Dawn of the Vie (Immortal Aliens Book 1) Page 19

  “Correct.”

  “What happened in the beginning?”

  “Early trials were disastrous. The vaccine proved too strong. While the subjects’ cells were immortalized, their metabolism sped up so much that they ended up literally cannibalizing themselves until the subject was consumed from within.”

  “Disgusting.”

  “And painful. You remember what it was like having the toxin running through your vessels?”

  I nodded, my stomach churning at the memory.

  “Imagine that times a hundred, and you might be getting close to the reality of it. But Abarron wouldn’t abandon his vision so we forged ahead. And there was no shortage of volunteer subjects. The chance of immortality outweighed any risk of a horrific death.”

  “That’s so stupid.”

  “What would you do, Justin, if offered immortality? A life without pain, illness, and aging. Don’t be so quick to judge.”

  “I don’t want to be like you.”

  “I wonder if you’d say the same, moments from death. There is an inherent drive to stay alive—sometimes no matter what the cost.”

  Something clicked. “Which is why you love and hate your immortality.”

  The corner of his mouth slid up. “I love these little glimpses of intelligence that you show me.”

  “How did Abarron get away with his experiments? Wasn’t there anyone to stop him?”

  “Even with everything you’ve seen and experienced, there’s still that idealism of youth running in you.” His gaze shifted to the bank of windows. “Abarron does what he wants, and no one dares to stop him.”

  “Except you,” I hedged.

  He snorted.

  “And you call me stupid.”

  A steely glint bled into his eyes.

  “You’re the one sneaking around with the NCAAR and keeping an Anemie in your home. Why on Earth would you risk that? See? Stupid.”

  “Pun intended?”

  “Huh?” I frowned.

  “You said Earth… Never mind. In case you hadn’t noticed, your blood makes us age.”

  “And that makes me a threat. So, what exactly are you planning? And don’t feed me some bull about creating a Utopia for Anemies.”

  He strode past me to the door. “Looks like I have underestimated you yet again. A bad habit I’m falling into. I’m spending the day at Margaret’s. You’ll understand I have some smoothing over to do.”

  “Why are you in a relationship with her anyway?” I asked.

  He tapped my forehead. “Life tip: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. See you tonight.”

  At sunrise and long after Alex had left, the sun-blocking shades descended, leaving me in darkness. Questions added to the murkiness, oozing out of me with every exhale. Margaret had said Alex played a dangerous game. Just how dangerous, I wondered.

  Cara arrived. She adjusted the light settings, casting yellow beams all over the living room. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

  I picked at a hangnail until it bled. Wasn’t all my blood anyway. “Do you have any idea what your master is up to or does he trance that knowledge right out of your brain?”

  She flinched but started her chores rather than an argument with me. “It’s none of my business,” she said some time later.

  “Do you trust him?” I grabbed a rag to help her dust.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Cleaning.”

  She pursed her lips and went on polishing the coffee table.

  “He experiments on people,” I said.

  “It’s what they do.”

  “So that makes it okay?”

  She polished harder.

  I tried another angle. “He’s at Margaret’s now.”

  “Again, none of my business.” She went to work on the mantle.

  “What if she talks him into draining you soon? Would it be your business then?”

  Her hand dropped. The cloth she held fell to the floor. “Why do you say such things?”

  My heart joined the rag on the floor. “I don’t get how you can come here day after day, clean his place, do as he says, and it seems like… like you trust him.”

  “Is that so?”

  She bent to pick up the cloth, but I stopped her by clasping my hands around her upper arms.

  Pulling her to me, I replied, “You told me I acted like I didn’t fear them. It isn’t true. I’m terrified.”

  “So am I.”

  Her mouth trembled with the confession. Tears glistened in her pure green eyes. The emotion Alex said rarely showed brewed beneath them. There was so much inside her, begging to come out, but she was suppressed.

  I wondered who the real Cara was, the non-tranced Cara. I bet she was amazing.

