Infernal: Emergence

by Ricky Fleet

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “As you can see, the wound has now totally healed,” Dr. Franken explained, turning Malachi onto his side to observe the flank injury too.

  “This is incredible,” remarked a doctor with a French accent.

  The physicians huddled around and talked amongst themselves while Malachi looked on. Dr. Franken seated himself by the bed and patted him on the leg, “I told you how unique you were.”

  “When you said colleagues, I assumed you meant from inside the hospital, not from across Europe,” Malachi whispered. The tiny, private bubble that was his life had gone continental and he found his heart palpitating with anxiety.

  The doctor could see his concern and spoke quietly, “Don’t worry. These are doctors who I trust not to make rash judgements. They have asked permission to follow our sessions together but it will not be publicised without your express consent. We are all somewhat quirky in the eyes of our peers as we don’t take it as inviolable that medicine itself has all the answers.”

  “So I won’t be front page of any medical journals if I don’t want to be?”

  “Not at all,” Dr. Franken declared, “We can keep your anonymity intact from the first session; I will formulate a non-disclosure contract which we will all sign. The information we glean from you will be kept on my own encrypted server at home.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” Malachi breathed a sigh of relief.

  “That being said, if at some point we find what is locked within your genes which allows you to regenerate, I would like your permission to share it with the world. A suitably apportioned research laboratory could synthesize any genetic anomalies and use them to help people.”

  “And I suppose the profit would be split equally between us?” Malachi asked, meeting the doctor’s gaze.

  “Well I suppose so, yes,” Dr. Franken backed off a little with distaste, “I wasn’t so much thinking about money, more being able to help millions of people to live a full and active life. If we can unlock your regenerative ability, we could eradicate Alzheimer’s disease overnight. No more watching our loved ones become strangers to us, prisoners within their own mind. Heart disease and cancer would be things of the past.”

  Malachi was satisfied with the response and smiled, “That was the answer I wanted. If we can create something wonderful I want it used for good, not for the profit of a select few who then decide who lives and dies.”

  “You have my word,” declared the doctor, placing a hand over his heart.

  “So what happens now?”

  “First thing that happens is I sign your discharge papers and you go back home. We keep this as low key as possible to ensure nobody gets wind of what we are doing. You resume your old life and I see you on a weekly basis, possibly more frequently if we have a breakthrough.”

  “I like the sound of getting back to normality, I am already behind with my rent because of the hospital stay. I’m going to need to pull a lot of overtime to get back on my feet,” Malachi replied.

  “It could have been worse if you needed to stay in for many weeks like normal people,” winked the doctor.

  Malachi laughed, “At least my superpowers have stopped me from being evicted.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much, your housing has already been paid for a year or more,” replied Dr. Franken.

  “What do you mean?”

  “There was a party at your friend’s bar in your honour. They collected enough to tide you over for several months on top of the rent payments,” explained the doctor.

  “I don’t like taking charity,” Malachi said, a mixture of gratitude and irritation, “People worked hard for that money and I don’t deserve it.”

  “Nonsense, lad. In today’s society, what you did was amazing. Most people would have walked on by and minded their own business, but you ran headlong into the fray.”

  “You make it sound like I stormed the beaches on D-day,” Malachi huffed.

  “Very trite,” admonished Dr. Franken.

  “Sorry, Doc. I am just tired of people saying I’m a hero for running into an alley and getting stabbed. It wasn’t brave, I was scared to death.”

  “Without fear, there can be no courage!” proclaimed the doctor.

  “Gandhi? Martin Luther King?”

  “No, it was on a Facebook meme,” he said and they both laughed.

  Chloe’s smiling face appeared at the small window and the group of experts excused themselves. As she walked in, Dr. Franken peered around the doorway.

  “I’ve left my personal details on a piece of paper. If you have any questions, then please don’t hesitate to call. I will be in touch in the next few days when I have made all the necessary arrangements. Ok?”

  “Sounds fine. Thanks again, Doc.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he nodded to Chloe, “Take care of that one, he is more special than you could ever know.”

  And with that he was gone. Chloe cupped both cheeks and kissed Malachi passionately.

  “At least you cleaned your teeth this time,” she joked.

  “I had the doctors coming to see me, I had to scrub up a bit,” Malachi replied.

  “You’re lucky you are still a patient or I would punish you,” Chloe replied.

  “I’m not sure that is such a bad thing,” he chuckled and climbed out of bed.

  “Keep misbehaving and I will have to put on my leather suit and break out the whip,” she winked.

  A tingle of anticipation threatened to cause an awkward protrusion, so he turned away to get changed. Seeing Chloe was staying put, he said, “Are you going to watch me the whole time?”

  “Damned right I am,” she grinned.

  “Pervert,” he chuckled and started to strip.

  Ordinarily, this level of intimacy would have caused more apprehension, but he felt so at ease in her presence that it didn’t matter. She spent most of the time making sounds of approval or whistling and Malachi was laughing so hard by the end she had to turn away and let him finish.

  “I thought it was only men who were meant to wolf whistle?”

