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Gilligan from the frigging Island of Dr. Moreau. |
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Cyrus tiptoed into the bathroom and managed to shut the door before the pain of reversion crumpled his knees. He slid down into the corner with his back against the sink and crammed his hands into his mouth to stifle the screams as his muscles and tendons reformed. When the pain had passed, he slowly climbed to his feet and faced the mirror. |
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He was back to normalmore or less. Across his chest were three fading red scratchesall that remained of the massive gashes the reptile's claws had left in his skin. |
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"Oh, God . . . what's happening to me?" |
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But Kyna was waiting so he shelved his angst and went back into the bedroom to make sure she was okay. |
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Without his night vision he could no longer see the reptiles and that made him very uncomfortable. Even without a supernose he could still smell them, but that didn't prevent his bare foot from coming down in a cooling puddle of scales, teeth and slime. |
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"Ugh!" He shivered. "Gross." He wiped his foot on the carpet and said, "Kyna, you can come out now." |
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She brought the blanket down as far as the bridge of her nose. "What happened? Where are those men you were fighting with?" |
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"Take a look." Cyrus pointed to the wet spots on the carpet. |
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"I don't get it. What is that stuff?" |
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"Let me ask you a question. Have you pissed anybody off lately?" |
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The Dark Man sat Indian fashion on his blanket on the floor of the cabin, staring sightlessly down into the shallow clay saucer. Inside the saucer, on an island of two-tone sand surrounded by clear water, stood the tiny wax doll with the strands of autumn-red hair glued to its misshapen head. The thin man with the goatee sat in a frayed wicker rocking chair at his master's side. |
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After what seemed like hours, the Dark Man sucked in a |
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