Barton stepped back. It would end soon, he knew. But first the solution had to run its course. And it was never pleasant; not even to witness.
“In a few days, this will all be forgotten.”
Adelle’s blue eyes shot open then, full of pain. They stared deep into Barton’s, forcing him to step further back, to look away from the terror he saw there.
“What’s happening?” Adelle cried. “Make it stop!”
Barton was caught off guard. As he began to speak, her body stopped moving, her eyes closed again, and she remained silent. A few seconds later, he moved in close again. Her breathing seemed to be normal. Her skin color continued with its rather pale complexion. She would be fine.
Good, he thought. Now there would be no reason for Whitmere to send him another patient. With this one, and the male, both requiring another series of injections, his work would be finished in the day.
Let’s get this over with.
Darryl awoke with a stinging sensation in his left bicep. Alert at once, he looked up to see someone walking away from him.
“Wait,” he called out.
Doctor Barton turned before reaching the door. He didn’t bother hiding his displeasure in doing so. “Go back to sleep, patient.”
“What is your name?” Darryl asked, shrugging off the other’s icy glare.
“I am Barton.” Barton almost smiled. No one had ever asked him his name. It felt weird saying it aloud.
“Doctor Barton, what day is it? What time is it?” Darryl pressed on through the pain. “I have a few more questions, if you can stick around for a moment.”
Barton’s sympathy had died long ago. “The next few minutes for you will be extremely painful. I suggest you relax your mind and keep your questions.”
Barton no sooner reached for the door when Darryl’s anguish erupted. His painful groans spewed like lava from a volcano. Through his crying, he begged Barton for help. Barton walked out the room.
Darryl’s hands clenched his blankets tight. His chest lurched upwards, his head tilting back, his mouth wide open. Nothing imaginable could feel worse. A few seconds was all he could take. His eyes closed, forcing the tears to streak down his cheeks.
Barton stole through the hallway like a shadow fleeing the sun light. He was excited, but more so, he was determined. His feet hit the floor with a vengeance, moving directly for Whitmere’s lab.
He rounded a corner quickly, and there was Jean. She was one of Whitmere’s assistants, the only one to ever treat him fairly.
“Where’s the fire?” she asked. She had seen him first, before he tried to slow his approach.
“Sorry, Jean. My mind is elsewhere.”
Barton stopped beside her. She was as tall as he, slim, with short brown hair and a fiery stare, stern and captivating at the same time. But when she looked at him, the fire was diminished.
Jean smiled. “I can see that. Where are you going?”
“Home.”
Sadness filled her eyes then. She tried to keep her concern from coating her tone. “Whitmere will ask the Council for your release?”
Barton nodded. “Today is the day.”
She held him with her eyes alone. “I need to tell you something.”
Barton detected her concern though. “Jean?”
Her frown deepened. “I know you’ve been told this before. Whitmere has promised you a leave this time for sure? You are certain?” She shook her head. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up again.”
“They cannot keep me here, Jean.”
Jean smiled sadly. “No, I don’t suppose they could. So if this is the end of your stay, I want you to know something.”
“Jean, don’t.” Barton’s head shook slightly.
“Just know that I never saw you the way the others did.” Jean hesitated, opening her mouth as if there was more to say, but didn’t continue.
“I know, Jean.”
She grabbed his hands in her own, squeezed them firmly, then let go with a nod and a smile that that was more heartbreaking than the look in her eyes.
He stared at her for a moment longer, and then rushed away. Whitmere had a promise to keep. And if the old fool chose not to, then he would be forced to take matters into his own hands.
He reached Whitmere’s lab. It was empty. Council chamber then, if Jean was correct. That’s where Whitmere would speak on his behalf. That’s where the promise would be cemented.
Barton continued through the hall, turning a few times, passing countless doors. Finally, he reached a set of tall, double doors. He turned back, no one was looking. Quietly, he stepped inside.
The doors opened into a dim lit hallway. He followed the corridor carefully; he didn’t want his presence known. The hall turned sharp and ran for a few yards before it opened into the Council’s meeting area. There would be eight men listening to Whitmere plead for his release.
