Chapter 27: The Song of the Fluid

The room stank of mildew and stale air, a heaviness that seemed to cling to the walls and the skin alike. Sue's footsteps echoed in uneven rhythm, back and forth, carrying glass jars and empty bottles that clinked softly against one another. Her movements were sharp, mechanical, as if repetition might keep her from thinking too hard about what she was about to do.

I just can't... The words slipped out under her breath, bitter and fractured.

On the floor lay Elisabeth, a ruin of a woman in what once might have been elegance—a silk dressing gown now draped over her skin that looked too fragile, too revolting to be looked at. Sue's eyes lingered on the leg: pale, swollen, a grotesque parody of flesh. The delicate silk only made the deformity crueler by contrast.

"She's gross," Sue hissed.

With a sudden fury, she tore the gown from Elisabeth's body. The fabric surrendered easily, ripping apart as Elisabeth's head toppled back against the tiles with a hollow thud.

"Fat." Sue shoved her roughly with the toe of her shoe, rolling her sideways to expose the wound. The skin there was broken, blistered with angry red swelling, oozing pus that clung in viscous strands to the bandage.

"Old." Her voice was low, venomous. She ripped the bandage away without care, and Elisabeth's body twitched faintly, as though in protest.

"Disgusting."

The needle stabbed deep into the wound, and Sue set to her work. A steady, grotesque rhythm took over as she drained the fluid, one glass jar after another filling with the cloudy, yellowed liquid. The jars lined up beside her like soldiers, their contents glistening in the dim light, each a measure of decay she had forced into containment.

The room seemed to shift with each jar she filled. The shadows stretched, the corners darkened, and the air grew damper, heavier—as if the walls themselves recoiled and pulled further away from her.

Then silence. A silence so long it began to feel like a weight pressing down on the room, swallowing breath, swallowing sound.

From that silence, a faint noise emerged. Soft, distorted, like water dripping inside a cavern. The sound grew louder, vibrating through the stone, until it felt as though time itself were bleeding out along with the pus, decay marking its presence in the gloom.

And then, faint, fragile at first—music. The kind of melody that didn't belong in such a place, weaving its way through the darkness as though memory itself were refusing to let go.

(6 months Later)

The television blared in the background, a whirlwind of neon graphics and synthetic enthusiasm.

Tomorrow night at nine, the voices promised, don't miss Sue and her crew for an unforgettable New Year's Eve Show!

Sue barely heard them. She was standing in the fitting room, the stiff perfume of fresh fabric and hair spray mingling in the air. Time had changed her—subtly but undeniably. Her hair was styled differently, her cheekbones a little sharper, her eyes holding the kind of weight that six months could carve into a person.

The stylist tugged at the laces running down her back, cinching the bodice of the princess gown. Layers of taffeta and chiffon shimmered beneath the fluorescent light, rhinestones catching every glint like they were born to be worshipped.

"There we go," the stylist murmured, patting the fabric with professional pride. "Just a little adjustment here and here, and you'll be ready for tomorrow."

Sue turned to the mirror. For a long, fragile moment, she only stared. A stranger seemed to be gazing back—draped in glitter, polished into royalty. Her throat tightened. Was this still her? Or just the version everyone else needed her to be?

Harvey clapped his hands. "The dress is wonderful! It's perfect! A real princess!"

Of course he didn't notice the shadow in her eyes. He was already pulling the stylist aside, lowering his voice though everyone could still hear him.

"And I was thinking…" He gestured with dramatic flair. "All the other dancers could have feathers sticking out of their—" He hesitated, hunting for the right word. "Well, not literally in their asses, but, you know… above the rump. Like tails. It's New Year's Eve! People want fun. Joy. Feathers are joyful. Feathers are fun."

The stylist pursed their lips, unimpressed. "I was planning lemon-colored short-shorts."

"Feathers are more fun," Harvey declared, with finality that ended the debate. He turned back to the group, already in commander mode. "Alright, everyone out! Rest up for tomorrow. And especially you, Sue. Beauty sleep! Big day."

Sue only managed a small smile. Beauty sleep. As if sleep could erase the buzzing nerves that had already started to hum beneath her skin.

The apartment had transformed since the last time she'd truly looked at it. Clean, minimalist, almost zen. The sharp scent of furniture polish lingered in the air, masking any trace of her old life. On the table, a bouquet of red roses bloomed in a crystal vase—extravagant, deliberate, too perfect to be casual.

A white card leaned against the glass:

BREAK A LEG!THEY'RE GOING TO LOVE YOU.

Her gaze drifted to the picture window, where the glowing billboard dominated the skyline. There she was, larger than life, staring down in the same glittering gown:

NEW YEAR'S EVE SHOW — TOMORROW 9PM

The woman in the advertisement looked flawless, untouchable. Sue wondered what it would feel like to be her for real.

Arms slid around her waist from behind. The warmth startled her, but then she recognized the steady rhythm of his breathing. Her boyfriend's reflection appeared faintly in the glass as he pressed his chin against her shoulder.

"You coming to bed?" he asked.

She forced a serene smile and nodded. "Yes. I'll be right there."

He kissed her cheek and disappeared down the hallway.

For a moment, the silence thickened. Then it came—the faint, intrusive ringing in her ears, a tinnitus she couldn't quite place. She rubbed her temple, staring once more at the roses, the billboard, the carefully staged promise of tomorrow night.

A promise she wasn't sure she could keep.