  “I’m all for equality between the sexes,” Chloe giggled and embraced him tightly, hands caressing Malachi’s firm buttocks.

  “I’ll get you done for sexual harassment,” he said, pretending to fight off her amorous advances.

  “You wait and see what I do to you later,” she whispered, biting her lower lip.

  The old nerves returned and Malachi wasn’t sure he could go through with it. What if she wanted him to stay? What if she wanted to stay at his place? The pill that Dr. Llyod had prescribed seemed to do the trick with the nightmares, or it could have just been a coincidence that last night was one of the dreamless sleeps. He prayed it was the former.

  “I can’t wait to be out of this place,” Malachi said, changing the subject.

  “I don’t like them either. The smell is just awful,” Chloe replied.

  “You said that you had a surprise for me when we spoke last night?”

  “I do, but you will have to wait and see when we get there,” she answered mysteriously.

  “So what is it?” he begged. “I hate surprises.”

  “You won’t hate this one,” Chloe confirmed.

  “It’s not…”

  “Oh no,” she laughed, “You know we are going to spend the night together, that’s not a surprise.”

  Butterflies fluttered into life in his stomach at the thought. But what would be would be, he had already explained his nightmares and they didn’t seem to faze Chloe. Whether the same could be said of the more rambunctious aspects of his dreams would be another matter. The last thing he wanted to do was scare or hurt her while suffering from a nightmare. He would suggest they stay in different rooms, that should prevent some of the issues. In the longer term… Malachi was at a loss. It all relied on Dr. Llyod and his methods.

  “Am I going straight home?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Stop asking questions and let’s get going,” she said, lifting th
e bag with his belongings.

  “Here, let me,” Malachi asked, holding out a hand.

  “How very chivalrous,” she bumped her hip against him, “But I’ve got it.”

  At the reception desk, Shannon was just putting the finishing touches to his release forms. Normally accompanied by a physio regime or a course of medicine, Malachi’s was simply a see you later. The muscle had no signs of weakness and with the wounds bearing only faint scars now, antibiotics were deemed unnecessary. Angela wasn’t working this particular shift but had left a message for Malachi to pass on to Kevin saying that if he was ever single, to give her a call.

  “I don’t believe that guy,” Malachi said, shaking his head.

  “Angela loves a bad boy, but it doesn’t stretch to messing around with married men,” Shannon replied.

  “He’s devoted to Laura anyway. He might make a few noises but he loves her and the kids to the moon and back.”

  “We got that impression too,” Shannon smiled and handed over the form, “Just a quick squiggle there and we are all done.”

  Signing the form felt like he was being released from captivity and he handed it back gladly. Taking a copy and giving it to Malachi, the nurse filed the rest of the papers into the medical documents and put it in the tray to return to storage.

  “Thank you for all you’ve done, and that doesn’t just mean the treatment.” Malachi looked to Chloe.

  “Just cuddle her already!” she laughed.

  “You’re welcome,” Shannon replied, muffled by his sweatshirt.

  “My turn,” Chloe added and embraced her too, “I will be forever grateful for what you did for him.”

  “It was nothing, just make sure you treat him right,” Shannon said, her tone hard.

  “You have my word,” Chloe answered and they linked arms and pushed through the electronic exit doors which Shannon had opened remotely.

  “Sorry about that, I think she gets a bit protective.”

  “Not at all, I would be exactly the same,” she replied, pulling him closer.

  They left the hospital and Malachi closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Instead of fresh clean air, it was tainted by the scents of the city. Car exhausts mingled with food outlets and stacked garbage ready for collection. It was a smell he knew and loved.

  “I’m parked in the multi-storey carpark,” Chloe explained.

  They explored each other in greater detail, discussing politics, religion, and other topics. Surprisingly they had an awful lot in common which only went to prove to Malachi that she really was the one. Their most contentious issue was whether bankers should be locked up for a long time, or for a longer time due to their greed. Chloe was in the longer camp.

  “Here she is,” Chloe said proudly as they reached her little Peugeot.

  “Why am I not surprised you are driving a 207?” Malachi teased. The small coupe was a firm favourite among the female population of England and he was certain at least ninety-two percent of young women drove them.

  “Shut up,” Chloe laughed, “It’s a great little runner and unless you want to catch the bus, get that fine ass in the passenger seat.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Darkness ruled the room, only broken by the projector and its images which flickered against the pull down screen. The older technology was favoured to prevent any link to a hackable source. Tips of cigars and cigarettes occasionally glowed into life before dulling, momentarily granting faces a vague, orange glow. Security shutters were fixed firmly in the closed position to ensure privacy for the meeting. The atmosphere was charged with nervous energy and several of the newer members fidgeted with excitement. Acceptance into the group had come at great personal cost, but the benefits couldn’t be over exaggerated. As the last slide rolled, a graph showed a steady increase over the coming years which brought murmurs of approval from around the table.

