Hologram

His fingers closed around the bone handle of the knife. It felt warm and sticky in
complete contrast to the cold steel blade. He concealed the knife in his trousers and
moved on.

The next step was to obtain a doctor's white coat; it would get him into areas
restricted to the public. Wandering the corridors of the maternity wing, he finally
found a door marked: NO ADMITTANCE - STAFF ONLY. Pushing it open, he
discovered it to be an off-duty restroom. On spying the one person inside, he put his
plan into action.

"Back to the grindstone," said Alec, sighing heavily as he slumped into an armchair.

"Huh?" The man watched him curiously but did not question the authority of his
presence. Alec had gambled on the fact that a doctor could use any restroom; the
hospital was large enough so that not all of the staff knew each other.

"I sincerely hope it won't be another day like yesterday. That was the worst!" Alec's
eyes scanned the small room until they fell upon a pile of folded white coats.

"Yeah," agreed the other man.

Alec rose to his feet and crossed the room to take a coat from the pile. Then, with a
quick wave to the man, was gone.

Quickly, he donned the white coat and strode along the glass-walled corridors until he
found the incubator room. It was surprisingly easy to enter, and he walked slowly but
with purpose past the rows of incubators. As he neared his goal, the knife was
brought out of hiding.

The silver blade reflected the dim artificial light as Alec utilised it to slash the
connections to the life-preserving tank. Although no audible alarm sounded, a red light
began to flicker urgently. When he heard the sound of hurrying footsteps, Alec knew
that his time and opportunity were fast running out.

As if sensing the danger to their companion, many of the premature babies began
screaming weakly. Alec could not rely on the severed connections killing the child; he
had to be more certain in his methods.

Glancing round for a heavy object to wield, he soon caught sight of a small four-
wheeled trolley. As he hoisted it above his head, a man's voice shouted,

"Hey! What're you doing?! Stop!"

Alec ignored the man. He swung the trolley down towards the incubator and turned his
head away as fragments of lethally sharp plastic flew in all directions, like speeding
bullets. The small and frail-looking child curled into a tighter fetal position, but did not
cry out.

But a female voice did. "Stop him!!" she bellowed as she saw the blade poised to take
the life of a helpless babe.

As Alec moved to bring the knife down, a large bearded doctor charged into him.
They both fell to the floor and rose wrestling for possession of the knife. But then the
large man - an orderly - squeezed Alec's wrist until his fingers opened and the knife
dropped to the floor.

No-one moved to pick it up.

Alec was put in a single arm-lock and yielded the struggle.

But he would not yield the protest. "You don't understand," he told them all. "This
baby has to die! Don't you see? It isn't a normal child." He gestured with his free arm
at the baby, which remained curled up amongst the plastic fragments. "I severed its life
connections and still it lives. It's skin hasn't even been marked by the broken plastic.
And don't you find it strange that it hasn't cried once?!"

Silence followed for a strained few seconds, until a ward sister arrived on the scene.

"Restrain that man!" she ordered. "He's dangerous."

"Who is he?" asked the orderly, tightening his hold so that his captive squirmed
uncomfortably.

"That's Alec Fairchild. "He's the child's father."

"Attempted Murder," Mr Fairchild. A very serious charge. Your own child. Do you
know how that turns my stomach?"

Alec took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "You're still not listening to me,
Detective Sergeant Rivers." He pronounced each syllable, as if trying to make a child
see reason at bedtime. "It was my child, until shortly before the birth."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that is no longer my child ... And it has to die!"

Now it was the plain-clothes policeman's turn to sigh. He pulled the chair away from
the small table, and rose to slowly pace the interview room. He stretched his tall, thin
frame and ran the fingers of one hand through his wavy fair hair. He should have
passed this one over for psycho-evaluation hours ago. But he was curious. He wanted
to know what made individuals like this tick.

"It's a perfectly natural reaction," Rivers lied. "I've heard of it before. The woman dies
in childbirth, and the husband blames the offspring for her death."

