Disclaimer: Although I wish the characters from Chuck Hogan's book, The
Blood Artists, were aaaaall mine, they aren't *Sniffs*. Please, please
don't sue me or get angry or anything. I won't be using this story, or any
future chapters to this story for profit of any kind.
The world didn't have to know about the last remaining case of Plainville. They didn't have to know that it was no longer a threat anymore. They didn't even have to know who was infected. Peter Maryk had cured Melanie once before, and he had told himself he would do it again, despite the lack of danger to her life. However, each time he thought he had a working vaccine, it would be snuffed out by the savage virus in her system. He was stumped. Was it mutating, still? It had nearly burnt itself out of existence it Atlanta, and Stephen Pearse had even helped to destroy it within the killing rays of UV light.
"Peter!"
Maryk's head lifted from the dozens of papers beneath his soft, gloved fingers. Bright grey eyes squinting, he strode out from the cover of darkness. The sun lit his white hair afire, and his thin lips pulled down into a keen frown. He saw Melanie squatting beneath a low slung tree, her fingers pressing into the dirt. Despite the urgent message her eyes were telling him, Peter moved slowly, his eyes gazing about, studying the wildlife and scenery around them on this beautiful island called Gala. When he finally reached Melanie, she was standing and brushing dirt off on her pants in an impatient manner.
"You couldn't have walked any faster?" She teased, her soft orbs dancing with mirth.
He ignored the teasing. "What is it?" As always, his voice was deep and compelling, brushed thickly with a tone of urgency.
"I just wanted you to relax for-"
"I have work to do."
Peter turned to walk back up the path, but Melanie stepped forward and grabbed his left wrist. He stopped and half turned, question in his eyes.
"I just.I want to go back."
Peter's eyes narrowed, and he tried to pull his wrist away from her; but Melanie was strong, stronger than he had anticipated. He turned to face her squarely, the hot sun beating down upon his drawn expression.
"It's only been a year, and I have more work to do. Furthermore," He held up his free hand, as she was about to protest. "You are not authorized to leave this island, under any circumstances. You accepted this reality, and now you are trying to betray it. Why?"
Her eyes hardened, and Peter thought they looked like diamonds. She spoke, her voice stained with lonely agony. "I am tired of being your test subject, Peter. I'm just like Pearse, aren't I? You only want me because of the money I will gain you in the end! I'm just your guinea pig, I'm your lab rat! I'm nothing more than a body capable of housing the Plainville virus so you can work your sick, STUPID experiments on me. You're using me!"
"You're right," he said.
Maryk's answer startled Melanie, and her throat hitched as tears swept across her cheeks.
"But," he went on, "you agreed. You wanted me to stay, and so, for the sake of your humanity, I did. Humans are social creatures, Melanie. Without the company of others they become savage and aloof. They're bitter with denial. They're stubborn, and they don't know what's good for them."
"What, are you describing yourself now? Don't get into self pity, Peter." She spat at him, her eyes filling with fresh tears.
Melanie's comments hurt him more than he was willing to show, and he stood still while she let go of his wrist and ran down the path toward his papers. He didn't move as she tore into the year of solid work, ripping it all to shreds in a spasm of rage.
"Is this all I am to you, Peter Maryk?! Is this all I am?!" She shouted at him, starting to throw pencils that he had never used in his direction. He hadn't even written out the work, Freely had. The icy woman had come back once since she had left in the chopper, one year ago. She had insisted on writing out his work instead of always having it in his tablet. So he had let her, but he hadn't added on to any of the work she had done. Instead he had gone right back to his tablet.
A soaring pencil smacked him in the chest, but all Melanie was rewarded with was an indifferent look, Peter's eyes the same, cold and distant. Melanie glanced to Peter's bag, and he moved without further prompting. When he got to the bag, he lifted it into his strong fingers, then set it on the table. Melanie glared viciously at the white haired man, and Peter stared back at her, waiting.
"Are you even capable of love? Are you capable of kindness, of generosity? Can you FEEL? Answer me, god damnit!" Melanie was starting to sob, her hands slowly migrating toward her slack mouth and quavering lips.
"Does it matter?" Maryk asked blandly, tipping his head slightly.
"Well is most certainly matters to me, seeing as how I am here with you!"
"I could leave."
"No!"
