Vincent quickly pushed the number “7” button and the lift began its ascent. It felt more like a crawl, as the numbers for the floors slowly ticked upwards. We should have taken the stairs. It would have been faster, Vincent thought as he watched floor “3” pass by. He glanced over again at Sam. Her hands were gripping the railing tightly, so tightly that her knuckles were pale. She was taking deep, measured breaths, as one would when you were struggling not to vomit or faint or perhaps both. Vincent looked up as number “4” ticked into place.
Suddenly, Sam cried out, doubling over and using both hands to hold her forehead. Vincent quickly moved to her side as she crumpled into a heap on the floor of the elevator. He watched as she struggled, fumbling in the pockets of her coat for the precious syrup.
“Oh God, my head! Help... Help!” Her voice was almost a whimper now, a whimpering cry as she tried to hold her head and search for the headache medicine at the same time.
Vincent watched her for a moment, then grabbed the hand rummaging through her coat pockets. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly, restraining her movements as he rested his chin on her head. “It’s no good, Sam. It can’t help you now. Try to relax. I won’t let go, just try to relax. Deep breaths... Just picture the pain leaving a little with each breath, each breath. Steady, love. Steady.”
She was fighting him, and she was strong, but she was also weak with the pain and that little weakness was enough for Vincent to maintain his grip, maintain his hold. Her body jerked and twitched as each wave of the pain hit, but the movements became less violent with each measured breath.
Vincent realized that he was matching his own breathing to hers, in for five seconds, out for five seconds. He could feel the warmth in his abdomen, partly from the adrenalin of what was going on and partly from her proximity to him. He inhaled deeply through his nose and her pheromones hit him like a wall. He could feel her body beginning to relax as the waves of pain ebbed and the feeling of the tension in her muscles easing only served to increase his own tension. He needed to let go of her, put some physical distance between them before it was too late, but –
“Are we there yet?”
Vincent looked down and found Sam’s big blue eyes looking right into his. They were pain-filled eyes... Frightened eyes... Beautiful eyes. He stared at them for what seemed like forever before reluctantly pulling himself away and looking up at the indicator above the door. Floor number “6.”
“We’re almost there. One more floor.”
“It’s coming. I can feel it. Not just the pain, something more.” Sam swallowed hard before continuing: “Vincent, help me up.”
Vincent unwrapped his arms from around her, immediately missing the feeling of warmth and even security that having her close to him had created. He helped her get to her feet and lean against the wall.
“How long... do I have?”
“Not long. Forty minutes, at most.” He watched the look of resignation come over Sam face as she nodded, swallowed hard and then tried to stand up as straight as possible.
“Forty minutes. Damn.”
The elevator lurched to a stop and the doors chimed as they slowly opened... Sam carefully pushed herself away from the wall and gratefully took the hand that Vincent held out for her.
“All right, then. Let’s find...” He trailed off and they both stared into the hallway.
Jack Hudson was standing directly in their path, a cup of coffee in one hand and his mobile phone in the other. He looked back and forth between the two several times, his expression one of puzzlement... and concern.
Vincent glanced at Sam then smiled broadly. “Ah, Doctor Hudson. Could we have a word?”
SAM CAREFULLY LIFTED herself up onto one of the high metal stools and laid her head down on the counter. It was cool and smooth, and she felt the pain in her head begin to ease a bit... just a bit... as the cold penetrated her skin and the firm surface pressed against her forehead. She moved her eyes only as she looked toward the door through which she had just entered.
Vincent was pushing Hudson towards a stool on the other side of the counter. Hudson glared at Vincent briefly as he slid onto the stool and gently set his coffee cup on the counter. “There really is no need to be rough. Or rude.”
Vincent returned the glare as he leaned over to look through one of the microscope eyepieces. He adjusted the viewing slightly and leaned in again.
Hudson shifted in his seat as Vincent continued to fiddle with the dials, turning them this way and that. Vincent looked up and scanned the other slides that lay nearby. Abruptly, he reached out for one.
