Tainted Blood

Chapter 12

The morning sun filtered in through the rotting blinds as she slowly woke from her recurring dream. Elias lay across from her, his body covered in a thick layer of sweat, his breathing coming out in short bursts; he was mumbling something that she couldn't quite hear. His body started twitching, his hands forming fists and flattening out. Spencer inhaled sharply as she tried to sit up, a blinding pain shooting threw her ribs. Her hand grazed over the soft bandage that enveloped her bare torso, her arm also lightly wrapped with a strip of cloth.

"Elias," she croaked, her throat dry, "Elias, wake up."

He continued thrashing, tears sliding down his cheeks. Spencer slipped from her position on the couch, her body screaming in protest as she slid over to him, her hand sliding over his arm.

"Elias." she whispered.

His eyes flew open, his hand clasped around her throat as he threw her to the ground, a knife at her throat. Spencer when dead still, her breathing ceased as she watched him. His gaze was frantic as he watched her face, as if he didn't see her and he was still trapped in his dream. Her hand slowly came up to his hand, grabbing the hilt of the knife.

"Elias." she whispered again. His eyes closed, his breathing evened out and the knife went limp in his hand. He slumped back off of her, finally reoriented into this reality; not the fantasy he escaped from. Blood soaked through the bandages around Spencer, some leaking onto the floor, staining the rotting wood.

"Shit, are you alright?" Elias spat as he reached over to her, the pooling blood staining his clothes and hands, "you've ripped your stitches."

"Yeah, I can tell," she spat, pained laced in her voice, "sorry."

Elias ignored her as he pulled her up against the couch, a string of curses spilling out of her mouth. He slowly unwrapped the bandage, the angry flesh oozing against the white bandage. The black track marks spreading across her chest were ugly against her porcelain chest. The events of the last few days leaching the colour from her skin.

"I'm going to have re-stitch this." Elias swore as he walked to a draw across the other side of the room.

"The track marks-" she began.

"I don't know, whatever the knife was laced with it's spreading fast. We need to see a healer in the quarter."

"Oleander and Belladona," she hissed as Elias pulled the swollen wound together, "concentrated, it will cause cardiac arrest paralysis, how long was I out?"

"About 3 days, should I be surprised that you're still alive?"

"I suppose so, the joy of the Mercer Family, have no weaknesses. Its Mithridatism."

"Am I supposed to know what that is?" He retorts as the needle makes its first puncture. Spencer swore, her hand grasping his arm as the thread pulled through.

"It's the process of taking small doses of poison over the course of decades, you develop a sort of immunity. I was taking it before I was 6 years old."

"Jesus Christ."

"Are we going to talk about it?" she whispered, "that I am a Mercer."

Elias was silent as he finished the last stitch, his technique rougher then the previous times. Minutes past as she began to chew on the inside of her lip, anxiety toiling into her stomach. He tied the fresh bandage as he turned back to the needle and thread, placing them in what looked and smelled to be brandy.

"We have more important things to worry about, like how the fuck we got out of that compound alive."

"What do you mean? I thought you got us out?"