LUNA'S BAGGAGE

Chapter 5

"What do you mean you lost them?" the fishy smell of blood in the room was extremely nauseating. Saying all that blood was from the one man currently on the ground, but no, the once white tiled floor was covered in old caked blood from who knows how long. The only way one could tell the floor had once been white was from one clean corner in the room. A desk and table sat neatly with neither a computer nor files. As for why someone would pick this biohazard for an office space, no one in their right mind could tell.

One had to be a certain level of sinister and psycho to stomach sitting there for a long time, let alone turning into an office space. Along the walls of the room were barrels filled with an unknown gooey substance, the stench getting worse the closer one got. This was clearly an achievement considering just how stinky the room was. There were several glass jars neatly arranged above said barrels, only these were filled with a clear liquid. In fact, the jars seemed well taken care of, unlike everything else around them.

Bump! Bump! Bump! The rhythmic sound followed by groaning were the only sounds, the groaning getting lower and lower in volume until only the sound of skin hitting skin remained.

A man stood above the other in the quiet room, the latter bloodied beyond recognition. An array of torture tools lay on the ground around them discarded as if the man had found them not useful enough and resorted to using his hands instead, as indicated by his bloodied knuckles.

"One assignment! Just one!" the man on the floor showed no signs of life, yet the beating did not stop. In fact, manic laughter soon ensued in the otherwise quiet, smelly building. "How weak! SO useless" he sneered before spitting on the helpless man.

"How hard is it to keep surveillance of a few weaklings?" he asked no one in particular, not that anyone would dare answer him lest they ended up in even more trouble. Yes, there were other people in the room as the torture went on, but no one dared to breathe a little louder than normal. A little flinching or noise would mark you as the maniac's next victim. No one dared to make a sound as their colleague perished in the hands of their supposed boss. Their practiced blank stares were an indication that this was a normal occurrence. One of them passed him a clean towel but was ignored.

Why were there witnesses to the torture? To serve as a warning, especially to new employees. Consequences of not getting work done or not doing it the right way.

"Get me a glass of water." Of course, he needed water. Torturing people makes one thirsty after all, right? What kind of person would consume anything surrounded by such filth?

"Yes, sir!" his word was the law at work. Was the glass containing the water clean? No one knew but it was the boss' favorite and only a specific few were allowed to handle it. I mean, just how clean would it be lying around in a room that even the CDC would quarantine? It was like a bio hazard, remember?

"You over there in the corner! Take over the assignment! Find them!" a random rookie who had just been handed a job that had seen one of their best agents die was already shaking in his boots. It was obvious he was in no position to refuse the job.

"You! Get him the files on the people of interest." Did this man know any of the names of the people under him? Probably not, he was the boss after all and, with the current economy, half of the world would keep up with all kinds of disrespect to put food on the table.

This was the main reason why business was currently booming for the organization. The desperation of humans has made it easy for their operations to run smoothly, with easy targets just waiting to be preyed upon.

"Sir, the files are..." one of the courageous workers attempted to answer, ultimately trailing off, pointing at the ground. There were the files in question, scattered on the bloody ground in tatters. For some reason that seemed to make the boss even angrier, he rained a couple of more punches on the body before kicking it aside.

"One of you should clean this up. I have an appointment in about fifteen minutes and I am all covered in dirty blood?" Was there clean blood? Hadn't he been the one to cause the whole mess? "Come get the files from my office quickly, I need to take a shower," he added before walking out of the room with a beautiful smile on his face. It was true that looks were deceiving. The man walking upstairs looked nothing like the man that had just battered someone to death with his bare hands.

He whistled a popular kids' song slowly going up the stairs, his bloodied hands in his pockets, adding to the already scary blood spatter on his white shirt. The beautiful face of an angel hiding the demon underneath.

If Alison had been there she would have realized that the file had her name at the top with pictures of her and her triplets on the cover. They were the 'assignment' and their impromptu move had made someone lose his life, not that it would make a difference.

"Find them!" those were the final words spoken before the door was rudely slammed in the poor man's face, barely missing his nose. If anyone was near him, they would have noticed the wet patch growing in his crotch area. How embarrassing, but he was too scared to react.

"Will you get away from my office door! AND CLEAN AFTER YOURSELF I CAN SMELL YOUR PISS FROM HERE!", the latter part of the statement said even louder, garnering him an audience. The files downstairs were covered in blood and the ones he'd just been handed were now lying in his own urine.