"It wasn't like that."

Rivers stopped and leaned across the table. "Then how was it?"

I first discovered it in a quaint little shop of oddities at Covent Garden, which has
since closed down. It was the perfect gift for that somebody special who enjoyed
receiving a surprise just that little bit different. It hung on a display board with others
of its kind, attached to a beautiful gold chain. The circular pendant itself, although not
garish, was none too tasteful either.

But what the hell! It was topical and it was appropriate.

Amongst holograms of clock faces, sphinxes, wild flowers and even the occasional
evil eye, was an almost fully developed fetus. It was curled into a tight protective ball
but, as I lifted it clear and it turned slightly, catching the light, a tiny arm appeared to
move, fingers spread wide as if in greeting.

She didn't like it; she positively adored the thing. It had been expensive, but to see the
pure unadulterated delight brighten her already glowing features, I knew I would gladly
have paid double.

"Oh, Alec. It's adorable. Wherever did you find it?"

"Trade secret," I winked and put a forefinger to my lips.

I put it over her head so that the pendant, on its long chain, reached down to lay on
the slight mound of her four month pregnancy. As it touched her skin she shivered
involuntarily.

"Someone walk over your grave, Sam?" I asked.

Samantha frowned then smiled. "It tingled," she confessed. "It felt strange for a
moment. Don't worry; probably the shock of the cold metal surround to my warm
skin."

"Warm skin, yes. Lovely warm skin. Oh! Such lovely warm skin," and with that I
buried my head in her neck, Dracula style.

"Get off!" She smacked me playfully. "None of that. You've had your fun." She put
my right hand on her developing mound.

Sam let the pendant nestle in the palm of one of her hands. She studied closely the
fetus, still-framed in the motion of happily swimming an amber fluid sea. The detailing
was perfect. It was skilled craftsmanship. Her fingers curled around it and she
frowned again.

"Don't think I'm finding faults with it," she told me, "but it feels strangely warm."

"I'm not surprised. It's been in your sweaty little palm."

"No, warmer than you would expect." Sam pinched the chain, so that the amulet itself
spun slowly above her stomach.

I closed one hand around it ... and almost screamed the house down. It wasn't just
warm, it was scorching hot. I thought I could feel my blood boiling. Painfully, I
opened my clenched fist; the circular amulet was stuck to my palm, as if by glue. I
tried to prise it off with the fingernails of my other hand, but it was useless, the edges
were just too hot. The smell of my own burning flesh was making me nauseous.

As if feeling my anguish and pain, Sam was panicking. But she wasn't too hysterical to
help stem my torment. Though I protested, she put a hand to the holographic image to
pull it free. But she felt no heat, only the same warmth as before. Then it fell free
pulling strings of melted skin with it. The amulet was perfectly clean.

It was as if my hand had been branded. The impression of a perfect circle was present
and I couldn't make a fist. Sam applied a salve to the burns; I didn't notice what it
was. I was already in a state of shock.

She decided to keep the chain on. It was probably for my benefit, although by this
time I had developed a more than healthy dislike for the thing. There was no apparent
explanation for the considerable heat it had created and then so suddenly lost. I had
heard of people receiving severe static electric shocks from the most mundane of
objects. But nothing on this level!

The next morning, Sam drove me to the hospital to get my hand checked out. They
did little more than she had, merely applying some lotion and a bandage, and
instructing me to keep my fingers nimble. They didn't even ask how I had done it.

I phoned in sick from the hospital, and then we returned home. Sam was silent for the
duration of the journey, and I realised she had something to say but was finding it
difficult. When we were settled at home, she said,

"I don't want to hurt your feelings. I know you must have spent a lot of money on it.
But ..." She faltered.

"But you want to take the necklace off," I finished for her.

She looked upset, and I knew she was considering my feelings more than her own.
"Do you mind? I hardly slept a wink last night, just thinking about what happened, and
waiting for something else to occur."

