The Endangered (The Endangered Series Book 1)

by S. L. Eaves

  The safe is bolted to the floor. I can probably rip it free, but what good would that do? I can’t just carry it out. I press my ear against the side and spin the wheel. I can hear the clicking. After a few attempts, I manage to figure out the numbers and decipher their order. Might not have the hearing of a werewolf, but I get by.

  Padlocks are proving to be a popular theme tonight. And I am two for two.

  The stacks of money inside stare back at me.

  Several thousand. I figured I could trust an establishment like this to keep some gambling funds handy. Someone isn’t getting their payout this week.

  Chapter 23

  There is a nice summer breeze by the Hudson. I crouch down by one of the roof’s many raised air ducts to block the wind and begin counting out the stash. Using mostly the larger bills, I divide the stacks into hundreds, roll them tightly, and secure each with a rubber band. All total, it amounts to four grand and change. I make a mental note to stock up on cigarettes and booze before I board the flight home. I’d come to find we didn’t really buy things anymore, but the occasional purchase makes me feel normal again. I’d already stopped at a newsstand and picked up a paper just for the hell of it. I make my way across Central Park to Mount Sinai Hospital. The next step in my plan will require more candor.

  After filling my pockets with the cash rolls and securing the gun under my jacket, I dump my bag behind a large medical waste container where I doubt anyone will touch it. The Fifth Avenue entrance is marked well with signage. Arrows point in every possible angle. Is this the hospital Catch had taken me on that blood run? I can’t remember. This entrance does look a bit familiar.

  Radiology? Downstairs. West side. Or so says one of the many signs.

  I walk swiftly, trying to be as discreet as possible and jump into the first supply closet I come across. Should I catch a whiff of blood, which is highly probable, a surgical mask will serve to hide the teeth. I consider dawning scrubs to complete the look but opt for the overly cautious visitor look instead.

  The MRI room is easy to find once you get into the right part of the hospital. A quick glance inside reveals three doctors huddled around a computer screen. The last one out will be my newly appointed doctor. I hope it’s not the muscular guy wearing surgical scrubs and rocking a dew rag over his bald scalp. He’s the least likely to be bribed to take on a new patient, especially when he’s making a surgeon’s salary.

  I catch a break. He leaves the room first, pager in hand. I know this because I’m peeking out from yet another supply room across the hall. This one is more of a janitor’s closet. My patience is waning and I consider approaching the two doctors still inside.

  Right now I should be on a plane back to England. Instead, I’m inside a hospital while the contents of the locker, Adrian’s last message, are leaning against a hazardous waste container for any nosey human to pick up. The longer I wait, the greater risk I take. And the more time I have to consider the implications.

  This is far from the smartest thing I’ve ever done. But a big part of me doesn’t care. There is a suspicion I need confirmed and it will haunt my thoughts until I get closure. Doctor number two exits.

  And then there is one.

  I ease out of the closet, make sure the coast is clear, and open the door to the MRI room. The doctor looks up from the computer he’s feverishly typing away on, surprised by my sudden presence. I shut the door behind me and lock it.

  “Hey. Are you lost? Authorized personnel only in here.”

  “Not lost. I have a proposition for you.”

  I step toward him and he stands up from his seat. He’s taller than I would’ve guessed.

  “I need some tests run. Now.”

  I am holding a roll of cash up to his face while I say this and he eyes the money.

  “You’ve got to be kidding. It doesn’t just work like that. You need to—”

  “Save it. Obviously this is against protocol. This is a bribe, plain and simple. You run this test—or tests, I’m not really sure how this machine works. I disappear and you walk away with fuller pockets. Easy money.”

  “No chance in hell. I’ll lose my license. This violates—”

  I sigh dramatically and pull the gun from where it’s resting beneath my jacket. His eyes widen. I hold the gun lax in my right hand and raise another roll of cash with my left, slipping my thumb inside to make the hundreds fan out.

  “Thousand now, two more after.”

  “What kind of test?” he stammers, eyes darting between the gun and the cash.

  “I need you to check for a tumor, so you tell me. What’s the quickest way to find out if there’s something up here that shouldn’t be?” I tap the barrel of the gun against my temple.

  “Well, a CT scan takes x-rays of the brain; they are the quickest to run. However, you need to have a contrast dye in your blood and that’ll—”

  “No. No dye. No time.” No blood flow, either.

  “Well.” He indicates the machine in the room to his left, past the glass dividers.

  “I can run an MRI. It’s a standard method of detection, but it takes time to run."

  “How much time?”

  “On average forty-five minutes to an hour.”

  He glances above my head. There must be a clock up there.

  Or a security camera. Fuck.

  “Can you do a fast scan? All I need to know is if you spot anything abnormal. Nothing precise. Just a yes or no to ‘Is something there that shouldn’t be?’”

  He looks me over.

  “What symptoms are you having? Why do you think you have—”

  “Does it matter?” I cut him off. “I just need you to look at my brain. Just take a quick photo or something.”

  I extend my hand with the cash.

  He is silent.

  “A few thousand would make a dent in those student loans.”

