousand penny-sized transmitters from the head of the replacement body. Next - and he really had put it off as long as he could - he pulled off the debrivation goggles and headphones. And as always - the thing was awake and blue eyes were staring at him. Over the last few days, it had even turned its head a little and shown other small movements of its own (which Sevarius had enthusiastically described as progress), giving the impression that EN-25.1. was following his every move with its eyes. Like one of those creepy fake pictures in ScoobyDoo behind which the badies were creeping around. Brentwood tried to ignore those eyes, wrinkling his nose because now that the blanket was no longer covering the thing, the stench of human excrement was in his nostrils. Yep. That diaper was ready to be changed. Fuck - his - life.

Was that normal? If ordinary humans were constantly pissing and shitting, how had they been able to shape the world to their liking? Sure - because gargoyles were almost extinct. If he had Sevarius abilities, he would create hundreds of thousands of gargoyles. Clones, hybrids, mutants - whatever. But here he was, the caretaker for this pee-poo machine with no brains or reason. At least it was a good thing that the clone, as Savarius boasted at length, felt little pain. That meant as long as he left no visible marks he could be as rough with the thing as he wanted. He grabbed the thing's hair, pulled it off the daybed, across the carpet and into the bathroom, heaved it over the edge of the tub. Which wasn't difficult - after all, he was a gargoyle. Only EN-25.1. was much taller than him and therefore unwieldy with her limp arms and legs. The "plong" as the head hit the ceramic was very unsatisfactory as little more than a nearly soundless wheeze could be elicited from the surrogate body. Then it lay in the tub, arms and legs twisted, staring up at him with a minimal blink rate.

"Don't look at me like that," he grumbled hatefully. The thing continued to stare.

He brought his hand to the human clone's chin, pressing his claws into the skin of its cheeks, eyes blazing and snarling.

"I superior gargoyle. You worthless product. When I say you obey!"

Instead of obeying or doing anything less strange, the thing looked at him for a few more seconds, seeming to take in every inch of his face and every movement with wide eyes. Before the clone's mouth twisted. No longer blue but rosy lips pulled apart as if guided by the seams of a puppeteer. Until it also looked like a snarl. Brentwood lost his and, like a distorting mirror, so did the female human clone.

Brentwood wrinkled his nose in disgust. And again - mockery after mockery, even from a brainless being - the clone mimicked him, and after a few moments of experimental facial expressions had mastered the wrinkling of her nose. With a hissing sound that was not repeated this time, Brentwood turned on the cold water. At least the clone gasped and began to shiver while Brentwood roughly cut open the sides of the diaper and pulled the soiled thing from under the clone's ass. Then he sprayed the dirt off the thing's private parts and after a few seconds it quivered and even chattered its teeth. That was at least a little satisfaction, even if it was still undignified. He was a gargoyle, he was the supreme race, he shouldn't have to clean up a human's piss and shit.

When the clone was clean enough, lips blue and teeth chattering, Brentwood turned off the water. Since he had let the long hair hang over the edge of the tub, he didn't even have to wrap them in a towel. Why the doctor didn't allow him to simply cut off EN-25.1's cumbersome hair with a pair of scissors or some claw slashers to make the clone easier to care for was a mystery to Brentwood. Hair did grow back. Presumably it was part of his punishment. Especially after he had almost set her hair on fire after the first bath because he had held the hairdryer too close. Okay, the smell of burnt scalp and hair could have been a clue, but Brentwood had never had hair - how was he supposed to know how to use a hairdryer!

The Doctor was unbearably fussy despite his impending death, which only increased Brentwood's urge to be even rougher on his surrogate body. But he had to restrain himself even there because he couldn't really tell what was causing visible damage. Humans were so fragile, even if this product had fallen out of the incubator with reduced sensation of pain. He had pinched and scratched EN-25.1 a few times to see how easily she bruised and scuffed. Underneath the diaper where the doctor would never look. He could also do research because he was MUCH smarter than the doctor gave him credit for! Although it would be easier and more satisfying if the clone made sounds of pain.