He arched an eyebrow, then opened his bag and pulled out a tourniquet and a needle. As soon as Melanie saw these, her head shook.
"I told you, I am not going to be your test subject anymore. I would rather die!"
"I need some of your blood so I can infect myself with the Plainville virus," Peter said matter-of-factly.
Melanie's eyes widened. "No.what? But Peter, you'll die!"
"I know. Without you I have no research, and without my research I have nothing. Zero made sure of that, now give me your arm."
She took a step back, her eyes narrowed. "Why should I let you die? Peter, I am not going to let you infect yourself with Plainville, there's no way. What if something happens and I go back to America? The world will be destroyed after all, and there will be no one to stop it"
"It won't matter if I'm already dead, Melanie. Are you going to cooperate or not?"
She pursed her lips, trying to look strong. Inside she was screaming, crying, clawing for a way to get out. But there was no escape. She was in a cage where the bars were created by a man whose rules and opinions were knocking her to pieces, killing her slowly.burning.
"I.I, yes. I will cooperate. If only to keep you from killing yourself."
He nodded "Now give me your arm."
"But you just said-"
"Blood samples," he stated coolly.
Fighting back more tears, Melanie tilted her chin proudly and stepped up to Maryk. He secured the tourniquet around her arm, then took out a small bottle of alcohol and swabbed the area the needle would be puncturing. Then he put away the bottle and took out the needle. He shifted off the cap, then slid the sharp point into her skin and drew out her blood until the barrel was full. He slipped the needle out and broke off the needle, securing the barrel and placing it in his bag. He disposed of the needle in a little biohazard area he had made a few months earlier.
When it was done, Melanie turned away from Peter, a hand over her arm as she chewed hard on her lower lip. She didn't want to be here anymore. Sure, she hadn't had much at home, but at least she was around people. She could do what she wanted. Melanie found that she had been painting more often these days, sometimes two or three in a week. Always Peter would take them. He even gave her money for them sometimes, although there was nothing to spend it on.
Peter was checking her blood sample now, his intense eyes scanning across the screen as it worked, his mouth turned down into a frown. When all the results were in, he stared at the screen with a thoughtful look, his left eyebrow twitching in irritation.
"It's active," he stated.
"What?"
"The Plainville virus isn't dormant anymore."
The world didn't have to know about the last remaining case of Plainville. They didn't have to know that it was no longer a threat anymore. They didn't even have to know who was infected. Peter Maryk had cured Melanie once before, and he had told himself he would do it again, despite the lack of danger to her life. However, each time he thought he had a working vaccine, it would be snuffed out by the savage virus in her system. He was stumped. Was it mutating, still? It had nearly burnt itself out of existence it Atlanta, and Stephen Pearse had even helped to destroy it within the killing rays of UV light.
"Peter!"
Maryk's head lifted from the dozens of papers beneath his soft, gloved fingers. Bright grey eyes squinting, he strode out from the cover of darkness. The sun lit his white hair afire, and his thin lips pulled down into a keen frown. He saw Melanie squatting beneath a low slung tree, her fingers pressing into the dirt. Despite the urgent message her eyes were telling him, Peter moved slowly, his eyes gazing about, studying the wildlife and scenery around them on this beautiful island called Gala. When he finally reached Melanie, she was standing and brushing dirt off on her pants in an impatient manner.
"You couldn't have walked any faster?" She teased, her soft orbs dancing with mirth.
He ignored the teasing. "What is it?" As always, his voice was deep and compelling, brushed thickly with a tone of urgency.
"I just wanted you to relax for-"
"I have work to do."
Peter turned to walk back up the path, but Melanie stepped forward and grabbed his left wrist. He stopped and half turned, question in his eyes.
"I just.I want to go back."
Peter's eyes narrowed, and he tried to pull his wrist away from her; but Melanie was strong, stronger than he had anticipated. He turned to face her squarely, the hot sun beating down upon his drawn expression.
"It's only been a year, and I have more work to do. Furthermore," He held up his free hand, as she was about to protest. "You are not authorized to leave this island, under any circumstances. You accepted this reality, and now you are trying to betray it. Why?"