In a normal office setting, this would have been a laughing matter, but not here. One of his colleagues had already appeared with a mop, the other dragging him away whilst offering words of comfort. How many times before had a similar thing happened to them to have such a routine?

"Welcome to our clinic, take a number and have a seat. The doctor will be with you shortly."

"Welcome back to our clinic, your appointment is in half an hour."

'ANGELS FERTILITY CENTER, never give up your chance on parenthood', the pink and blue sign at the door was very welcoming to the public, young and old alike. The clinic presented a very family-friendly front. Pictures of women at different stages of pregnancy and children decorated the walls. Our first pregnancy, our first set of twins, our first preemie, those were some of the messages under the pictures.

The clinic had not existed in the township for a long time but they already had a lot of positive reviews. Surrogacy services were introduced a little later, much to the joy of the community. A chance at motherhood for some and a chance at earning a living for others.

"Hello, welcome to Angels Fertility Clinic. How can we help you?" the man behind the desk had a huge smile on his face, putting the new clients at ease. His face was no longer pale, the pants he'd pissed on earlier nowhere on site. Instead, he was dressed in baby pink scrubs.

"Johnson, show this miss to the surrogacy wing." another man in pink scrubs appeared from the long corridors.

"Timothy isn't here today? I have some information about what he asked last time." the client inquired, rubbing her slightly protruding belly. She was so concentrated on her tummy that she missed the changes in the men's facial expressions.

"Sorry, ma'am, he got transferred earlier this week but I can help you pass the information to him if it is urgent." transferred to heaven, you mean. Timothy was dead. The boss himself had killed him just a few hours ago, but no one could know that.

"Put him in one of those barrels." Johnson shuddered as he remembered the words from the phone call less than 2 hours earlier. "Put his kidneys in a glass jar, I will come to take a look at them later." he had added as an after thought. He could still smell the odor from the liquid spilling over as they forced Timothy's remains into the already full barrel. Chunks of human flesh fall together with the liquid.

Yes, that was the gooey liquid from the barrels downstairs, the liquefied remains of the clinic's former employees. Just how many had fallen to constitute the large number of containers? The glass jars were for organs that may have miraculously survived the beatings intact.

The boss had said he would get a new barrel later in the day when Johnson had reported the situation. Why not just bury them? Johnson had wanted to ask but quickly stopped his tongue before he ended up as the new barrel's first occupant.

"Did he join Michael at the new branch?" she asked, twirling her brightly colored hair around her fingers. Ahh, Michael, another one of the boss' victims and Timothy's barrel roomie. The previous receptionist, aka Timothy, must have lied to her about a new branch when Michael had died. That was the ANGEL'S 'circle of life.'

"Yes, he is at the new branch." a new lie had to be used to cover up the previous one, a never-ending cycle. "Would you like me to pass a message to him?" How could the dead get a message? Johnson was just asking for formality.

"Nevermind, it is not that important. When can I see Dr. Hann? I have an appointment for 11 am." Yes, Dr. Hann, that was the name the psychopath had given as his to the people of the small township. Such a friendly name for the devil himself. No one knew his real name, not even his employees.

"Ahh, Dr. Hann, this way, please. He has been waiting for you." Mercy, the client in question, was on Dr. Hann's special ones. She has been getting VIP treatment ever since the pregnancy test showed a positive result. He had people trailing her all hours of the day, but of course, she didn't know that. Word had spread around town that Dr. Hann liked Mercy, especially after finding out the couple she was a surrogate for was one of his close friends.

"I have been waiting for you, Mercy." The smiling man kissing Mercy on both cheeks as a sign of greeting looked nothing like the demon Johnson had just witnessed in the hospital's basement. The township had an old saying, 'a beautiful grave, hides skeletons,' how fitting was it in the current situation? The clinic was just like a beautiful grave to all those that had lost their lives in that cold smelly basement. "Get back to work, I'll take it from here."

It was business as usual for the clinic, with those applying for the surrogacy program getting more scrutiny and tests and the rest. To reassure the biological parents and for the safety of the surrogate, they said. Every month, very few applicants are chosen to qualify as surrogates. The good pay and great benefits ensured a constant supply of candidates to pick from. The poor economy also had a role to play in the availability of candidates. It was only sacrificing nine months for a lifetime of benefits after all.