  “Then let’s get out of here. You know the code. We can walk away.”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “You know I can’t do that.”

  “The trance.”

  She placed a palm over her heart. “I wish I didn’t have to do what he tells me, but I can’t resist. When I try, it feels like I’m dying. My whole body is on fire, and I have to move or I’ll… explode.”

  “That’s awful. They’re awful,” I growled.

  Here I sat, trapped in a Vie apartment. No, The Vie’s apartment. Abarron wanted immorality, and Alex had given it to him. If it wasn’t for him, Vie wouldn’t exist. No Vie. No Arrival.

  Like Alex had said, I was in the proverbial lion’s den, and I was powerless to do anything about it. Powerless to stop the lion, the king of beasts.

  “I’m sorry, Justin.”

  I released her. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault.” I picked up her cleaning rag. “I’m sorry for messing everything up. You’re in danger because of me.”

  “No more danger than normal.” She gathered the rag from me, fingers caressing mine. Slower than before, she wiped the mantle.

  “Normal. Why should this be normal?”

  “There’s no sense in wishing for anything different.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it won’t happen. Don’t get your hopes up, and you won’t be disappointed.”

  Her words reminded me of a conversation I’d had with Zack not too long ago. Felt like forever.

  “What would you do if you had eternity?”

  She burst into laughter. It sounded like sunshine and brightened the room more than the sun ever did, or could. “Me, an immortal?”

  My chest swelled. I’d made her laugh. I couldn’t help but return her smile. “Dumb question, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Alex asked me if I wanted it.”

  Her smile vanished along with all the extra light in the room. “He didn’t.”

  “Well, not for real, but theoretically.”

  “Oh.” She toyed with a loose thread on her cloth. “What did you say?”

  “I told him, no, I wouldn’t want it.”

  Her gaze shifted to the ceiling. “It would be so different. Hard to imagine.”

  “Would you want to drink blood forever?”

  Her face scrunched. “No way.”

  “Me either.” I grabbed her cleaning bucket and mop and headed to the kitchen.

  “Where are you going?” She tried to snatch the bucket out of my hands, but I wouldn’t let her.

  “I know it’s your assignment and everything to take care of me, but it’s only fair for me to pull my own weight. Besides, I’m getting bored sitting on the couch. When we’re done, I’ll make you a fried egg and cheese sandwich.”

  She smiled at me again. The warmth of it pierced my soul. “Thanks.”

  Screw Alex and his trance. I’d do anything to make her smile.

  The hours after Cara left drew on longer than any others. We’d barely cleaned up from lunch when she said she had other errands to complete. Sunset was a ways off and here I sat alone with time time time to kill before Alex got home.

  I paced in front of the door across the hall from Alex’s bedroom. It always r
emained closed. I fingered the door handle, heart hitching with anticipation. Locked. Duh. I drew my finger along the hinge. This door didn’t have a keypad. No keycard. No special techy-ness at all. It was possibly, maybe, sort of, entirely break-in-able.

  No harm in trying.

  I fetched a knife from the kitchen. Butter knife, barely sharp enough to slice, well, butter. Alex didn’t need anything sharper—with the whole non-eating real food thing—and he wasn’t stupid enough to stock his apartment with weapons I might use against him.

  Working the blade into the space between lock and doorjamb took some finesse, but I had all afternoon and all the boredom in the world to fuel me.

  Finally, I angled the thing just right and the lock disengaged. No worries, I totally knew the door unlocking was based more on luck than my skill. I did a little happy dance anyway.

  Pressing my palm against the smooth surface, I pushed the door open. After a dramatic creak of hinges, I crossed the threshold and flicked on the light.

  An office. Lame.

  A dozen dim sconces hung on the walls. Deep shadows hid in the corners. A table with a single monitor spread along the left wall with a cushioned chair on wheels tucked underneath. The only other decoration was a hooked bolt screwed into the center of the ceiling and a large plastic rectangular tub leaning against the right wall.