Hudson reacted quickly, standing up and holding out a staying hand. “Please, don’t touch those, they’re quite fragile.”
Vincent hesitated, glanced at Sam then lowered his hand. He gestured to Hudson as he spoke to Sam: “You wanted to talk to him. Here he is.”
Sam swallowed hard and raised her head up... Oh, cool surface of the counter, I miss you already! She took a deep breath before speaking. “Doctor. You said if I needed anything, anything at all, that I should come straight to you. So, here I am.”
“You have a problem?”
Sam held up her hand, a frown beginning to spread across her forehead. “Don’t play with me, Jack. I’m in no mood. I have questions and I want answers. That tattoo on your arm tells me you have those answers.”
Hudson glanced down at the dark design peeking from under his shirt sleeve. “Fine.”
“Good.” Sam closed her eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths in and out before continuing: “First question... Are you a werewolf like us?”
Hudson looked between the two of them, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “No. I am not a werewolf like you.”
Sam glanced at Vincent briefly, but he had turned partially, his face obscured by his hair. “All right, then. Why are they after me? What makes me so special?”
Hudson leaned toward Sam eagerly. Too eagerly.
Vincent moved quickly and was on the other side of the counter pulling Hudson back away from Sam in seconds. “Easy now.”
Vincent’s restraining hand remained on Hudson’s shoulder as Hudson reached for a Pathophysiology textbook on the counter.
“May I?”
Vincent hesitated, then released Hudson.
Hudson grabbed the book, leafing through it. “Mitochondrial DNA. Know anything about it?” He stopped flipping through the pages suddenly, turning the book around and sliding it across the counter toward Sam.
Sam moved slowly, leaning over to glance at the pages. “A little. It’s a part of how they trace genealogy and stuff, right?”
Hudson nodded. “Yes. It is passed by females through the generations to male and female descendants. A virus cannot be passed on genetically, but changes in the DNA and RNA can. Your grandfather’s genetic structure was able to accept the virus and assimilate it into his body with ease because he was already special before he was infected.”
Hudson paused for a moment to see if Sam was listening. She was, intently, as was Vincent. Good. Hudson took a breath before continuing: “You see, the thing about genetics and heredity... We assume that our children will look like us, and their children like them and so forth. We are surprised when children look like a great-grandparent and disappointed, even fearful, when a child exhibits an unusual trait... The sudden appearance of red hair or green eyes, for example. The fact is, the genetic profiles of our ancestors from decades, even centuries, ago are all cataloged in our DNA. Somewhere in your family’s past, possibly hundreds of years ago, this unique genetic marker appeared. It lay dormant until your grandfather and would have continued to do so if it had not been reactivated in the camps by Mengele’s experimentations.”
Sam’s frown deepened. “So, you’re saying I was already a werewolf before I tangled with Franco?”
“In a manner of speaking. You carried the modified DNA that your grandfather passed down to you through your father. It was inactive
, but still made its presence felt in your body in other ways. Heightened abilities. You may have noticed a keener-than-average sense of smell, or of sight or hearing. An ability to anticipate, a sort of precognition. And, of course, physical abilities. I’m sure you know exactly what I am referring to.” Hudson watched the frown as it faded from Sam’s face, watched the realization dawn on her of exactly what he was referring to.
Sam instinctively reached for an area in the lumbar region of her back, rubbing it gently.
Vincent looked at Hudson. “You’re talking about when she fell, right?”
“One month ago, I was working the night shift on-call in the ER,” Hudson said. “Shortly after two in the morning, a police officer was brought in, a female police officer. She had fallen from the Brooklyn Bridge railing to the ground below, about four stories altogether. Her back was broken, and she was unconscious. I went in expecting to have to phone the spine surgeon and rush her up into surgery. I expected to have to tell this young woman, if she woke up, that she would never walk again.”
Hudson turned and looked at Sam. “No one else could have walked out of the hospital after that fall. Only you... Samantha Karolyi.”
