"Who the hell is that?"
Roman had been standing in the hallway, having a few words with Pryce, when they wheeled the kid slowly past him, methodically, as though he were quite fragile.
His first thought had been that the bastards had made a botched clone of him, with those sunken cheeks and blisters on his neck; he was obviously not doing well. As he continued to stare, however, it became clear that this man was definitely not his clone, no, not at all, they didn't even look alike.
"That is Mr. Osborn, a new patient here."
"I thought you only let us in."
"We've made an exception for Mr. Osborn. He has a rare condition…retroviral, as a matter of fact." Pryce gave Roman a condescending little look, but then, when wasn't Pryce condescending?
"What kind of retrovirus?"
"Haven't you ever heard of doctor patient confidentiality? That information is strictly confidential. In other words, mind your own business."
"How much cash is he throwing at you, Doc?" Roman scoffed at him, then turned and walked away. He didn't need Pryce to tell him what was going on. He could find out for himself.
It wasn't hard to find the out of place vehicle, the one parked in a way that was intended to be inconspicuous. A man was sitting inside, staring straight ahead, waiting for someone. Roman came around to the window and knocked, looking formal.
The window rolled down, and the man spoke, "May I help you?"
"Yes, you're going to have to leave the premises now. Go home." Roman spoke into his eyes, and the man was almost immediately turning the ignition on. Roman waved as he pulled away and screeched onto the road.
Then Roman just waited, standing in the middle of the now vacant parking place. He wasn't sure why he was doing this, exactly. He was curious about the kid, wanted to know who he was and why it was such a big secret. But he didn't usually give a shit about this kind of thing. He told himself he had to make sure this guy wasn't a threat of some sort. Yeah, that was it. He could be anybody. Roman lit a cigarette and stood there waiting.
The guy who came striding over to him looked quite a bit healthier than the invalid in the wheelchair that Roman had seen earlier. The blisters appeared to be healing rapidly, but the dark circles under his eyes and the air of extreme fatigue remained.
"Hey, what kind of shit is this? Where's my car?" His voice was powerful, not the voice of a dying man at all. He was confused, and angry.
"He left." Roman said. The guy was staring at him, his mouth open slightly. "I'm Roman Godfrey. This is my facility. I need to know who you are, and what you're doing here."
"My name's Harry Osborn. I'm receiving treatment here. Why don't you go read my chart? What did you do with my driver?" Harry seemed to be rooted in place, about 5 feet away from Roman.
"I didn't do anything with him. He left, I already explained that to you. So what's wrong with you, Harry? What's your condition?"
Harry looked down, shifted uncomfortably. "I'm dying. I…I'm really sick. They said they could make it go away."
"Yeah, they always say that. Come on. Come with me. I can help you." Roman found his hand on Harry's back, leading him towards his own car.
Harry could have just called for another ride, but something about this Roman intrigued him. Maybe he really could help somehow.
Roman drove on to the freeway, then onto a side road leading off into the woods. He wasn't taking Harry back to his place in Hemlock Grove, didn't want anyone in town seeing him. He was glad that he'd had the foresight to buy the little house by the river, about 25 miles out in the forest. He had thought about telling Peter, but had thought better of it. It wasn't well secured, or particularly safe, just secluded, and secret.
"Where are you taking me? Are you going to kill me?" Harry smiled, turning to glance at Roman.
"Probably not. I think I just want to talk to you. I think I can help you." Roman felt almost possessed. "I have a virus too. Something in my blood."
"Yeah? So how does that help me?"
"I'm not dying from it." Roman left it at that.