  I crept to the table. One tap brought the monitor screen to life. A menu scrolled along the middle consisting of a list of names, some in white and some in red.

  I chose Jeffrey. His name was in red.

  A video popped up on the screen. It played automatically. A man swung from the shackles, naked from the waist up. Margaret circled him, hair in a tight bun. She wore a black leather bodysuit. It hugged her curves in unimaginable perfection.

  She held a knife in her hand, the blade sharp, gleaming, thirsty. Much different than my quiet, relaxed, and otherwise passive butter knife.

  I gripped the chair back and rolled it out to sit.

  “Jeffrey, do you know why you’ve been chosen?” she asked.

  He shook his head. The whites of his eyes showed bright.

  “I like blonds.”

  She swiped the knife across his chest. Blood ran down his tense stomach. Margaret dipped her head to lap it up with her tongue.

  “That’s my Ripper,” Alex’s voice added.

  He must have been directing the camera.

  When Jeffrey’s bleeding slowed, she made another cut. She repeated this scenario many more times until the poor man passed out. Then she plunged the knife into his heart to drain the rest of him into the tub. A lot of it got on her. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she reveled in it, wiping it across her face and along her arms and body.

  She extended an arm to the camera. “Come here and take a taste, Bear.”

  The video finished. The menu popped back up with the next name highlighted.

  This wasn’t an office. It was a torture chamber. A Vincent Marks’ live action show recreation right here, in Alex’s home, with lower production quality and drama, but more gore, unedited and raw.

  I clicked on Beth Anne.

  A woman, maybe in her mid-twenties, hung from the shackles, only in her underwear. This time, Alex circled her while Margaret filmed.

  “Do you like her, Bear?” she asked, off screen.

  “Very much,” Alex replied. He loosened the chain and lowered Beth Anne until her neck was level with his mouth. “She smells sweet.”

  Margaret purred. “I know.”

  Alex showed his fangs.

  The woman whimpered. “Please.”

  “It’s your time, love. Be thankful I’m the one draining you. Others would not be so kind as to make it painless.” He dipped his head and drank deeply from her.

  Beth Anne’s face tightened into a grimace.

  Alex belted his arms around her torso and held fast as her body bucked. She refused to settle into death without a fight.

  Unlike Margaret’s kill, not a drop was wasted.

  The file closed.

  I rested my forehead on the table. “Son of a b—”

  Cold fingers threaded into my hair while a steel-like arm clamped around my chest. “What have you done?” Alex’s growl vibrated through my spine.

  Oh, man, I was fucked. My heart scrambled like a chicken running from a fox.

  His hot breath snaked down my neck. “You just can’t leave anything alone, can you?”

  “Are you afraid I’ll figure out everything you’ve said is lies? I already know that,” I wheezed.

  “I’m beyond frustrated with you.” He yanked my head back, fingernails digging into my scalp. He pressed his fangs against my exposed throat then sank them in. For the third time. Hot blood slid out, scorching my skin.

  A mangled cry squeaked out of my mouth. My back arched, and my arms stayed at my sides, clamped by his vice-like grip. He fed hungrily, taking deep drinks.

  He didn’t slow or quit. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he’d finally had enough of my bullshit. Except he’d end up like Scarface and kill himself from an overdose while killing me.

  Searing pain from the toxin seeped into my veins. My whole body blazed. I screamed. Tears ran down my face, burning hot as the blood running out of my wound. At this rate, I’d be drained in a few more sips.

  “Alex, please,” I begged.

  He paused, digging his fingers tighter into my flesh. Finally, he released me. Bastard had to think about it.

  I crumpled to the floor on my side. Blood oozed, but I didn’t have the strength to stop it.

  Alex loomed over me, gasping for air. The skin on his faced sagged and his hands shook. I didn’t have his attention, though. His shriveling fingers did.

  Scarface Round Two.