Once again he hauled the clone out of the tub, let it slap on the floor, rolled it onto a large towel and rudely rubbed it down. EN-25.1. made tiny sounds, ticked off hiccups and groans, impossible to interpret what it was perceiving or whether it was just practising its "voice". That would be good as it would be proof that Brentwood had not permanently injured the clone's throat and that the imprinting process developed an understanding of sound and speech. He dragged the clone back into the room on the towel and by the hair, put a new diaper on it before the thing could start peeing and shitting, and straightened its upper body. It had a lot more body tension than a few nights ago and remained sitting on the floor with its bare legs stretched out after Brentwood had straightened its limbs and leaned it against the day bed. He tried hard to ignore the clone's stare, mapping every emotion on his face or tracking his movements, but felt the look like knife stabs on his back as he went to the bag.

He pulled out a packet of chocolate crisp cookies (for himself, because he'd earned it with this shitty job!) and some baby food jars from Gerbers. EN-25.1. was a picky little snot (just like the doctor so it was fitting). She spat out mixed vegetables again as well as green beans. Both made stains on clothes that were hard to get out! Without the help of the Mommy Knows Best website, where Brentwood had actually signed up for household tips, his favorite loincloth would still be speckled today. The blog's comments page was invaluable in helping him realize, for example, that baby carrots had led to the clone's butt rush in the early days and that he needed to mix that glass with fruit to make it stop. To hear sounds other than the soft gulping noises of his nursing case and the scraping of the spoon in the jars, Brentwood turned on the television. To his delight, one of the pay TV programs was showing the Texas Chainsaw Massacre (who didn't like movies where humans were tortured and slaughtered?).

The clone licked her lips and concentrated on the first glass as Brentwood stuck the colorful plastic spoon into Grain and Grow, opening her mouth greedily. Because she was physically grown up, she needed a lot more food than a baby. Brentwood thought about just throwing what he cooked for himself and Thailog into the blender. Gerbers was pretty expensive, even if it was the doctor's money. Or maybe, in a few nights the clone would be able to swallow more solid food. The main course was Ham and Gravy and Sweet potato and for dessert Wonder Foods (some sweet shit with banana and blueberry). EN-25.1. made little humming noises of pleasure that even made Brentwood smile. Which was immediately imitated by the stupid clone. Brentwood, now mostly focused on the TV because hey, soon the stupid tweens in the movie would be killed - yay!). That lifted his spirits enough that he wasn't even really repulsed.

He wiped without really looking at her the lower half of EN-25.1. face and her bare tits with the towel where mush had run down and cooed; "You're an ugly stupid thing, aren't you? Ugly inferior vessel. Brentwood good to you and all you do is shit and eat, yes you do. Who's the experiment here, yes u are," he hummed patronizingly amused as the crazy hitchiker in the movie smeared blood on the teens' van and everyone there was already totally distraught. He turned his attention fully to the TV when the last glass was empty and he had given the clone another sippy cup with a juice/water mixture.

The old man with no legs in the movie just said to the teens:

"Turd. You so dead, you dont know it."

Brentwood munched on cookie after cookie, tucked his legs under him, perched on the floor like the web-wing he was, and when Leatherface first appeared, he giggled cheerfully - because who wouldn't?

A low, shrill squawking noise sounded next to him. And he looked to the side, a little baffled, because even if it had sounded abnormal, it had also been a giggle, or the imitation of a giggle. The clone looked away from the television, finding Brentwood's gaze again with that sneer that was just uncanny. And just as creepy; The clone had moved its legs - on its own - while Brent hadn't been looking. And was now perching just like him, still leaning back against the daybed for stability and with trembling muscles in its bare thighs but just like him.

Accompanied by the screech of the chainsaw and the rushed music of the scene where Leatherface was chasing the jock across the hillbilly farm, Brentwood felt a strange sensation in his chest. The way the clone was crouching there - like him. It wasn't a malicious aping. It seemed to him like ... something endearing. As if the clone was following his good example. Brentwood took a deep breath as the clone's eyes darted to his lips where a cookie hung forgotten. Slowly, Brent pushed the cookie all the way into his mouth, chewed, took the lump of cookie mash between his claws and shoved it between the willingly opened lips of the clone, who again made those blissful happy noises as it chewed like Brentwood had chewed before, sloppily and with his mouth open.

"Let's watch movie, ugly vessel," Brentwood said, knowing the clone was staring with him at the TV where the jock had just had his leg sawed off and was howling like a dog.

Brent should write a parenting guide -..-

And the Texas Chainsaw Massacre is such a wholesome first movie experience - it won't have any negative effects on the child at all.

Thanks for reading, Q.T.