“You took care of me?” Sam spoke quietly, her voice strained.
“Yes. Damn lucky it was me. Another doctor or surgeon might have given you morphine or some other narcotic. It could have gotten... quite rowdy in the E.R.”
“But I hadn’t been bitten then.”
“True. But because you carry these ‘Lycan’ traits, you were capable of exhibiting certain... characteristics... if certain drugs were introduced into your system. That’s why your grandfather made sure that you considered yourself allergic to opiates. To be safe.” He watched as Sam looked down at the medical alert bracelet on her left wrist and touched it gently. “Like yourself, like your grandfather and father before you, your children will carry these special ‘Lycan’ traits. And because you are a woman, both your male and female children will carry it.”
Sam closed the book hard. “That’s why you wanted me in your study?”
Hudson nodded. “You see, most Nazis are all about white power and world domination.” He leaned across the counter, lowering his voice as he continued: “Me? I’m about the science. The miracle of finding and studying something unique and perfect here on earth.”
He paused a moment, gazing at Sam with such a look of admiration, interest and enthusiasm that would have been extremely encouraging in any other situation. Under the circumstances, though, Sam had to confess that he was completely weirding her out.
“Being able to study how your genetic material functions, how it could perhaps be applied to others, the value is immeasurable. A naturally occurring hybridization of human and wolf DNA, seamlessly blended over time. Indestructible.”
“Except for the allergy to mercury.”
Vincent’s words were low, but clear, and Sam couldn’t help but wince at the last one. She wondered for a fleeting moment if Superman ever felt a chill when he heard the word “kryptonite”. Something to ask Ben...
“Ah.” Hudson shot Vincent a strange little cryptic smile, then turned back to Sam. He gestured to her arm. “Sam, what happened to your arm?”
Sam looked down at the orange-red stain that remained from the incident in the bathroom. “When I almost changed earlier... I spilled some antiseptic on it.”
“Do you remember its name?”
“Tincture of...” Sam trailed off, searching her memory for the name of the precious “pretties” that her grandmother had always so carefully put onto her knee scrapes and brush burns.
“Merthiolate?”
“Yeah.” She nodded, her gaze re-focusing on Hudson. “That sounds right.”
“Tell me... How did it feel when it hit your skin? Did it burn or sting?”
“No.”
“Any reaction at all?”
“No, why?”
Hudson nodded. “One more question... How old is the bottle? More than ten years?”
Sam recalled the worn printing, the discolored label, the brown glass... “Way more.”
Vincent sighed with exasperation. “What is this about, Hudson?”
Hudson leaned back, looking at the labels on the drawers of the lab table. He leaned to the right and pulled open a drawer. He searched through it, lifting out first one bottle, then another.
Finally, he pulled out a small dark colored bottle, after reading the label, shut the drawer and placed the bottle on the counter.
“Merthiolate was a very popular topical antiseptic in the fifties and sixties. It came in small bottles with a pipette attached, a bright red or orange liquid that was applied to cuts and scrapes. It was also marketed under another name.”
He slid the small bottle across the counter toward Vincent.
Vincent caught the bottle moments before it fell off the edge of the counter and turned it around to read the label.
“Mercurochrome.” Immediately, Vincent’s eyes went wide, and he set the bottle back down on the counter, backing away from it as if it were poison. And, in a manner of speaking, it was.
He looked up at Sam, his expression an odd mixture of awe and fear. “Mercury.”
“That’s right. On top of all of your other gifts, Samantha Karolyi, you seem to be immune to the one thing that all werewolves fear. Mercury.” Hudson reclaimed the bottle of Mercurochrome and replaced it in the drawer. “This is what makes you so special, so unique, so precious. Diane doesn’t understand that. Her only thought is to protect her place within the... organization. Her skills simply cannot compete with your breeding potential.”
“Okay, my super hearing must be going... Did you just say breeding potential? Like I’m a Galapagos tortoise or something?”