Light shined ahead. Barton pressed close to the wall. Voices were heard, low but firm. Barton pressed further, waiting until he could hear clearly. Then he stopped, out of the light, out of reach, hiding in shadow. He strained his ears. Breathing slowly out of his mouth, he made no sound.
And then he heard it—the conversation.
The end of it, he realized.
“And this can be achieved, doctor?” a deep voice asked.
“Yes, Council.” Whitmere spoke. “I assure you that the situation will be controlled.”
“Settled then.” a voice said. “He will be kept in your possession for the duration of his stay. Keep us moving forward, doctor.”
“And let us know of your project’s first results,” another added.
“Doctor Barton and I will begin testing right away,” Whitmere concluded. “Thank you, Council. I will not fail you.”
The words replayed over and over in Barton’s head. He had heard them loud and clear. There was no misunderstanding. They were denying his departure.
He realized suddenly that everything had gone quiet. They were being dismissed. They were coming.
Barton thought about confronting them right there, but thought better of it. He turned and sprinted away before being found.
He gained the hallway. His pace was quick, but not enough so that he alerted anyone. The few doctors he saw paid him no mind. The panicked look in his eyes had changed to something more casual. Hiding his feelings was something that he did masterfully.
But inside there was a sense of urgency. His stomach churned. He became nervous as he reached his lab and entered. He tried to sit and gather his thoughts, but he was too anxious. He paced alongside of a table. His mind raced with thoughts; the conclusion always the same—escape.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He had the upper hand, in a sense only that he knew of their plan, and they nothing of his. That gave him hope.
But the time to act was now. Escape became the focus. With that came anxiety. It would be nearly impossible. He wasn’t even sure his body could withstand the change now. He wasn’t the same physically as when he had first arrived. And all along, Whitmere had suggested that leaving would kill him.
If I left, I would be killed? Or they would kill me?
It didn’t matter. He would not rely on them further.
He looked down to his shaking hands. He wiped the sweat forming along his forehead. He stopped pacing. He began rationalizing. If he could grow back flesh and tissue, he could link broken chains. Every patient came with a problem that he worked to solve. His own wouldn’t be any different. He looked at his vials with solutions and formulas and promised himself he would figure it out.
He smiled in spite of himself.
Promises.
He hated that word.
F O U R
Darryl thrashed, grabbing various parts of his chest and sides. There was no one place that it hurt, it was everywhere at once.
Whitmere’s eyes narrowed, his eyebrows lowering in a slant towards his nose. He remained motionless, watching Darryl.
Then it was over. Darryl s
ettled, his breathing returned to normal, the pain residing. His teeth still clenched tight, his hands still squeezing on his sheets. Then he let out a sigh, a slight moaning gasp to emphasize that it had left his system.
“What’s happening to me?” he asked Whitmere.
“Reaction to the medicine. Your body needs to change, to heal.”
Darryl nodded. “It hurts so bad. I can’t explain the pain. It’s like…tearing and twisting all at once. My insides are shifting around. It’s not normal for me to feel like this.”
“What I will do, Darryl, is increase your meds to counter the pain. If it’s persistent, then we will try something else. I will scan you to make certain that your internals are acting the way I want them to. Healing takes time, though. Be patient.”
Whitmere turned to see the machine behind Darryl, staring at the monitor, hearing the beeping sound change in pitch, knowing that it meant Darryl’s heartbeat had changed, and his brain activity had lessened. After a few moments of studying, and thinking, Whitmere turned back to Darryl.
“Darryl, I think you’ll be fine in a few days. I am going to go look at your blood work. Remember, if you feel the need to rest, go ahead and do so. Relaxation is your ally.”
“I am tired a lot,” Darryl admitted. “And every time I fall asleep, I have the same dream.”
Whitmere paid closer attention. “Really? Explain it to me.”
“I’m in my house. It’s night. The house is trashed. I hear someone crying right away; I know it’s a woman. I can smell her, but I never see her. I look for her in the dark, but I never find her. She just cries and cries. It hurts so bad.”
“And you’ve seen her how many times?”
“I