~~~
I didn’t know how long I was asleep, but the sunlight was shining into the room through windows I hadn’t noticed before. The walls were a ruddy color, oranges and reds making it look like blood was caked on an abattoir. I tested my muscles a few times—I felt like I could move again; my strength had returned, although my right arm was still incapacitated.
A quick look around confirmed what I had thought: I was in a lab room, or maybe a science classroom. The cuffs on my feet were attached to a metal bedframe, as were those on my wrists. The door was at the other end of the room, about fifteen feet away, and the nearest window was about half that distance, to my right.
“We really must be in the middle of nowhere if the bastard doesn’t care the room has windows, even if they are too small for me to squeeze out of.” I scanned my surroundings again, searching for something I could use to get out of the cuffs…but I didn’t see anything. The cup had been the only thing in reach of my left hand, my right couldn’t move, and there was nothing for my feet to grab onto, even if I could have gotten it up to my hands.
The frustration buried me, weighing down my limbs and head. What would I do anyway? My right arm is cut wide open, for God’s sake! I couldn’t get anywhere!
The contrary voice spoke up. But if you don’t get out of here, you’re going to die. Better to lose an arm than your life.
I lifted my head again. The sunlight had moved, withdrawing from the room. The deep red light only touched the upper half of the walls, and even that was fading fast.
God, I’m thirsty. My throat went dry, and the broken glass on the floor reminded me of the water it had held. I licked my lips and watched the march of the sunshine as it crept up the wall, moved onto the ceiling, and then vanished, leaving only an ambient crimson glow that was soon gone.
Tears again. I’m sorry that I didn’t come in, Suzie. I heard the doorknob turn, but it didn’t register for a moment. I really wish I had one more chance.
“Good evening, Mr. Foster.” The overhead lights came on.
“Go to hell.” I squeezed my eyes shut. Something about his voice galvanized my nerves, fought off the despair that was threatening to overwhelm me.
Ignited my anger.
“Tut-tut.” His footsteps crunched over the glass. “You broke your lamp, I see. Was this part of another attempt to escape?”
I kept my mouth shut, even though I knew he could force me to answer. I’ll make the bastard work for it, though. I’m not broken yet.
Two heartbeats, then a laugh. “Very well. Let’s examine your arm, shall we?” I opened my eyes to see him draw out his pad and pen, lay them on his metal tray with his tools, then approach my right side. “I trust that you are not experiencing undue hunger or suffering?”
Of course I am were the words that bubbled to the top of my mind, but a moment’s thought showed me that I wasn’t hungry at all…but the thought of the water glass, now shattered on the floor, flitted across my consciousness and reminded me how dry my mouth was.
“I told you that you needed to participate fully in the experiment for my data to be accurate. If you can’t even answer—“
“I’m not hungry. Just thirsty.”
I thought I saw the corner of his mouth curl in a half-smile. “I see. Very well.” He turned his attention back to my wound. “I will first disinfect the injury again, if you don’t mind.”
“Why should it matter if I mind?” I watched as he turned around, digging in a drawer and retrieving more alcohol and applicators. “It’s not like you’ve listened to me minding being trapped in here.”
“As I said, my goal is not to make you suffer, Mr. Foster.” He returned and began applying the alcohol to the exposed flesh. “I simply wish to defend my view of Lamarck’s theories, and I require data for that.”
God, I wish that I could reach that scalpel. My eyes were locked onto the blade beside his notebook. Clear images of driving it into his temple flashed into my brain, a vivid daydream—and then I saw it.
The scalpel began to shiver in place, like the tray was shaking in a minor earthquake. When I pulled my attention away, the shivering stopped…until I resumed concentrating.
Holy hell!
“You mentioned him before.” My voice trembled like the scalpel, but I needed to distract him. “What’s his deal, anyway?”
The blade, still oscillating, began to lift off the tray. My mind felt like I was in the middle of a college final; I could feel the weight of the knife in my head.
“Lamarck believed that acquired traits—strength from exercise, or flexibility, for instance—could be passed down to one’s offspring. Darwin showed that, for most life, evolution functions on random chance and natural selection, dismissing Lamarck.”