  The door behind me is locked, and from what I can tell, the door behind him is the only way into the sterile room with the paneled walls, beeping machines, and long white cylinder.

  “No one needs know. And more importantly, no one needs to get hurt.”

  He hangs his shoulders in defeat.

  “All right. But this is insane. Maybe you do have a tumor.”

  “Let’s find out,” I say flatly, shrugging the gun upward.

  “Fine. I’ll run an abbreviated version of the scan. And I’m not writing any prescriptions.”

  Since when did this city become a beacon for pill poppers? Or is it just me? With this pale skin and gray eyes, I probably look strung out. Great. At least it’ll keep him on edge.

  “When this is over—you call the cops and you’ll be incriminating both of us.”

  I want him as cooperative as he would be if he were legitimately my doctor. He points through the window into the Kubrick-esque setup.

  “Ever have an MRI before?”

  “No.”

  “You lie still inside the cylinder, and a magnetic wave will pulse from a rotating band. That’s pretty much it. And you can’t, uh, wear anything metallic or, uh, take anything metallic inside that room.”

  I bet he’s lying about the last part. Damn.

  He points at a stack of folded hospital gowns, goes to the shelf and throws one in my direction.

  “You should put one on. If someone does interrupt us, it’ll look less suspicious.”

  He has a point. I reluctantly slip off my clothes and into the scrubs. I place the additional cash rolls into the pocket and the gun into the waistband, which I make a point to show him.

  “Just don’t take the gun into the machine.”

  He returns to his computer and begins typing away.

  “Give me a minute to set everything up.”

  He explains the procedure and warns me about people having panic attacks and claustrophobia. I assure him it’s not an issue. There is a microphone rigged inside the room so he can instruct me while he supervises the machine’s progress. This is good. I’ll hear if he
tries to make a run for it or call for help. I’m fast enough to stop him.

  I leave the good doctor alone in the room, but not before breaking the latch off the lock. Wasn’t sure if it would hold, but it certainly looks dramatic.

  After nearly a half hour of me staring at the white surface of the cylinder, a beeping sound signals completion.

  I rejoin him in the control room. He still looks like he is going to piss himself. But the money has kept him cooperative. I change back into my clothes as he goes over the charts of data that dreaded machine had collected.

  “Whoa, what’s that?”

  Leaning over his shoulder, I point at the scans of my brain. There is definitely an abnormality.

  “I can’t say definitively, but you appear to have several masses. This one here at the base of your skull, between your cerebellum and temporal lobe, is the most substantial.” He motions at the regions around the brain stem.

  “There’s a few shadows around it that look suspicious, too. Can I ask how you knew?”

  I shake my head. “This is rare, right, for someone my age especially?”

  “Yes, this is not something we come across very frequently, but it does happen and we can give you the proper treatment—”

  He begins reciting phrases filled with medical jargon, and I raise my hand in protest.

  “Treatment. So this sort of tumor is operable? Survivable?”

  “We’d need to run more tests to—”

  “Based on just this test.”

  “Given its location, tumors of this kind present a challenge. A few years ago, based off this scan alone and no other information…your prognosis would be grim. But we’ve made great strides in recent years. First we’d have to find out if it’s benign or malignant. Then explore treatment options accordingly.”

  If he is expecting a reaction he doesn’t get one.

  The background does not blur out of focus. There is no shock or dismay or anything remotely normal about the way I swallow this news. My world was already over.

  I shove the remaining rolls of cash in his hands and leave.

  I know all I need to know. There is closure and then there is closure.

  Wind pushes the clouds quickly across the sky. Dawn is less than an hour away; I can smell it in the air. I’d been pacing in front of the church for a while. Sucking down cigarettes, wrestling with the voices in my head.

  I feel betrayed, but in order for that to be the case, there has to be that element of trust. Something to be violated. Pinpointing the source of that emotion proves to be the challenge. I truly can’t explain, let alone justify, what I feel.

  Adrian and Catch had essentially saved me. They’d learned of my fate and took it upon themselves to alter the course of my future. Should I feel grateful? It is so much easier to picture them as monsters. I don’t want to owe them anything.

  When I’d killed the vampires in the club, I’d justified it as evening the score…but at the end of the day nothing is ever that black and white, is it?

  The demon inside is protecting me from myself, saving me from the tumor in my head and also from internal and external ailments. It takes care of the healing and curing if only to protect its vessel. I am its vessel.

  And it wants so much in return for this service.

  The persistent thirst for blood. A lust for carnage.

  To make matters worse, Catch hadn’t wanted me to know. He didn’t want me to credit him for saving my life. The brooding son of a bitch didn’t feel he deserved my gratitude. And now I love him more than I ever thought capable.

  Damn.

  So here I stand at the base of the steps, staring at the dark, oak-grained wood doors adorned with crosses. From what I’d gathered, crosses burned the flesh of the undead, as does holy water, exposing the demon within. There is no rule about entering a house of God, however, and I have something I want to say to him.