Her eyes hardened, and Peter thought they looked like diamonds. She spoke, her voice stained with lonely agony. "I am tired of being your test subject, Peter. I'm just like Pearse, aren't I? You only want me because of the money I will gain you in the end! I'm just your guinea pig, I'm your lab rat! I'm nothing more than a body capable of housing the Plainville virus so you can work your sick, STUPID experiments on me. You're using me!"
"You're right," he said.
Maryk's answer startled Melanie, and her throat hitched as tears swept across her cheeks.
"But," he went on, "you agreed. You wanted me to stay, and so, for the sake of your humanity, I did. Humans are social creatures, Melanie. Without the company of others they become savage and aloof. They're bitter with denial. They're stubborn, and they don't know what's good for them."
"What, are you describing yourself now? Don't get into self pity, Peter." She spat at him, her eyes filling with fresh tears.
Melanie's comments hurt him more than he was willing to show, and he stood still while she let go of his wrist and ran down the path toward his papers. He didn't move as she tore into the year of solid work, ripping it all to shreds in a spasm of rage.
"Is this all I am to you, Peter Maryk?! Is this all I am?!" She shouted at him, starting to throw pencils that he had never used in his direction. He hadn't even written out the work, Freely had. The icy woman had come back once since she had left in the chopper, one year ago. She had insisted on writing out his work instead of always having it in his tablet. So he had let her, but he hadn't added on to any of the work she had done. Instead he had gone right back to his tablet.
A soaring pencil smacked him in the chest, but all Melanie was rewarded with was an indifferent look, Peter's eyes the same, cold and distant. Melanie glanced to Peter's bag, and he moved without further prompting. When he got to the bag, he lifted it into his strong fingers, then set it on the table. Melanie glared viciously at the white haired man, and Peter stared back at her, waiting.
"Are you even capable of love? Are you capable of kindness, of generosity? Can you FEEL? Answer me, god damnit!" Melanie was starting to sob, her hands slowly migrating toward her slack mouth and quavering lips.
"Does it matter?" Maryk asked blandly, tipping his head slightly.
"Well is most certainly matters to me, seeing as how I am here with you!"
"I could leave."
"No!"
He arched an eyebrow, then opened his bag and pulled out a tourniquet and a needle. As soon as Melanie saw these, her head shook.
"I told you, I am not going to be your test subject anymore. I would rather die!"
"I need some of your blood so I can infect myself with the Plainville virus," Peter said matter-of-factly.
Melanie's eyes widened. "No.what? But Peter, you'll die!"
"I know. Without you I have no research, and without my research I have nothing. Zero made sure of that, now give me your arm."
She took a step back, her eyes narrowed. "Why should I let you die? Peter, I am not going to let you infect yourself with Plainville, there's no way. What if something happens and I go back to America? The world will be destroyed after all, and there will be no one to stop it"
"It won't matter if I'm already dead, Melanie. Are you going to cooperate or not?"
She pursed her lips, trying to look strong. Inside she was screaming, crying, clawing for a way to get out. But there was no escape. She was in a cage where the bars were created by a man whose rules and opinions were knocking her to pieces, killing her slowly.burning.
"I.I, yes. I will cooperate. If only to keep you from killing yourself."
He nodded "Now give me your arm."
"But you just said-"
"Blood samples," he stated coolly.
Fighting back more tears, Melanie tilted her chin proudly and stepped up to Maryk. He secured the tourniquet around her arm, then took out a small bottle of alcohol and swabbed the area the needle would be puncturing. Then he put away the bottle and took out the needle. He shifted off the cap, then slid the sharp point into her skin and drew out her blood until the barrel was full. He slipped the needle out and broke off the needle, securing the barrel and placing it in his bag. He disposed of the needle in a little biohazard area he had made a few months earlier.
When it was done, Melanie turned away from Peter, a hand over her arm as she chewed hard on her lower lip. She didn't want to be here anymore. Sure, she hadn't had much at home, but at least she was around people. She could do what she wanted. Melanie found that she had been painting more often these days, sometimes two or three in a week. Always Peter would take them. He even gave her money for them sometimes, although there was nothing to spend it on.
Peter was checking her blood sample now, his intense eyes scanning across the screen as it worked, his mouth turned down into a frown. When all the results were in, he stared at the screen with a thoughtful look, his left eyebrow twitching in irritation.
"It's active," he stated.
"What?"
"The Plainville virus isn't dormant anymore."