The Source

by J B Stilwell

  “And if I don’t want the change?” I ask.

  He holds his hands out as if to say “I will not harm” while his face seems to say “I’m sorry that you’ll hurt either way.” If I go through with this experiment, I will no longer be the woman that I always thought I was, the woman that I aspired to be. I will become one of those people that I so easily judged in my moral superiority. Judgment is an easy way to make me feel better about myself and how important I am. When that’s gone, what will be left of me? Is there anything about me that is good without the comparison of those who do evil deeds?

  Now was one hell of a time to have an existential crisis. But I guess better now than never. I could go the rest of my life and never question this about myself and continue living my life of self-righteousness.

  It appears that to grow as a person I need to force myself to the edge of the abyss, stare darkness in the face, ask it to dance - then in mid-waltz, cut it’s head off and be humbled by the fact that I was able to do it and make it out alive. Certain jobs need to be done by special people - those jobs that the majority of people cannot do because of moral considerations. Still, those jobs need to be performed for the betterment of us all, regardless of what our morality tells us. I could ask what that means about our morality in the first place, but right now I had a choice to make.

  Time to be an adult and not hide from the big scary monster that’s been wholly created by people who have never had to make these decisions.

  I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat. I shift my legs to the side and exit the car as Rick stands aside and smiles softly at me. I look at him for a few pounding, panicked heartbeats and then begin my descent into the nightmare via the building entrance.

  We carry the bags down the hall to Thalia’s cell where we meet Mr. Caulfield. “Good evening. I’ve been told that you require another experiment. One that may be very promising.”

  Shocking myself, I respond first. “Yes, it is very promising. Or it could be another way to incapacitate vampires. That’s what we’re here to determine. If our solution means incapacitation or annihilation.”

  I’m a poet. Look at me.

  Mr. Caulfield nods. “Very well. I will stay and observe the proceedings. The assistants will take you to the equipment that you requested for your prep work.”

  With that we are dismissed to go forth and conquer. We follow the assistants, a man and woman, toward the back of the facility where we take stairs to the lower level. Gwen follows us the whole time, remaining quiet as she occasionally scribbles notes in her notebook. With each step I take down the stairs, I find it harder and harder to breathe. I don’t know if it’s a change in air pressure or another side effect of my anxiety.

  When we reach the lower level, the woman assistant uses a badge and access code panel to open the door. We enter a new hallway where they direct us to the third room on the left. She again uses a badge and access code to unlock the door and then holds it open for us to enter.

  When we walk in, the lights automatically come on to show a room with a few different large machines. There are two tables with chairs at the front of the room, along with a whiteboard that looks so clean that you could eat a meal from it. Well, unless you are Rick.

  Gwen passes us to take a seat at the table on the right-hand side of the room. Rick walks over to the other table and sets his bags down. I follow suit as the assistants enter and let the door close and lock. I suddenly feel trapped, especially since each assistant stands to one side of the door as if they’re guarding it. I wring my hands and begin checking out the machines while sneaking glances at the door, wishing them to take a seat and relax.

  “Here’s the one we want,” Rick abruptly says.

  I slightly jump and turn to him. “What is it?”

  “Well, it’s what we need. Basically an industrial-sized grinder.”

  “Are there any instructions?”

  Rick looks at me quizzically. “Why? What’s difficult about putting tablets into the opening and turning the grinder on?”

  I close one eye, sneering at him. “I meant like is there only so much we can put into it? Is there a possibility of overloading it and causing the engine to burn up?”

  “Right,” he whispers. “Good thinking. Calm down.”

  He walks over to the assistants. “Are there any special instructions for the machine, like how much can be loaded into it?”

  The man tips his head toward the cabinets on the far wall as he says, “There are manuals and accessories in the cabinet on the left.”

  “Thanks,” Rick says as he doubles back to check the contents of the cabinet. I wait as he rummages through what he finds while Gwen lightly taps her pen on the table. It’s as if she is not only an archivist, but also a time-taker, ticking off the seconds it takes Rick to find what we need. Thankfully it doesn’t take too long or else the drumbeat would get annoying.