"It's perfectly all right," I assured her. "I feel the same way. That thing gives me the
shivers. It was probably just one of those once-in-a-lifetime unexplained events. But all
the same, it's better to be safe than sorry, especially when you're carry such precious
cargo."

Sam flushed radiantly, her pregnancy enhancing her beauty rather than tainting it. She
opened the front of her dress and reached down tentatively for the hologram pendant.
As she drew it up to lift over her head, the amulet suddenly slipped from her grasp and
travelled upwards towards her neck, drawn tight by the rapidly shrinking chain.

It stopped just short of strangling her, but still she was gasping for breath, as if being
asphyxiated. She had already placed her fingers between her throat and the chain, as a
safeguard.

"I want it off. Take it off! Please take it off! I want it off now!!" Her voice rose shrilly
with each sentence. I shook her by the shoulders and she fell silent.

The chain was now much too short to lift over Sam's head, and there was no clasp.
Her pallor had turned deathly white with shock and disbelief, and she was starting to
recede into herself. I had to bring her back.

She wasn't the only one of us suffering; it was an equally traumatic experience for
both. I wanted to go and hide in a dark corner, like a child. But there was Sam to think
of.

I took hold of the chain with the idea of grabbing it free, but when I felt it rapidly
growing hot I snatched my hand away, holding it protectively in the other. Sam's eyes
had turned glassy.

"Sam?" I slapped a cheek, then the other with a mite more force.

"I'm all right," she said. But she didn't look it. I had to reassure her.

"Listen, let's look at this calmly and logically," I started, feeling neither calm nor
logical. "We know that this thing doesn't harm you, so you should be safe."

"Oh, that's very comforting. I want it off!" She was shaking slightly with a mixture of
rage and fear.

"I know. But it won't let either of us remove it. I think the next step is to get it removed
professionally." She didn't look convinced.

We went together to Covent Garden; it was the only thing I could think of. Perhaps
the owners would know something about the hologram, though I wouldn't have
expected them to admit it.

"It's getting warmer," Sam told me nervously.

I held her hand. "It doesn't want to be returned there; it means we must be on the right
track." But the track led to a dead-end; the shop had closed up, gone out of business,
moved on. We both stared in disbelief.

Then we sought out a reputable jewellers. The middle-aged effeminate man stared at us
as if we'd just landed in a spaceship.

"Why don't you just lift it over your head. Or is that a silly question?"

"It's a silly question," I snapped. "Easier said than done. I want you to cut it off."

"Okay, but it'll damage the chain," he explained.

"I sincerely hope so," Sam said with some venom.

I put a hand on her shoulder and could feel the tension. "Look, will you do it, or not?"

The man shrugged. "I can take out a couple of links and repair it." Then: "Wow!
That's some pendant," he stated as Sam lifted it clear from concealment beneath her
dress. He stared at the hologram. "It's nothing if not different," and he screwed his
face up in distaste.

Sam refused to look, but I couldn't help it. The fetus within the amber sea had
developed drastically. But it was not a human baby developing. The skin was still
translucent, tinted a dark yellow by the amber. Now, rather than sideways-on, it was
positioned face-on, and I could see that it appeared to be subtly deformed - subtly,
because I couldn't tell exactly how. The head, although not yet fully developed, was
shield-shaped; the face was virtually flat and there were no visible ears or nose. The
eyelids were large, and I wondered at the unseen demonic eyes.

"Just get rid of it. It you manage to remove it, you're welcome to it."

"No! I wouldn't wish this thing on anybody," Sam protested.

We were led into a back room, and the jeweller disappeared, to return bearing a pair of
small hand-cutters. "These should do the trick," he announced cheerfully.

I was not optimistic.

As the man touched it, the chain shrank in an instant, as before. "I'll be damned!" he
swore.

"Yes," I told him.

