Broken Souls (Broken Realms, #2)

CHAPTER 22-1

CHAPTER 22Upon entering Rivercore Northwest Bank, customers could walk straight across the plushly carpeted lobby to the row of tellers who sat behind a faux-wood-paneled counter trimmed in shiny gold piping, or they could take a right where two tall counters with pens chained to them stood parallel to the wall. These counters, also featuring fake wood and gold trim, came up to the bottom of Prado’s rib cage. A small divider split the top surfaces in half so customers could stand on either side to fill out their paperwork with a modicum of privacy. Prado walked to the counter closest to the tellers but took a position on the far side so that his back was to the wall, facing the lobby.

Trying to look authentic, he took his checkbook from his pants pocket, placed it on the counter and began to fill out a deposit slip. Occasionally, without turning his head, he would scan the lobby and the area behind the tellers. Merv had disappeared into the secured portion of the bank for what seemed like an eternity. He wasn’t sticking with the plan. He was only supposed to go into the office, turn right around and head for the vault. Where was he?

Prado slowly finished filling out his slip, ripped it from the checkbook and glanced around the bank one more time. A guard stood by the door to the secured area. Also in the lobby were three customers in a line waiting for a teller. Two additional customers stood at teller windows being helped, and a woman sat at a desk to the left of the entrance, behind a plaque that read Loan Officer. Prado would never have picked such a busy time to rob a bank, but the armored car delivery schedule and the reliable absence of the bank manager during lunch made it opportune.

Motion behind the tellers caught Prado’s eye. Merv stiffly walked behind them and turned toward the vault, then slipped from view. Prado was surprised that no one noticed their bank manager walking into the vault as if he had a board strapped to his back. At least he was in the vault. It would all be over in a few minutes. The knot in Prado’s stomach loosened a bit as he took out his wallet and pretended to search for something. As he flipped through his credit cards, he heard the quiet woosh of the front door opening and looked up.

Christopher Bartolucci, the real manager, walked into the bank with his head down and a cell phone to his ear. He stepped to the left and stood in front of the loan officer’s desk, continuing to whisper into the device. Prado’s head snapped back toward the tellers as Merv passed behind them, trying to nonchalantly carry a bulging briefcase that clearly weighed too much for effortless transport. However, no one paid attention as he crossed the secured area to the door that led to the lobby.

Prado gripped the counter in front of him and struggled to figure out what to do. He could try to distract the real Bartolucci so that Merv could get out of the bank. But if it didn’t work, Prado would implicate himself as an accomplice. Deciding he had no choice, he moved to the side of the counter, just as the bank manager ended his call and looked up to see the door to the back of the bank open.

Merv stepped out.

Both men froze, their widened eyes locked on each other in shock, their gaping mouths appearing to mock each other. Neither moved.

It reminded Prado of a dog, seeing its reflection in a window for the first time and not knowing what to do, so it simply stared. After a few long moments, Merv’s gaze slid to his left and locked on Prado, who almost imperceptibly shook his head no.

That broke the trance for the bank manager, who glanced down at the bulging briefcase hanging at the end of Merv’s arm. He yelled for the guard who stood next to the door Merv had passed through.

“Grab him!” Bartolucci said, pointing at Merv.

The guard launched forward, put his arms up to restrain Merv when he realized who he was about to grab. “Mr. Bartolucci?” He looked back at the bank manager for a second, and Merv swung the briefcase, hitting the guard in the chest and sending him careening into the bank manager. Both men tumbled over the loan officer’s desk, sending office supplies flying in all directions.

Staggering and off balance, thanks to the momentum and weight of his cargo, Merv dashed for the door.

Despite the plan for Prado to exit the bank first, there was no way for him to get to the door before Merv, so he decided to stay put. He certainly didn’t want to be seen running from the bank with the man carrying a bag full of money. Instead, he watched the scene, simply another bystander.

The clattering of the bank manager and the guard rolling over the loan officer’s desk drew the attention of customers and employees alike, but, judging from their reactions, it appeared everyone thought an accident had occurred, not an altercation related to a robbery. Customers in line glanced over their shoulders, then went back to their business. The tellers seemed none the wiser.

By the time the bank manager and the guard had recovered, and both had stood up, Merv had arrived at the door and pushed it opened. A light gust of air blew inside, carrying with it, from Prado’s vantage point, what looked like a little black speck riding the breeze into the bank, alighting on Merv’s collar.

In response, Merv stiffened, dropped the briefcase and slapped a hand to his neck. “Oh, no!” he yelled, turning to gaze across the lobby at Prado.

Prado tilted his head in confusion but said nothing.

“A fly!” Merv’s voice quivered as he held out his hand, smeared with the remains of the insect. “A fly landed on me!”

At first it appeared Merv’s skin turned into a dark mottled gray, but, after a few seconds, he sprouted wiry, coarse hairs. He craned his head back, looked to the ceiling and released a loud wail as his eyes bulged from their sockets, pushed to the sides of his skull, growing orange and filling the width and depth of his skull. Viscera dripped down his neck, and bristly black pincers erupted from his jawline, extending and clicking in front of his face. The sides of his shirt bulged and then ripped open as a set of spindly, bristle-covered appendages unfolded from his torso, pushing outward, discarding ribs that fell wetly to the carpet.

The loan officer screamed and pointed. Customers turned to see what was left of Merv hunch forward onto his arms while remaining on his feet. His new midtorso appendages scraped at his forearms and upper body, peeling away clothing and flesh, revealing a grisly segmented body topped by a reedy, articulated neck that held his head, now composed of two bulbous honeycombed eyes mounted in a nest of steel wool. Two antennae sprouted from its crown. They rubbed together, synchronized with the pincers extending from below the eyes.

Prado grimaced and pressed back against the wall, placing the counter—where only a few minutes ago he had pretended to fill out a deposit slip—between him and whatever it was his accomplice was becoming. He was disgusted, not only with Merv but with himself for thinking he could pull off something like this with such a creature. Even with all his best laid plans, there was a good possibility he could end up being fly food. Motion in the lobby pulled Prado out of his reverie.

Merv crawled away from the door, moving to the center of the lobby. He now had two sets of multijointed insectoid arms, which he extended to his back and legs to continuing peeling away what was left of the human facade. Once his back was devoid of flesh, he shuddered, shaking loose his shoulder blades, which extended slowly to the length of his body, becoming thin and transparent. They spread apart and flapped, catching the air and sending a meaty smell across the lobby.

Wings.

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