  He stumbled away until he smacked into the wall. Then he stuck two pruny fingers down his throat to gag himself. Heaving, he bent over and puked all my blood on the polished floor. It splattered on the wall and his pants. Strings of red spittle dangled from his lips.

  “I took… too much,” he rasped.

  No kidding, I thought. My mouth couldn’t form the words. My heart pounded, panicking from the lack of blood to pump.

  Crawling on hands and knees, he moved to the desk. He snatched something tucked underneath it. A pint of blood. He tore the top off with his teeth and guzzled it down then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I need more.”

  Strength returned to him. I could see it in the steadiness of his voice, the smoothness of his movements, the confidence of his stride as he left the room.

  I was alone. I was still bleeding.

  And the son of a bitch lived.

  He returned, a pint of blood in each hand. He lapped at them like they were lollipops. Sick bastard.

  “Don’t you ever die?” I asked, finally finding my voice.

  He frowned. “I’m immortal. You know that.”

  “You almost killed me. In fact, I might die yet.”

  Finished with his pints, he tossed them onto the pile of my blood. The blood he vomited. Cara’d probably have to clean it up. Yuck. “I won’t let you.”

  “That’s out of your control. Especially if you keep biting me.”

  “I think perhaps you enjoy pissing me off.” He hefted me in his arms and carried me to the couch.

  “How’d you know?” I slurred.

  His smile was grim. “Rest. I’ll fix you up.”

  “Until next time?”

  The smile faded. “Hopefully, there won’t be a next time.”

  “Hope. Pfft.” My head swam with more Antinocio as Alex worked on my wounds yet again. I already looked like a patchwork quilt. How many more pieces could I lose before I fell apart?

  Journal of Alejandro Reyes

  Year 75, Month 5, Day ___ ~Does it really matter? They blend together in an endless progression of time undoubtedly leading to my imminent demise…

  Justin is an anomaly of an anomaly. What makes him so? Isolating his type of an
emia was easy. Identifying the specific DNA mutation has not been so complication-free. Perhaps his blood wants to keep its identity secret, much like the single component of the Vitalus Sustennus vaccine’s success eludes me to this very day.

  Could his cells be sentient like I suspect the Vitalus solution to be?

  I hesitate giving him more transfusions. Mixing non-anemic RBC’s with his own dilutes not only his aberrant nature, but also, I fear, the hallucinogenic effect of his blood. Yet if I don’t replenish his cardiovascular system, he will die, and I will lose one of the most significant discoveries since we arrived on this planet.

  I’ve cut down on the number of transfusions necessary by plying him with Antitoxin and Antinocio, but it is a temporary solution at best. Especially since it appears I cannot resist taking a taste for any appreciable length of time, particularly when he angers me.

  I must figure this out before I kill him or he finds a way to escape—every day Cara becomes more sympathetic toward him. Something that could cut both ways. I’ve instructed her to engage with him as a pretty distraction. On the other hand, she says he’s convinced she needs releasing and so her presence may also encourage his escape efforts.

  Additionally, Margaret, my dear Ripper, continues to insinuate herself in my work. Jealousy runs strong in her. She’s jealous of my favor with Abarron, my work, and my attention.

  Abarron. My pseudo-father. It won’t be long before he finds out my duplicitous nature. He will discover everything I’ve done. He will discover Justin.

  Time is running out…

  Year 75, Month 6, Day 1 before sunrise

  lastic IV tubing attached me to yet another transfusion. I probably didn’t have an original drop of blood left in my body. Would drinking it cause the same aging effect or the same high now that it was mixed with someone else’s? Or, a lot of someone else’s, according to Alex.

  I lifted my head, which promptly set the room in a stomach-tossing spin. A burning ache tugged on my throat.

  Alex appeared at my side in an instant. “You’re awake.”

  “Want another sip?” I croaked.

  He frowned. “Sorry about that. I lost control. Are you in pain?” He unfastened the tubing connecting my IV to the empty pint of blood and connected a fresh bag of normal saline.

  Lost control. He called nearly killing me losing control.