He eyed me nervously. There was a sheen of sweat upon his brow; he mopped it with
a folded handkerchief, his hand shaking slightly. "I know, it's a trick, right? Well, you
had me fooled." I could see that the man knew he was only trying to convince himself.

One jaw of the cutters was slipped under the tight chain and, as the cutters closed, the
jeweller suddenly jerked violently and spasmodically. It was plain to see that he was
unable to release the cutter. His body writhed in paroxysms of pain as he moved in a
dance of the macabre.

I could see small blue sparks leaping from the chain to the cutters and then to the
man's white-knuckled hand. They hiccupped their way up his arm, across his
shoulders, and down the opposite side in a race to possess the whole body. One
managed the salmon-leap to the head and instantly the jeweller's head was ablaze.

He screamed, and Sam screamed in unison, though I later learned that Sam was
physically unharmed by the entire incident. In mere moments the man was a human
torch. Just at the moment I felt certain that Sam would be consumed also, he fell away.
The cutters clattered to the floor, as the jeweller cavorted round the room like a wildly
out-of-control spinning-top, setting aflame every combustible item he brushed past.

I looked quickly around, but there was no blanket or suchlike to wrap him in, and no
water to throw. Sam was staring in wild-eyed disbelief at the visibly melting candle-
wax face; I grabbed a hand and dragged her through the rear door, into the private
parking compound beyond. We quickly vacated the area.

There was no telling what we'd have been charged with, had we been caught there:
murder; arson. I wasn't about to let Sam face a trial in her pregnant state. We had
troubles enough already.

We returned home, gloomy and despondent. I put Sam to bed, to get some rest I
knew wouldn't come. Sleep maybe, but not rest; we were both too anxious. Stretching
out on top of the bed, I stayed with her. In the early hours of the next morning, she
screamed herself awake.

"Get it off me! I want it off, I want it off, I want it off!!"

Her eyes were glazed, fixed on me but seeing something entirely different. I shook her
but, when that produced no effect, I slapped her sharply across the face with an open
hand. She snapped out of it and stared, astonished. I had never struck her before in
this manner.

"I can't!" I stressed. Then more gently, "I can't."

The months passed. I kept a close watch on Sam; she coped remarkably well,
considering all that had happened - was happening. Sam's pregnancy developed, but
so did the holographic creature. The claws spread wide, as if seeking escape from its
confines. Over a period, the eyes began to open, revealing slitted black pupils. I was
scared witless, but tried not to show it; I had to fuel Sam's meagre strength. She chose
not to look at it, and I chose not to be cruel and describe it.

As the day of the birth drew near, Sam worried tenfold about the welfare of our
unborn child. I could relate to that. But I tried my best to placate her. "It hasn't harmed
you yet; there's no reason why it should start now."

Sam was only partly convinced. But there was no denying the logic.

When the big day arrived, I drove Sam to the hospital, as rehearsed. Then I waited.

And I waited.

After a while, I began to wonder if something had gone wrong. A nurse arrived and
told me that Sam wanted me to be with her in the delivery room. The nurse had to
stop me running, and hastened to assure me that everything was going according to
plan.

Once in the room, I was just in time to see one of the staff reaching over to push aside
the hologram pendant which lay on the large swell of her pregnancy mound.

"No!" Sam shouted despite her pain. The hand froze, and Sam reached down, with
effort, to touch it herself.

It was stuck.

It refused to budge, as if welded to her skin. Then it began to sink into her flesh,
leaving the chain behind to fall free. Sam wailed with shock; I knew that she felt no
actual physical pain. A hand lashed out - it didn't register with me whose it was - and
tried to grab the entombed creature. But it was too late. It had disappeared into Sam's
body, leaving the flesh and skin instantly repaired behind it.

The two hospital staff, who had witnessed the incident, simply stared in total
astonishment. But there was no time for standing around; it was starting.