I closed my eyes and bit my lip, then reopened them. The knife was now about a foot off the tray, and it was taking all my effort to keep it aloft.
“My theory, however, is that Lamarck was more right than he knew. I believe he was limited by the lifespan of the creatures he examined, and by his own restricted point of view.” He scowled and made a note on his pad. “It doesn’t appear that you are concentrating on healing your injury, Mr. Foster.”
The blade hovered just out of his peripheral vision, but it was getting harder to hold. Sweat beaded on my hairline as I imagined it turning toward his temple.
My captor’s eyes widened a little. “Is everything all right?”
“AAAAHHH!” I thrust with my will, releasing everything I had in a single burst. The scalpel cut through the air, whistling, burying itself halfway into his head. Blood spurted, trickling down the side of the man’s head. His eyes froze.
Then he smiled, reaching up and grasping the handle. “I am impressed, Mr. Foster. I did not think that your progress was sufficient to effect telekinesis.” He pulled; the blade came out with a schlock, and he glanced at it before returning it to his tray.
“What…you…how…?”
“I think that this has been a successful observation.” As I watched, the wound in his temple sealed shut, and he wiped away the leftover blood. “I will be back later for more tests.”
I was so shocked that I didn’t say anything. He moved over to the cabinet and pulled out another glass, this one a deep purple. He pulled ice cubes from a freezer and dropped them in the cup.
The clink triggered another wave of thirst, and my mouth started to moisten in anticipation. I felt a deep need, a craving for liquid that intensified when I heard the roar of the faucet.
He set the cup on the counter, then reached for the scalpel.
What the hell is he…
With a smooth motion, he made a cut in his wrist and held the injury over the glass. Dark beads of crimson dribbled into the water, each dispersing like smoke as they crept down the maze of ice.
That’s why it tasted salty. My eyes widened and my muscles tightened. He’s…he’s been feeding me his blood.
I expected to feel sick, repulsed…but the realization, the sight of him bleeding into the drink I knew he was going to offer me, only sharpened the desire, the need I felt.
“I wish to see if I can pass on my own developed traits to you, Mr. Foster.” He placed the glass to my lips. “And I understand that you are very thirsty.”
No. I won’t do it. I won’t.
My lips wrapped around the edge of the glass, feeling the coolness, and I chugged down the contents in seconds. The liquid pouring into my stomach sent waves of strength through my body. It also dampened the fire…but did not extinguish it. My captor watched as I finished off the drink, and, as he pulled it away, I whimpered.
“Do you want more?”
I took a deep breath, and shook my head. “No, thank you.”
He made that half-smile again. “Yes, you do. But I respect your will.” He stood up. “I will see you soon.”
And he left.
I didn’t move for a long time—maybe thirty minutes, an hour. My mind roiled, turning over each event, tryin
g to make sense of it.
The experiment is his blood. It has to be. I licked my lips again, the leftover taste provoking another zing in my nerves. Is that what let him heal?
My eyes opened again and I turned to my flayed arm. It smelled, and the tissues were swollen and red despite my captor’s attempts to clean it.
Imagine the wound knitting back together, the skin sealing shut, the muscle reconnecting. I heard his voice in my head. Concentrate.
And I did, but this time I kept my eyes open.
As I watched, I first saw the enflamed areas recede back into a state of normalcy. Tendrils of connective tissue stretched across the gap and began pulling the flesh to its usual place. The bone disappeared behind the new growth of muscle, and the skin knitted over the incision.
I flexed my fingers. The muscles and tendons bunched in my forearm as they always had. I stretched my hand and touched the metal of the bedframe. My sensation was back.
“Fine then. Willpower, huh? Evolution on demand?” I clenched my hand and imagined my muscle doubling in strength. Almost immediately, I felt and saw my arm and shoulder bulge, the skin turning a deep red. I pulled and the chain gave way, fragments flying across the room.
“Yes!” A moment later and I had freed myself from the rest of my bonds. I stood up from the bed for the first time in days. I felt a little drained, but I shook my head. Whatever’s in that blood runs out, I guess. That must be what makes me tired.
I squared my shoulders and took a breath. The room smelled of blood, alcohol…and him. My mouth began leaking saliva,
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