The Last Corvus (completed)

PART TWO Ch. 22 Isadora

PART TWO

Chapter 22

Isadora

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling tiles as they adjust to the light. Why is it so bright in here? I can see a fly on the ceiling. Wow, my eyesight's improved. Improved? Memories rush in and my pulse spikes as I remember; Henry clawing my neck, sucking my blood.

Fast beeping pulls me out of my reverie and clues me into my surroundings. I take in the infirmary; the two cots, the other occupied by Linden, strapped down the same as I am; except he's attached to monitors (that explains the beeping) and all I have is what appears to be a Novocain drip.

No wonder my extremities are slightly numb.

I shift to get a better look at my surroundings and feel something hard against my chest right above my heart. I twist and manage to unstrap myself; you'd think I was in a horizontal straight jackets, how tightly I was strapped down. Pulling off what appears to be some sort of heart monitor, I follow the cords and notice the hulking, beeping machine attached to the wall next to my gurney. Wow; how did I not notice that? I'm sooo observant.

My hand flies to my throat, fingers tracing the scarred tissue just above my collar bone, the raised ridges on my chest. How could they have already scarred over? How long have I been unconscious?

More importantly: how did I survive that?

One thing I absently notice is that it's a lot warmer in here than I remember, comfortable even.

After gently pulling out the IV and unbinding my legs, I pad towards Linden. I'm a little wobbly as my legs take a second to get full feeling back, but eventually I make it.

I can see the individual shadows of the fine hairs on his chin and, taking advantage of him being unconscious, run my fingers through his hair. Mm, softer than I imagined.

My fingers trace along his jaw almost before my brain registers what my fingers are doing. His skin is the same temperature as mine. Thinking back to the day I first met him, I remember how much colder his was, how much slower his pulse. Its pace now matches mine perfectly, actually matching beat for beat.

Oh, gosh. This is embarrassing. I pull my hand back as if he burned me and stare at it in bewilderment, as if it had a mind of its own.

Recoiling from the direction I could feel my mind going in, I set off in search of other sentient lifeforms (the more answers they have, the better).

I walk down the hall and turn towards the first open door, almost walking into Phillipe, his arms full of guinea pigs as he pushes the door more open with his foot. Ugh, rodents. I've never liked them, anything with sharp little claws are a no-no.

"Bonjour," he says in his funny accent. If you ever have an opportunity to hear a French speaking Australian talk, do, it's hilarious.

"Bonjour," I respond, not bothering to formulate words with my lips. He startles and regroups, holding the door with his foot so I can pass him into the room. "Merci."

I walk into the lab, a typical mad scientist lab furnished with wall-long tables, Bunsen burners and stacks of petrie dishes. My eye follows Phil and I notice one of the walls is covered in small cages, into which he places one guinea pig each, petting their heads fondly.

"Oh, how wonderful, you're awake. That didn't take nearly as long as I anticipated." I turn and notice Dr. Jones wheeling himself towards me from the door. He waits until I close the distance between us and clasps my hand, his also noticeably warmer, and smiles warmly up at me. "Do you remember what happened, darling?" I touch my scarred neck and he nods solemnly.

"It's tragic indeed, what happened. That one of our own would turn against us, and act as Henry did, is heinous. Linden found you two days ago; he managed to kick in the door just as you were collapsing. By then there was no saving Henry, I'm afraid. Even though he behaved most disgracefully, he was still one of us," and with that, he looks down and crosses himself solemnly.

"Dead? How? Last I saw, he was perfectly healthy." Well, maybe not mentally healthy; he was sucking the life out of me. But I digress.

He gets so wound up in medical hypotheses that he seems to forget his grief over what happened. "It's most extraordinary, your blood seemed to have quite an unusual effect on him. It would appear that he attempted to swallow acid; but, knowing what we do, it would appear as if it were your blood that did it. Here, see for yourself," he wheels over to the closest table and I follow him, taking a small photo from him when he offers it. He glances at it again and murmurs "most extraordinary" before shaking his head again.

He wasn't kidding about the acid theory; Henry's face and neck are practically nonexistent. They appear to have boiled off, little hunks of flesh hanging here and there from the exposed jaw (complete with his still extended fangs) and cheek; the whole effect being that of a victim of a mountain lion with acid spit.

I retch, but swallow it back down, making myself look at the destruction I caused. It's most definitely Henry, the buzz cut brown hair and goatee (or rather, what's left of it) proves this.

Turning back to the table, he examines one of the petrie dishes under a microscope. "Your transformation was quite quick as these things go; lasting just over two days, instead of the general four or more. How do you feel? I know how harrowing the experience can be, having gone through it myself. Best remedy is to sleep it off." With that he smiles understandingly at me.

Sleep? I've been asleep for two days; yet at the slightest mention, my body suddenly craves it. I succumb and ask directions back to my room, waving goodbye to Phillipe and Dr. Jones.