The birth was a long and painful one for Sam. She gripped my hand, her nails biting
deep into the flesh. But I didn't notice that hurt; I was too busy feeling sympathetic
pains. I felt every gasp, every twitch, every spasm and contortion of agony. She was
screaming the place down now, and all I could do was stand there sweating profusely,
my heart beating furiously like a jackhammer.

They had to cut her. That was not unusual in itself, but it brought little or no relief for
Sam. She began to bleed more than was normal, and had to be given pure oxygen to
help her breathing. For a few seconds she beat weakly at her abdomen, until her free
hand was held down at her side.

At last the child began to emerge. I guessed what had happened; it was impossible but
true: this was no longer the offspring of Sam and I, but the possession of whatever
abomination from hell had escaped the hologram. I wondered how the fetus had come
to be there. Perhaps someone had known what would happen and had it entombed
within the pendant, mistakenly thinking that this would render it harmless. There was
no way of knowing.

Sam was still screaming, and I imagined little claws raking her insides raw on the
downward journey.

Then the screaming stopped.

At first I thought that it was because the child was free of her womb. But the sound
had halted too abruptly.

I searched Sam's face anxiously; her eyes were open and stared sightless at the
overhead lighting. It was then that I noticed that the hand I still held had lost its tension
and gone limp.

I squeezed her hand, then slapped it - with no response.

"Sam? Sam!!" I turned to the nearest person, not noticing or caring who it was. "Do
Something!" I pleaded.

But I was already being thrust aside. White-coated spectres came and went like the
wind. They fluttered around Sam like moths around a flame. I held my breath and
watched, but did not see. All I saw was the image of dread, heartbreak and
catastrophe in my head. I sincerely hoped that they would not get out and become a
painful reality.

But escape they did.

They used the paddles four times; Sam's heart was not persuaded to continue its
struggle with life. It had suffered shock, pain and humiliation once too often.

I looked through a dreamy haze of tears; this wasn't happening. But I could not
deceive myself. I urged the medics to keep trying with the paddles; I had once heard
how a woman had been revived to perfect health on the twelfth attempt.

But they were shaking their heads sadly.

Sam, my life, was dead.

"No!" My hatred fixed on the new-born babe. The skin had a positively amber hue. It
was more than jaundice. There had been no umbilical cord, and so there was no naval.
In its place was what looked like a brand. The hologram demon had this time left its
mark as it sank in to take possession of its host.

"That is not my child!" I barked. "It's a demon and a killer!" At that moment the eyes
opened slightly and the stare bored straight through my soul. Then I was sure. I
searched the room for something with which to harm the child. Hell, harm? I wanted it
dead!

"Get him out," someone said, "he's distraught. Before he does something he'll regret."

I was helped/man-handled out of the delivery room and into a small office in which I
was given a cup of coffee. I sat staring at it until it had gone cold, then I stood up and
went home.

"The rest you know," I told the patient D.S. Rivers.

There was an unnatural pause. I held my head in my hands, expecting the worst; the
policeman paced the room, stopping periodically to shake his head.

Then he left the room, leaving me to stew for an hour.

"It's a difficult one to believe," he finally told me upon his return.

"It's all true!" I stressed.

"I know."

"You know?"

"All the events you mentioned actually took place. I've just been checking them ..."

"But?"

"But there's no evidence to prove that those incidents were connected."

I showed the fading circle burn-mark on my palm.

"It's truly amazing the lengths some people will go to," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Did you see the child? It's skin colour? It's slightly misshapen body? It's claw-like
hands? The strange eyes?"

"That doesn't necessarily make it a demon." Rivers sighed.

"You think I'm insane, don't you?" I asked him.

"Well ..." He seemed a little surprised to be put on the spot like this. "It's just that your
wife died only yesterday, and you seem to have forgotten her already."