“A child’s DNA comes from both parents. If you had a child with another werewolf, that child’s abilities, their potential, could be immeasurable.” Hudson watched both Sam’s and Vincent’s faces react to this, watched her immediately look askance at Vincent at the phrase “another werewolf,” watched Vincent struggling not to look at her... Or breathe. The pheromones must be killing him. Hudson struggled not to smile outright. This was going much better than he could have ever hoped.
A faint howl interrupted his thoughts. Sam quickly jumped off the stool and Vincent instantly went for his weapon.
“I think they know you’re here,” Hudson said, his expression grim.
Sam moved quickly, heading for the door. She stopped and turned back. “Jack? Will they know you helped us? Will you be okay?”
Hudson smiled. “Don’t worry about me, dear girl, I can handle them. No worries.”
Sam nodded curtly and disappeared through the door. Vincent was steps behind her and about to exit –
“I see that you have made a connection.” Hudson watched as the handsome younger man stopped and turned slightly.
Hudson continued: “Be careful, Vincent. Connections make you...vulnerable. You know that better than anyone.”
Vincent looked up sharply at that, glaring at Hudson intently.
Hudson held up his hands. “Oh, you needn’t fear anything from me. I want Samantha Karolyi alive... and happy.” He lowered his hands and pulled open the small drawer directly in front of him. “And you know how much I value you.” Vincent snorted, a half-smile playing across his lips.
“Unfortunately,” Hudson continued, “I’m the only one who feels that way. They are out for your blood this time. And they won’t stop.” Hudson tossed a metal box toward Vincent.
Vincent caught it deftly and popped it open to view the contents. The silvery metallic sheen encased within the hollow-point bullets contained inside could not be mistaken.
Hudson was impassive as he spoke. “Take care, Vincent.”
There was a tone to those three words, which sent a chill up Vincent’s spine, and that was a hard thing to do. Especially, after all he had seen and experienced. Hudson sure was a hard bastard to figure out. He was responsible for most of
the “they” he had earlier referred to, yet here he was giving Vincent extra ammunition to put them down. He looked up at Hudson, his gaze intense, struggling to search for any hint of betrayal or calculation in Hudson’s eyes and found nothing. Nothing.
Vincent nodded and hurriedly exited the lab. He looked up and down the hallway, but Sam was nowhere in sight. FUCK!!!
Vincent headed for the nearest stairwell, betting on the probability that she had gone back down to protect her friends. He shoved the stairwell door open with a bang, the sound echoing through the stairwell as he began his hurried descent.
25
DAY-SHIFT STAFF HAD begun to drift in through the ER entrance, sending night-shift staff gleefully to collect their property and head out the door as quickly as possible.
Ben watched from his position along the wall, slumped in the chair with his hands on the arms, fingers slowly tapping out the beat to an unknown tune. He watched as a pretty nurse entered, her pink scrubs crisp and clean, her black haired pulled up in a loose bun on the top of her head.
Ben touched his own black hair sub-consciously, knowing that his own natural hue was anything but. He watched as she sparkled her way through receiving report and bid a smiling farewell to her weary predecessor. She seemed very sweet, and he always had a kind of a thing for Asian women... Asshole, this is so not the time for that! He glanced at his watch, hoping that Sam would come back soon.
Ben watched Lenny conclude a lap. He had been pacing up and down in that short hallway since Sam left. Up and down, up and down... and every few minutes or so, would take out his phone and fiddle with the screen, checking the time or the weather or God knows what.
Ben sighed quietly. If he hadn’t been so nervous himself, he knew he would have been pacing, too. As it was... Well, truthfully, he didn’t know if he would have been able to keep his legs under him and functioning. It had been a rather unusual couple of days, to say the least. He chuckled... Sam would have laughed at that. She would have said that after their last visit to Comic-Con, him calling anything short of a Cybermen invasion unusual was silly. He wondered if she still had that scarf...
The Bloodline Series Box Set Page 17