  He returns with some sealed, sterile containers to hold the ground powder. He then walks over to the table and picks up some of the bags. “We can put about half of what we have into the grinder.”

  I watch him silently, twisting my fingers into knots. I hesitate and then finally ask, “Are you still thinking about using a syringe?”

  He stops in mid-stride, multiple bags in each hand. “It might be more thorough if we get it into her blood stream. What if we dump all of the powder on her, and she doesn’t get completely covered? What if that affects the outcome?”

  “Isn’t that a possibility with the syringe technique, too? I mean, what if she hasn’t fed recently. Her heart wouldn’t be beating as regularly, would it?”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” he admitted. “But it would still be beating enough to push any remaining blood through her system. Most likely once the liquid entered her veins, her heart rate will react the same as if she had blood in her system. Hopefully it would start beating more regularly and speed up the process of spreading the solution throughout her body.”

  I cross my arms, more hugging myself for comfort than anything else. “Those seem like a lot of ‘ifs’.”

  He smiles warmly at me. “That’s why they call it an experiment. IF we knew for sure what would happen, we wouldn’t have to do it the first place.”

  I look down at the floor, kicking my foot back and forth. After contemplating possible outcomes for a while, I finally look back up to find Rick staring at me. The corners of his mouth turn up, but not into a full smile, as if he’s confident but doesn’t want to seem too overly eager.

  “Are you ready to help?” he asks.

  I just look at him, still sweeping my foot across the floor. I drop my arms to my sides and hurriedly exhale, like I was holding my breath in hopes for a last-minute change in direction. I guess I had hit the point of no return, or more honestly, I had hit the point where if I told myself that if I have made it this far, I will see it through to the end. Mom would be so proud. She always warned me against being a quitter. Growing up, regardless of whether it was school activities or summer camp, my unhappiness was never an issue because her mantra was “if you start something, you finish it - no matter what.” Problem is, sometimes the “matter” does matter. But, old habits die hard, especially when it was pound into your head for the greater part of your childhood.

  “Okay, let’s do this. What’s first?”

  Rick hands me the container. “Position this container at the end of the grinder then help me open these bottles and put them into the receptacle.”

  “Aye, aye, captain,” I quip.

  “Aaarrrggg, you would make a fine wench,” he says in a horrible pirate voice.

  I raise one eyebrow at him.

  “Sorry,” he says, “just trying to lighten the mood.”

  I smile. “Thanks. It’s as light as an elephant now, which is a significant improvement.”

  I position the container then we begin opening half the vitamin D bottles and empty the contents into the grinder. It seems to be a very solemn act as we complete it in
silence. It’s like we are reflecting on the seriousness of what we are doing and don’t want to ruin the sacredness of the moment by talking.

  When we empty the last bottles, Rick motions to the grinder. “Do you want to do the honors?”

  My first reaction is to say no and I open my mouth, but stop. I wet my lips, as my mouth is suddenly dry. “Sure, I’ll do it.” Rick stands back to allow me extra space to get the machine started. It’s a gesture that is more about giving me emotional space than physical space. I’ve never known someone so in tune with my feelings. But then, I’ve never been so close to a vampire before. That I’m aware of anyway.

  I close my eyes, take a deep breath and say a silent prayer. I press the green button and the grinder comes to life. The groaning of metal permeates the room as the tablets are reduced to a fine powder. As Rick and I stand by and watch the machine do it’s magic, I look into his face. “Does any of this bother you?”

  He turns to me with a surprised look on his face. “The sound of the machine and smell of the tablets?”

  “No, not that. You can smell the tablets? Never mind. No, what we’re about to do to Thalia. Doesn’t it bother you?”

  His eyes slide to half-mast. He turns to face forward, away from me. “Yes, it bothers me.” He states it very simply, very matter-of-fact-like.