Suddenly furious, I leapt from my chair and pinned him to the wall. I had his jacket
lapels in my fists, and he was only anchored to the floor by the tips of his toes. The
obligatory observing policeman moved forward to pull me off. But the D.S. shook his
head and waved the man back to the corner by the door. I looked into my captive's
eyes, and he stared back without fear. He made no move to resist; it was as if he had
baited me to show him my true feelings. Perhaps it was a test to see how genuine I
was. But I knew it would prove nothing; even a madman can appear genuine to the
untrained eye.

Slowly, I released him and returned to my chair. That scene had not helped my
position, but I would not have him - or anybody else - talking about Sam and me that
way. "You had no right to say that." I told him.

"I know," Rivers confessed. "But since I already have, what is your answer?"

I thought about not giving him the benefit of an answer, but where would that have got
me? "Sam was ... my life; she was everything to me. My life feels so empty now. I no
longer have any purpose in life."

"But that's not entirely true, is it? You do have a purpose in life: the child."

"Only to see it dead," I hissed. "I loved Sam. I still love her, and it will take me an
eternity to get over her death. In fact, I don't think I ever will. But there is time enough
for mourning later. Sam is dead, and that thing you call a child is alive.

"It has to die!"

"Why."

How many different ways did I have to explain it to him?

"I know that it is a demon, or totally possessed by one. Now is the time to do it; it's
still small and vulnerable. What atrocities do you imagine it could be capable of in
adulthood? It could be unstoppable."

"And take over the world?" Rivers put in without a smile.

"What's the point?" I snapped. "You ask for explanations so that you can make fun of
them. All I can say is: you'd better protect that thing well, because I'm going to try to
kill it every opportunity I get!"

"Then, perhaps, we will have to get the tax payers to look after you, so that you don't
get that opportunity."

"Rest assured, I'll find a way."

D.S. Rivers opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the phone ringing. The
observer constable stooped to the floor and lifted the receiver.

"Yes, he is," he answered. He listened for a few more seconds, then held out the
receiver for Rivers. "Benedicts Hospital is on the line; they need to speak with you
urgently."

The D.S. frowned, then nodded. "Tell them to patch it through."

The constable did so.

My ears had pricked-up, so to speak, at the mention of the hospital, and I listened
intently as Rivers took the phone and said, "Yes." Pause. "That's me." There was a
further silence as he listened. Though I strained, I could not hear a single word that
was being said at the other end.

"Hold on," he said after a while. He put his hand over the mouth-piece and eyed me as
if whatever had happened was my fault.

"It seems your problems are over," he accused.

"What do you mean? What's happened?" I wanted to know.

"The child has just died. Perhaps it was too weak to endure your demon's
manipulations," and Rivers sneered sarcastically.

"Thank God!"

The D.S. laughed without humour and shook his head slowly. "You're unbelievable!"

This time I heard some voices from the phone but, again, I couldn't make out the
words clearly. The receiver was at his ear again. "Yes, I'm still here." He listened some
more. "What is it?" he asked. And then, "Can you describe it?" Pause. "I don't know
if it's important; it could be."

Then, as the silence reigned once more, the D.S. paled instantly as the colour visibly
drained from his features.

Even I could hear the distant scream.

After a few more seconds he let the receiver hang limply from his hand. He wore an

incredulous expression.

"What is it?" I demanded.

"Huh?" He looked at me as if noticing my presence for the first time. "The hospital.
Something fell to the floor from the incubator; they don't know how it got there ..."

"The hologram pendant?" I was on my feet without knowing it.

"Yes."

"Your sarcastic comment could well have been true. Is it there?"

"They told me it looked like the holographic image of a deformed and malnourished
devil. A horrible, disgusting sight, they said - stomach-churning ..."

"And?" I prompted.

"And somebody made the mistake of picking it up."

I ran to the door and pounded the wood with my fists. "Let me out! You've got to let
me out! Don't you understand? It's going to happen all over again!"

END

Note: Hologram was first accepted by the fiction periodical Orion. It's one of my
stories which I'm still very fond of today.