Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from Blade 2 or Shivers/They Came from Within. I don't have any money anyway, so don't sue me.
Summary: Carolyn comes up with a plan for dealing with the parasites and she and Reinhardt go to question Corby.
Parasitic
Chapter 6–Proof
Reinhardt tried to ignore the unease he felt as he searched Lutz's apartment for his weapons cache. He heard the water running in the bathroom and his mind returned to her, Carolyn. She was a rare piece of work. He still couldn't get over her speed and resolve in attacking the mother and son who'd threatened him. No one had ever tried to protect him before except his mother, and his father had punished her so brutally whenever she tried that Reinhardt had begged her to stop intervening. Of course she hadn't, but when he got old enough he'd fought Stefan for hurting Liesl. The old man never had the nerve to kill him, or maybe he just didn't want to bother having to sire another heir. High-born females didn't get pregnant easily. But Stefan still hurt him to teach him his place in the family pecking order. No matter what dear old dad inflicted on him, though, he always stepped in when his mother was attacked. Until that night before Reinhardt left for Japanwhen he had managed to beat Stefan, leave him prostrate on the castle's stone floor with blood dripping down his face. "Raise a hand to her again and I kill you, old man. And don't think that because I'm gone I won't know. Some people in this place are loyal to me." It was bullshit, of course. All of Stefan's vassals were terrified of him, and if that didn't breed loyalty, it sure bred the desire to avoid being killed. Unless Reinhardt showed definite signs of winning a power grab, no one would risk anything for him. Except Liesl, and now his angel.
The sound quality from the bathroom changed, and his head came up. Was she all right? Then he identified the almost imperceptible sound: she was crying and wanting to keep quiet. Hm. Had she ever killed anyone before? If she had, he suspected her victims hadn't been a woman and a preteen boy. So she might just have the shakes over it. Maybe a drink would calm–then he remembered what she'd said about eating and drinking. No Dutch courage for her, then. Reinhardt hoped she could handle what she'd probably have to do before she got off this island. There was only so much he could do to protect her, and when he needed that parasite-free blood running in her veins, he'd have to drain her. Under ordinary circumstances he wouldn't have done that, since she was exactly his physical type and he didn't like the idea of killing a warm little female, but these circumstances were unusual, to say the least. He tried to dismiss the guilt that rose in him at his thoughts. Other than her blood, he had no vested interest in her. But it would have been nice to know what her legs felt like wrapped around him.
Then he located the false wall at the back of Lutz's closet and forgot his concerns. "You should have dealt arms instead of jewels, dead guy," he said to the corpse as he began taking inventory of the arsenal.
OOOOOOO
Lost in her anguish, Carolyn remained only dimly aware of the water running over her skin and swirling around her feet. She remembered their faces, the nameless woman and boy, and wondered if that was good or bad. Ask Reinhardt, her mind suggested again. He's killed enough people to know. But she knew she'd never do that. She didn't want to look weak in front of him, and she figured he'd never done any crying over people he'd killed.
The water around her feet seemed much hotter now. In fact, a stream of water over the top of her left foot was actually burning her. She lifted her foot and shook it, but the burning remained. When she rubbed the tears out of her eyes to look down, her breath left her lungs in a gasp of horror as she registered the wormlike creature slithering over her foot and beginning to slide up her calf, moving faster than she thought possible. A scream ripped itself out of her throat and she fell hard against the shower door, blocking the creature's ascent with her hands. Any orifice, it can gain entry through any bodily orifice. The thought rang in her brain as she knocked the shower door open and fell out onto the tile floor. The skin of her palms began stinging as the parasite tried to burrow past them. Acid. It must secrete acid.
Reinhardt burst into the bathroom, gun in hand. For a moment he froze, staring at her as she rolled around naked on the floor. But then he must have spotted the dark, slimy creature trying to crawl up her leg. Somewhere, God knew where, Carolyn found enough sanity to scream, "Don't kill it! We need it."
"Jesus." Although she couldn't see his eyes behind those sunglasses, she imagined he rolled them in disgust before reaching down for the parasite.