  “I don’t mean to pry. It’s just that you can sense how I’m feeling so well. With you, I don’t know unless I ask. If I went by your actions, I would think you didn’t care much at all.”

  His head bobs up and down as he crosses his arms, looking down at the floor. “I care. More than I let on. Not because I think Thalia should be freed.” He lifts his head and looks at me. “I care because I know that all it would take is a change in political climate, and it could be me in that glass cell.”

  My eye twitches as I imagine Rick in Thalia’s position. His explanation is a verbal punch in the face, assaulting my senses and my emotions. I continue to look at him, searching his eyes. I whisper, “Then why do you do it?”

  “Honestly? In part because by fighting the good fight, I help to ensure that it will never be me on the other side of that glass. At least that’s what I tell myself. The biggest reason is that I actually believe in the purpose. I don’t think any of us are safe with individuals like Thalia walking the streets, human or vampire.”

  “I started this project because I needed the money,” I admit. “Things have changed along the way. My views have changed.” I look away from him, searching for the right words in the white walls of our seeming confinement. “It’s no longer just about the money for me.”

  He turns to me, taking a step closer. Even with his nearness, I can’t bring myself to look at him. Not right now, not at this moment. “It’s just,” I continue, “I know that the majority of everyone would be safer if we take the extreme measures needed when dealing with vampires. I agree and wholeheartedly support that. I just struggle with the idea of being the one that helps decide how we deal with it. I didn’t think of this before coming to Rowan. I guess I had assumed that I could remain detached.” I shrug. “I don’t like being someone who helps to kill others, even if we are talking about criminal vampires. I know I’m a hypocrite. It’s like, I support it, but I don’t want to be the one to do it.”

  Rick startles me by taking my hand. I look into his face, which looks so firm yet gentle. It’s there in his eyes, his willingness to comfort me. It’s a mysterious thing how the eyes can completely change the look of someone’s face. They can make the face of a predator - a vampire - into the calming lines of warmth and caring.

  He runs his thumb over the back of my hand, slightly squeezing. “You’re not a hypocrite. You’re just compassionate. Even when it comes to the worst in people, your compassion stays your hand before moving too quickly to judgment. That is genuine kindheartedness. You are the most humane, even to the non-human. That makes you the most special person I have ever met. And I don’t hold it against you. I admire you for it.”

  He releases my hand, raising his to brush the back of his fingers against my cheek. My lips slightly part as it becomes harder to breathe. Rick runs his fingers over my chin, his tongue lightly running between his lips. I have a quick moment of panic as I realize that he might actually try to kiss me.

  The grinder buzzer sounds to let us know the first batch is done. Rick drops his hand and motions forward. “I’ll see how much room we have left in the container.”

  When he turns his back, breathing suddenly becomes easier. I run my hand over my stomach, trying to quell the pressure of mixed emotions building in the pit of my being. He admires me. He touched my cheek, and it was the most loving feeling that I have ever experienced. I want so much to believe that he’s being true, and it’s not just vampire mind tricks. Maybe someday I’ll know for sure.

  He returns to the table to pick up the rest of the bags. “We should have plenty of room for the rest.”

  We again start the solemn process of emptying the bottles into the grinder. Once we’re done, I have a brave moment and take his hand. “Please.” I look deeply into his eyes. “Let’s avoid an injection. That level of civility somehow makes this even worse than it already is, like we can ‘sterilize and medical-ize’ it enough that it won’t be like torture, when we both know that it is.”

  He holds my gaze. He nods, placing his free hand over mine as I gently squeeze the hand I am holding. “Okay. Let’s go forward with the original plan. Surely they have some equipment around here that will help distribute the powder evenly enough to emulate Thalia being out in direct sunlight.”

  I smile at him as I breathe a sigh of relief. I feel like I have won a major battle, in a morbid way. It’s as if the cruelty has to be as cruel as possible so I can make sure that no one could possibly forget the gravity of what we are doing. What I am doing. Would it help my conscience? Probably not, but at least I won’t be able to pretend that it’s just another medical procedure.

