Vegas in Red: I Won't Back Down
To sit in darkness here Hatching vain empires.
"Astounding! Come and take a look at this, Moira! Have you ever seen anything like it? Of course you haven't! It's an alien! An alien species, yet with remarkable similarities to humans!" Carson Beckett enthused, sounding almost giddy as he was deep into the autopsy of the Wraith. Specks of blood spotted his otherwise immaculate white lab coat and blue latex gloves.
Moira O'Meara grimaced, trying to keep the contents of her stomach intact. "Yes," she managed to say. She concentrated on the Wraith's hand she was holding between her gloved ones. Ignoring the gutted body as Carson rifled through the internal organs as if he was at a garage sale. She turned the clawed hand palm upwards to view the terrible wound. "The sucker is completely gone, ripped out of the surrounding tissues. The hand itself never healed properly."
"For a Wraith that would be a catastrophic injury," Carson agreed.
She examined the fingers. Rigor mortis was making them stiff, making them close into a fist but she pried them open. "Look at this, Carson! Adhesive pads on the fingertips. To attach to the skin of the victim, probably to keep the victim motionless during the infusion of the enzyme before the feeding." She thought of the scabs on John's chest. Suddenly they made sense.
"You're probably right, love. Strong enough to leave marks or to pull blood from the veins," Carson agreed, glancing at her, at the hand. "These creatures are truly predators, aren't they?"
Moira was imagining exactly what John had endured at the hands of the Wraith they called Todd. Their prisoner. How John was brought back from the brink of death, being fed upon and back again. Her stomach twisted. She dropped the hand to the table. "Sorry, Carson, I…I need a breath of fresh air," she stammered.
"Of course, Moira. Go on with you, then."
"Thanks!"
Jennifer Keller turned as the other woman quickly exited the room. "What's her problem?" she asked, the tone of disparagement discernible.
Carson frowned at the whiny voice, the attitude. "This isn't exactly her specialty, is all. She'll be fine in a tic. Now why don't you make yourself useful and weigh this." He plopped a dried out, shrunken liver into her gloved hands. Smiled as she flinched.
Moira hastened out of the lab and stood in the hallway. She yanked off the latex gloves. Cool air wafted down to her from the vents, but it still tasted stale. The scents of the autopsy lingering on her, around her. Antiseptic and alcohol and formaldehyde, not to mention the unique odor of a dead, rotting Wraith. She couldn't get the image of John being at this creature's mercy out of her head. What had been done to him.
She closed her eyes but the horror was engulfing her. She needed John. Wanted to see him healthy and alive and fully recovered from the nightmare he had experienced. She tried to block the images, wondering at the wave of emotion threatening to drown her.
John Sheppard stood in front of the cell. Hands clasped behind his back. Silent. Expression unreadable as he stared at the sole occupant. The room was dark, only lit by a bluish glow that cascaded down around them and glinted off the Plexiglas walls of the cage. The red light of the security camera blinking, blinking.
Todd stared back at him. A small smile on his pale, gaunt face. Hands clasped behind his back as if he was imitating his captor. He stood perfectly still. Only his eyes were moving up and down the human mere inches from him. The Plexiglas the only thing between them. For now. "John Sheppard," he intoned, his melodious voice almost loving.
It sent a shiver up John's back. "Yeah? So, whaddya want, Todd? I hear you've been asking for me. Between bits of your awful poetry."
"So much to do. So little time. Lights dancing in the sky. The sky is falling! The sky is falling!" He began to chant in a sing-song voice. "Ring a round of roses. A pocket full of posies. Ashes, ashes, you all fall down!"
John blinked. Reminded of the nursery rhyme the other Wraith had sung to him. He swallowed past a suddenly nervous lump in his throat. Disturbed he knew not why. "Can the crap, Todd!" John stepped right up to the glass. The blue light cast him in sharp relief. "You and I both know you are completely sane. Always have been. I've seen an insane Wraith and you're not it. In fact that one is lying on our slab as we speak, being sliced and diced like a salad. Fitting, don't you think?" John smiled at the flare of anger in those slit eyes.
Todd reined in his anger with an effort. Not upset at the death of the other one. He had expected it. Even welcomed it as that other's mind was disjointed. Of little use now. No, it was Sheppard's obvious baiting, his obvious enjoyment of telling him how the other one was being abused by its prey that was insulting.
"So what do you want?" John repeated slowly, as if talking to a child.
Todd stepped up to the glass. They were nose to nose, eyes to eyes. "To kill you."
John smiled. "Feeling's mutual, pal."
"Get anything out of him?" Richard Woolsey's voice broke the locked stare, the oddly intense moment between them. Todd stepped back, turning on his heel and heading for the center of his cell. John inwardly swore, stepped back and eyed Richard as he advanced.
"I was about to," John complained quietly.
"Solar winds and sails unfurled over a dry, dry desert sand and storm," Todd intoned.
"Just more bad poetry, I see," Richard observed with a sigh. But John noted the change in Todd once others were in the room. Made a mental note of it.
"I could make him talk," John offered.
"I doubt it. We've tried everything." A dark look came and went on Richard's face.
"I was special forces. Trust me, you haven't tried everything." John moved back to the cell. Deciding to test a theory he was forming. "What do you say, Todd? How about a little one on one?"
"Pitter patter of little feet is doomed. Lost lamb bereft of a shepherd. The flock is culled."
"I see what you mean. Don't waste your time here," Richard advised, already leaving the room.
But John was staring at Todd. The words were eerie. Threatening, even as they made no sense, had no context. They were more than a play on his name if he looked beneath the surface. "What are you trying to say, Todd?"
Todd looked at him. Smiled. "Can you hear the screaming, John Sheppard? The screaming before the endless, endless silence?"
"No more games, damn it!" John flared.
"Games of chance, games of fortune. Spin the wheel and win a prize!" He paused. Sang. "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!"
John was about to speak when his phone buzzed. He snatched it from his pocket, stepping away from the cell. "Yeah?"
"John, John, I need…I…" Moira stammered.
"Lab? On my way." He ended the call. "I'll be back, pal. We're going to have a little chat. Just the two of us, with no cameras. No recordings."
Todd stepped to the glass again. "When I feed on you, John Sheppard, I will savor every last bit of your defiance, and shove it back as I did before. Do you remember that feeling?"
John glowered. "All too well. This time I'll be the one doing the shoving." He paused. "That came out wrong."
To John's astonishment Todd chuckled. "I don't swing that way, Sheppard."
John almost smiled. Instead he replied, "good to know, pal. Good to know."