  Apprehensively, I climb the steps and gripped the wrought iron handle. The door creaks open in painful fashion, causing me to cringe at the sound. The church is empty. I stand, taking in the peaceful atmosphere. The air smells sweet despite the haze made visible from candelabras that line the pews. The ceiling looms high; arches of limestone shine in the candlelight chandeliers complete with the occasional cobweb for added ambience.

  Shockingly, he let me enter his house. And I did not burst into flames.

  I sit on a bench, flashing back to my adolescence. At one group home my foster parents had been devote Catholics, or at least they presented themselves as such, and would insist on dragging us kids to church every Sunday. Catholicism wasn’t a religion I embraced, but the weekly sessions were educational in the sense that they helped me figure out where I stood on certain ideals. And to see all those people so sure of the existence of heaven, a grand design, that their souls were an integral and necessary part of his master plan…it made me want to believe.

  Conversely, it was hard not to feel an underlying sadness; to sit in a room full of people desperate for something to believe in, for answers that didn’t exist. At least not for me.

  I whisper softly, “Damned, I enter your house an unwelcome visitor. I exemplify all that is evil in your eyes and the eyes of your followers. What has happened to me? I never expected to be embraced by you in my afterlife. Not for a life of impurity and transgressions however major or minor in severity, but for what it was, I tried to live it honorably. And I never doubted in a kismet force. Which is perhaps why I feel so scorned.

  “Destiny. Fate. Guilt. Innocence. These words are as dead to me now as you are, and as I am to you. I never complained about the hand dealt to me, never questioned the ways of the world and the logic behind it. Now I question everything.

  “But what I really want to know is what I’ve done to deserve this hell, a demon allergic to your world of daylight and piteousness. You couldn’t have just stripped me from this existence? Now I stand condemned to an eternity of darkness, of violence, of suffering. To what avail?

  “This was my initial reaction to this transformation, this exile. Over time, a new realization has struck in a wave of irony. These demons have a purpose, a cause and there is honor in what they fight for. Their world shapes your world, from technology and politics to the very lives of mortals. We are killers, there is no contesting that, but we serve to protect your world by fending off predators like werewolves and other dark forces I have yet to encounter, but no doubt exist.

  “These unholy, impure creatures have shown me a world with limitless possibilities. They saved me from the fate you thought you’d sealed.

  “They even have a plan for me. A prophecy I’m supposed to fulfill. Do I believe in their vision? No more or less than I believed in yours. I do not embrace them blindly, but for the first time I feel a sense of purpose. I can do something with the powers granted by this form, demonic as it may be.

  “Why were you determined to take me? And then to reject me…And others in my state that die without reason, without justification. I will step down from my soapbox. Blood is on my hands, as well. I’d be a hypocrite to make this speech without admitting my own guilt, my own part in this injustice.

  “In the end, I still give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you gave me the tumor as a honing device for Adrian, so he would find me and ‘save’ me. Maybe we are all part of your world and you thought I could serve a better purpose in this state. Maybe, just maybe I can believe that.

  “With the promise of death on the horizon, I cannot bear any other answer. Virtue means nothing and everything. What matters has never mattered less. There is no certainty. So I will create one. My eyes are open and you won’t be the one to shut them.”

  I sit up and make my way to the far wall where tiers of lit votive candles dance in the shadows. I light one candle for every life that ended by my hands…at least the ones I feel directly responsible for. With any luck they have found their answers.

  As I exit the church hoping to feel a catharsis from my omission, I real
ize that I’ve made my choice. It’s not a release I feel, it’s a sense of purpose like I’ve never had. I’ve decided to take up their fight so I too can have something to believe in, no matter how insidious.

  The heavy wooden door slams shut behind me and I turn, reaching up to the cross embossed in the rich chestnut. I place my hand firmly atop the emblem and watch small whips of smoke stream from my burning flesh.

  “Now we are done,” I whisper, removing my singed hand and watching as the red cross disappears from my palm.

  Chapter 24

  Once again I feel like a fugitive fleeing the Big Apple. The plane takes its time getting back and once landed, I have to stay inside until the sun sets. Upon recovering my pack from behind the dumpster, I’d neglect to turn on the comm. It sits ignored while I use the extra time to examine Adrian’s documents, as ambiguous as they are. The papers with formulas have an insignia on them, a faded cursive “S & D.” Was it a company logo? Initials? Code name? It has to indicate a business or person, right?

  Another page has a map with markings across it. A pattern of growth. Xan and Jiro have a similar one in the War Room. It sites locations where wolf packs have been identified around the world, scattered yet unified. Adrian’s notes point to a methodical approach to expansion. A method to their madness, if you will. Someone is organizing these packs and giving them their orders. Assigning purpose. Otherwise they’d be going on a murderous rampages routinely. Not just against humans, but they’d be battling each other over territory. Someone is showing them how to evolve from savage beasts to a controlled, systematic force. Cautious and protective in their behaviors.

  Adrian once said underestimation is our greatest weakness. If his research is any indication, these beasts are more cunning than we’ve been giving them credit for. Plus, they had succeeded in getting one group of vampires under their thumb; who knows how many others are in league with them. What I hold in Adrian’s envelope is potentially the answer to the big question—Why? I know this is something huge. I just wish I could make heads or tails of it.