  Once all of the tablets are ground, Rick reseals the container and carries it to the door. I motion to Gwen that we are ready to go back up to the upper level of the facility.

  The assistants open the door and lead us back through the conduit of hallways and stairways that take us to the reason we came to this little town in West Virginia in the first place. Time to see if our work would kill a vampire.

  Chapter 23

  Mr. Caulfield is waiting for us when we arrive back at Thalia’s cell. He’s standing with his hands clasped behind his back as if he is the head of a major organization that is taking over the world. Wait. He is, in a way. The vampire world at least.

  We stop beside him as Rick continues to hold the container filled with vitamin D powder. Mr. Caulfield looks at the box with upraised eyebrows. “Is this all you need for the experiment?” he asks.

  “No, sir,” Rick replies. “We will also need a device that will distribute the powder over the majority of Thalia’s body.” Rick pauses to look at me, his eyes confirming that the syringe idea has been laid to rest. Looking back at Mr. Caulfield he continues, “I was imagining something like a leaf blower. That is if the facility has such an implement.”

  Mr. Caulfield blinks quickly then turns to the female assistant. “Lower level, room 18.” Nothing more and the woman quickly turns and retraces our steps to the equipment room below.

  Room 18? I wonder just how many rooms there are down there and what they all contain. Or maybe I don’t want to know. What I’m actually doing on this project is enough; don’t need to cloud my brain with any other government secrets.

  As we wait, Rick turns to me. I’m trying very hard not to make eye contact with anyone, including him. He steps closer to me and leans into my personal space. “Are you okay?” he whispers.

  I look up at him and nod, not wanting to commit to anything with my voice. It would be too easy to tell that I am lying. He regards me for a few moments then says, “When you’re ready to tell me the truth, let me know.”

  My eyes wid
en. What the hell? I can’t even silently lie to him? How am I supposed to go through life without being able to fake my feelings and thoughts? Everyone does it, just like putting a mask on to fit any given situation so that you don’t give too much of yourself away. Vampires change the whole stage of presenting yourself in every day life. Can society bear the weight of not existing with the interconnected lies that make it work? Honesty will make it implode. I can’t think about this right now. I don’t know if I can continue on if I’m constantly forced to be 100% honest in thought, feeling and deed.

  I turn from him and lower my head. In a moment of self-reflective insanity, I walk over to the glass cell and peer up at Thalia. She is sitting in the corner, twirling her matted hair. She looks up at me and begins to slowly crawl over to where I am standing. She sits back on her heals and looks at me. She has bloody scratches all over her face that look as if they’re suspended in the healing process, getting no better, no worse. I maintain eye contact with her because after everything, regardless of what she has done, I think that I deserve to give her at least that. Neither smiling nor frowning, I just hold her gaze.

  She raises her left wrist to her mouth and bites. She then smears some of the blood on the fingers of her right hand and slowly writes HELP on the glass.

  “She’s playing on your emotions.”

  I jump and turn to face Rick. Clasping my hands to my chest, feeling confused I ask, “What?”

  Rick dips his head toward Thalia. “She can sense what you’re feeling and she’s trying to use it against you. She thinks if she can make you feel badly enough, you might try to stop this, stop her from dying the death she deserves.”

  A loud thud resounds through the room as the glass vibrates. Thalia has hit the glass and smeared the red HELP into a jagged slash across its surface. The most eerie thing is that with the way she is sitting, the slash-like mark appears to go right across her neck as if her throat has been slit.

  My granny would’ve said that it’s an omen that this individual will die for sure. I don’t know if I believe that because I know that it only looks that way because of my perspective, my height and the angle at which I’m looking at her in conjunction with the angle to which she is sitting. Although I logically know that, the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck still stand on end. I get this itching feeling at the back of my throat that tells me that our experiment will be successful and she will die.