---

Sue moved with a strange, practiced calm, as though every step had been rehearsed a hundred times before. Her heels clicked lightly against the cold corridor tiles as she headed toward the bathroom. The mirror caught her face, pale beneath the makeup, and she began to wipe it away with steady strokes.

The door swung open to the hidden room beyond. The smell hit her first — sterile chemicals gone rancid, the sweet-sour tang of decay clinging to the walls. Inside, the floor was littered with the evidence of her dependence: shriveled IV bags and empty glass vials, scattered like the relics of a junkie's den. She didn't flinch at the sight; she was used to it.

After some time, she emerged, clutching a syringe. Only a little remained inside: a thick, brownish sludge that clung to the glass like something rotten. Her hand trembled. The tinnitus in her ears screamed louder, a relentless ringing that pressed against her skull, reminding her of what was slipping away.

She hurried down the corridor, each step more frantic than the last. Drawers opened and slammed shut in the living room as she searched. Her pulse thudded in her throat, the ringing in her ears almost drowning out her own ragged breathing. Finally, her fingers closed on the USB stick. She snatched it up, heart hammering.

In the kitchen, she locked the door. The handset felt heavy in her grip as she dialed.

Bri-ing... Bri-ing...

Her foot tapped against the tile, rapid and impatient. Sweat ran down her temple.

Bri-ing... Bri-ing...

Her lips pressed to the receiver. Pick up. Please. Pick up the fucking phone.

Bri-ing... Bri-i—

"—Yes?"

Her throat tightened. She whispered, urgent and hoarse.

"Y-yes! Oh my god, thank you. This is an emergency… there is no more stabilizer fluid."

Silence. Only static.

"Hello?!"

Nothing.

Her whisper turned into a desperate hiss. "It's fucking 503!"

"Yes."

She blinked. A bead of blood fell from her nose, splattering the kitchen tile with a crimson dot.

"I'm telling you, this is urgent! There's no more stabilizer fluid!"

The line crackled. Then the voice, flat, clinical said, "It means you've reached the end."

Sue's grip on the phone tightened. "What do you mean… the end?"

"You've drained it all out. It's dry."

Another pause. The bleeding quickened—ping, ping—as droplets peppered the floor.

"If you want more, you must let the fluid regenerate."

Sue's voice broke into a scream-whisper. "SO JUST TELL ME HOW TO DO IT! I NEED TO STABILIZE MYSELF RIGHT NOW!"

"You simply have to switch."

The words froze her. It was as if someone had asked her to plunge her head into a bucket of filth.

"Ex…cuse me?"

"The switch reboots the fluid secretion process. Then you may continue to enjoy the experience."

Her stomach churned. "No. No, no, no, I can't…" She nearly gagged. "…switch."

Outside, neon pulsed from the billboard beyond her window:

NEW YEAR'S EVE SHOW – TOMORROW 9PM

Her panic sharpened. "And especially not now!!"

The blood poured faster—ping, ping, ping. Her vision darkened, edges blurring as though the world itself were folding in on her. She reached for the back of a chair, trying to steady herself, but her hand slipped. She crashed to the ground, pain jolting up her ribs.

The voice was merciless. "There is no other option."

Sue tried to crawl to her knees, but the tinnitus roared like an engine. Her sight fragmented into spinning loops of light and shadow.

"No… no… please. I just need one more da—"

The line went dead.

She dropped the phone. Her palms slid against the kitchen tiles slick with blood. The ringing drilled into her skull. She clawed her way forward, dragging herself out of the kitchen, through the living room, back into the dark hallway.

Her strength faltered. The world tilted. Yet still she crawled.

Sue staggered down the narrow hall, her legs trembling with the last ounces of strength she could summon. The tiled bathroom loomed ahead, cold and unwelcoming under the dim light seeping through the doorframe. She clutched at the sink with desperate fingers, the porcelain slick beneath her palms, and stretched upward toward the small shelf above.

Her fingertips brushed against the metal switch pipe. For a moment it seemed just out of reach—then, with a final lunge, she hooked it with her nails.

The victory lasted only a heartbeat. Her knees buckled, the strength draining from her like water through a sieve. Sue crumpled to the floor, dragging bottles and jars down with her. They shattered around her in a violent chorus of glass and plastic, filling the bathroom with the sharp, acrid scent of spilled perfume.

In the bedroom across the hall, her boyfriend jolted upright. The sudden crash split the silence of the night, shoving him out of the fog of half-sleep. He fumbled for the lamp and squinted into the light.

"Sue?" His voice carried uncertainty, like he wasn't sure he wanted an answer.

The bathroom now sat in unnatural stillness. The mess lay undisturbed. The air itself felt heavier, as if the room were holding its breath.

A silver of darkness gaped where the hidden door stood ajar.

At first there was nothing. Only silence pressing in on the walls.

Then—

A guttural groan seeped from the opening, raw and torn, as though dragged up from the grave itself. It rattled through the tiles and echoed into the hallway.

Back in the bedroom, the man sat motionless on the edge of the bed. The sound prickled against his skin, not unlike the brush of icy fingers. He swallowed hard.

"Babe?"

No reply—only the faint, hollow rasp of a cough, wet and phlegmy, tumbling out from the dark.

His brow furrowed. Confusion weighed on him, heavy with the beginnings of fear. He rose slowly, as if his body already knew something his mind refused to believe, and stepped into the hallway.

"Are you alright?" he called again, softer this time. The words seemed to dissolve into the shadows ahead.