  “So as you can see, ladies and gentlemen, the projected growth of our assets is more than double that of our nearest competitor. Some would call it shrewd business, but when you control the board it is easy to minimise exposure,” said a gloating, male voice from the head of the table.

  “Can we not speed up the acquisition of the businesses I identified earlier?” asked a snooty female. She was highly ambitious and this irritated some of the other board members who feared their own positions.

  “All in good time,” replied the man, “Until we have control over all of the key financial regulators, the scrutiny we would place ourselves under would be unacceptable.”

  “But I think we should at least consider the proposals,” she continued and groans of disapproval echoed around the smoky room, “We could advance our cause by at least three years.”

  “Lights,” commanded the chairperson.

  In seconds the projector was turned off and the shutters started their ascent. A member of the security team disabled the signal jamming software now that the key aspects of the meeting had passed. The table itself was marble with leather inserted in the centre to provide audio and visual connections which would be brought back into service after the meeting. Thirteen executive chairs surrounded it, six to each side with the director at the head of the table. For each member of the committee, a pair of armed guards stood quietly at the sides. Protection of the highest level drawn from the most elite units of the world’s fighting forces. Their salaries would have made bankers blush, but no expense was spared in ensuring the longevity of their charges.

  “Thank you.”

  Drake Creighton surveyed the representatives before him with cold calculation. Each of them were invaluable, though ultimately replaceable in the grand scheme of things. Looking at each in turn, he finally settled on the eager woman and stared for a few seconds, cowing her. Satisfied she had reigned in her outbursts, he stood up and started to explain.

  “I appreciate your drive, believe me,” he nodded to her, “Three years is nothing when the bigger picture is taken into account. Our ultimate goal is centuries in the making, so thirty-six months is but a drop in the ocean.”

  “I understand, sir. Please accept my apologies,” she grovelled. The sycophancy was greeted by more groans from the seasoned associates and she glared venom around the table.

  “Just remember that this is an endeavour where we all must work in unison. I will not allow any conflict of personalities to jeopardise what we are so close to achieving, is that understood?” Drake asked the room and they all concurred.

  A gentle rapping on the door caught their attention and one of the guards looked to Mr. Creighton for permission before allowing entry. His personal secretary hurried over and whispered in his ear, “I’m sorry, sir. I know interruptions aren’t allowed but I think you need to take this call.”

  Not known for flights of fancy, her face left no doubt about the importance of the communication.

  He took the handset, “Thank you, Jo. If you could all please excuse me, we will meet again in a fortnight’s time.”

  The bodyguards ushered each of the twelve out to the waiting limousines and further guards. Anyone watching would have been mistaken for thinking they were seeing a meeting of heads of state, rather than a secretive group of business associates.

  “What is it?” Drake asked without preamble.

  “Mr. Creighton, I have some information which you may find helpful,” smarmed the French voice.

  “And what might that be? I don’t have time for games so get to it.”

  “I was thinking this may help with my application for the French circle?” the voice persisted dangerously.

  “If you don’t get to the point in the next five seconds, you will not only be removed from the list, you will disappear forever along with your family!” Drake hissed into the phone. He was tiring of the boldness of underlings, perhaps it was time for a display to get them back in line.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” gulped the French doctor audibly, “I was told at my initiation that one of the things I must be observant for is any abnormalities in pa
tients I come into contact with.”

  “And?” Drake sighed with frustration.

  “There is a patient who has exhibited healing far in excess of any normal human,” he started to explain and Drake sat bolt upright in his chair, “He was brought in with multiple stab wounds and nearly died. This was about a week ago.”

  “Continue,” Drake said breathlessly. News like this was momentous and he pressed a concealed button under the desk.

  “I have joined a small circle of surgeons who are interested in this abstract field. Up until a week ago, the only other documented case was an American national.”

  This wasn’t news to Drake and he waited for more information.

  “The severity of the wounds was such that it would normally take many weeks, if not months of treatment. However, in this case, he was completely healed after seven days.”

  A huge man entered the meeting room, summoned by the button. Heavily scarred from countless suicidal missions from his time as a mercenary for hire, he waited patiently by the door for further instruction. Drake held up a hand to say ‘one moment’ and he nodded in reply.

  “Where is this man now? I can call the French office and have a team ready within an hour.”

  “He isn’t in France, Mr. Creighton, he is in the UK,” explained the doctor.

  “I don’t follow,” Drake said with irritation.

  “Dr. Franken called us and asked if we would be interested in taking part in a unique research project…”

  “Did you say Franken?” Drake shouted.

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, have I done something wrong?” asked the doctor fearfully.

  “No, you have done well, Mathis. Stay by the phone, I may need to speak to you shortly,” Drake said and hung up.

  The gigantic beast of a man stepped forward, muscles straining in the Armani suit. He wasn’t overly garrulous and communicated with grunts much of the time. Drake liked that about him but on this occasion he was too furious to show it. Reaching for the water decanter, he flung it across the room and it shattered against the wall. As the liquid streamed down the walls Drake dialled a number, basically smashing at the keypad. When the angry thrusts led to the wrong number being entered, he was ready to kill someone.