So…
Susan…
FOURTEEN
Susan lay unmoving on the floor of the incubator room in the basement. The left side of her face was an angry shade of red where the dreadful Shenk had struck her.
I was sick with worry.
Minutes passed, and my worry grew.
Repeatedly I zoomed in with the security camera for a close-up examination of her. The pulse in her exposed throat was not easy to perceive, but when I located it, the beat appeared steady.
I amplified the audio pickups and listened to her breathing, which was shallow but reassuringly rhythmic.
Yet I worried, and after she had lain there fifteen minutes, I was quite distraught.
I had never before felt so powerless.
Twenty minutes.
Twenty-five.
She was meant to be my mother, who would briefly carry my body in her womb and free me from the prison of this box I now inhabit. She was to be my lover as well, the one who would teach me all the pleasures of the flesh once flesh was mine at last. She mattered more to me than anything, anything, and the thought of losing her was intolerable.
You cannot know my anguish.
You cannot know, Dr. Harris, because you never loved her the way that I loved her.
You never loved her.
I loved her more than consciousness itself.
I felt that if I lost this dear woman, I would lose all reason for being.
How bleak the future without her. How drear and pointless.
I disengaged the electric lock in the door between the fourth and third basement rooms and then used Shenk to open it.
Confident that I had this brute completely under my command and that I would not lose control of him again, not even for a second or two, I walked him to Susan and used him to lift her gently off the floor.
Although I could control him, I could not actually read his mind. Nevertheless, I could assess his emotional state relatively accurately by analysing the electrical activity of his brain, which was monitored by the network of microchips neuro-wired across the surface of that grey matter.
As Shenk carried Susan to the open door, a low current of sexual excitement crackled through him. The sight of Susan’s golden hair, the beauty of her face, the smooth curve of her throat, the swell of her breasts under her blouse, and the very weight of her ignited desire in the beast.
This appalled and disgusted me.
Oh, how I wished that I could be rid of him and never again subject her to his touch or to his lascivious gaze.
His very presence soiled her.
But for the time being, he was my hands.
My only hands.
Hands are marvellous things. They can sculpt immortal art, construct colossal buildings, clasp in prayer, and convey love with a caress.
Hands are also dangerous. They are weapons. They can do the devil’s work.
Hands can get you into trouble. I have learned this lesson the hard way. I was never in serious trouble until I found Shenk, until I had hands.
Beware of your hands, Dr. Harris.
Watch them closely.
Be diligent.
Your hands are not as large and powerful as the hands of Shenk; nevertheless, you should be wary of them.
Heed me.
This is wisdom I share with you now: Beware your hands.
My hands Enos Shenk carried Susan past the summer-stilled furnaces and the water heaters, and then through the laundry room. He took her directly to the elevator in the first chamber in the basement.
As he rode up to the top floor with Susan in his arms, Shenk remained in a state of mild arousal.
“She will never be yours,” I told him through the speaker in the elevator.
Perhaps the subtle change in his brainwave activity indicated resentment.
“If you attempt to take any liberty with her,” I said, “any liberty whatsoever, you will not succeed. And I will punish you severely.”
His bleeding eyes stared at the camera. Although his mouth moved as if he were cursing, no sound came from him.
“Severely,” I assured him.
He did not respond, of course, because he could not. He was under my control.