"Don't touch it. It secretes acid. I'm already burned. I'll peel it off while you get the garbage can and trap it under there." The pain of contact with the creature forced new tears from her eyes.
He set the gun down and picked up the metal can, dumping her bloody clothes on the floor. "Whenever you're ready."
Biting her lips against the pain, she worked the back of her hand under the parasite's body and pulled it free of her skin. The angry red burn it left behind stretched the length of her calf. With a flick of her hand she tossed it toward Reinhardt, who caught it in the can and set it on the floor with the open end down, so the creature couldn't escape. Before moving to check on her, he found a scale in the bathroom closet and placed it on top of the can.
Carolyn curled into a ball, injured hands covering her injured leg. With the parasite separated from her body, the pain began fading, but enough remained to keep her crying. But she wasn't infected–thank God that thing had not crawled up inside her and turned her into a crazy. She clung to the thought, which made her pain almost bearable. She was still herself.
OOOOOOO
Reinhardt looked down at her and lifted her to her feet. "We need to clean those wounds," he told her as he moved her toward the sink.
"Wait. Wait," she gasped. Just before he realized what was about to happen, she knelt, flipped the toilet lid up, and began vomiting. For a second he stood there, feeling helpless and out of place, then he gathered her hair back from her face in a loose ponytail and waited for her to finish. Shaking from the sudden sickness, Carolyn seemed to notice him there between heaves. "Don't look at me. I'm puking," she told him, then started throwing up again.
"It'll be okay," said Reinhardt. "You're all right." He knew from her scent that the parasite hadn't infected her. Knowing that was a relief, but he refused to examine that feeling. Instead, he held her hair until the nausea passed, then moistened a washcloth under the tap and wiped her mouth. "Feel better now?"
"Yeah." Her voice was hoarse, and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.
"We still need to get those burns cleaned." He flushed the toilet, then closed the lid and sat her down on top of it. She obeyed him numbly, her eyes straying back to the garbage can over and over. He wondered how long it would take her to realize she was still naked. Earlier, when she'd revealed her breasts to him in the lobby, he'd definitely felt some heat at the sight despite the circumstances, but now he just felt worried. The scent of her pain and fear filled his nose. Why didn't she wipe away her tears? "You okay?"
"Fine, fine," she whispered, waving a hand in the air. He didn't believe that for a second, but he let it go in favor of washing the burns on her foot and leg, which seemed worse than the ones on her hands. The only burn medication he found in the jeweler's medicine cabinet was Neosporin, which he guessed was better than nothing. Her skin still felt cool from the water as he stroked the ointment gently over the burn. Soft, she was so damn soft under his fingers. For a second he indulged himself, pictured himself pressing his lips against the inside of her knee, the first of a chain of kisses that would end with her hands pressed firmly against his head, holding him prisoner between her thighs, but then he crushed the fantasy and used gauze and adhesive tape from the medicine cabinet to bandage her leg and foot. Reinhardt started to apply more ointment to her hands, but she pulled them away. "That junk's slippery. I won't be able to hold a weapon securely with that on my hands. No."
"You need something on those burns."
"It can wait until we're off this island. They're not life-threatening." Carolyn flexed her hands, wincing at the pull on the reddened skin.
With a sigh, Reinhardt stood up and took a man's terrycloth robe off the hook on the back of the door, holding it out in front of him before he said, "Angel, did you notice that you're naked?"
A blank look crossed her face before she glanced down at herself and pure surprise replaced it. Grabbing for the robe he held out, she turned her back to put it on, but he kept his eyes on her. When she turned to face him, a pink blush stained her skin from her hairline to the part of her upper chest the robe failed to cover. Once again he wondered what her skin tasted like. Right now he guessed soap and water. He found the thought...interesting. "Are you finished with your shower?"
Carolyn shuddered. "Yes."
"Then you need to put some clothes on and we'll go question your crazy doctor. Then we go looking for Cromwell. Like I said, I'm not leaving here until that's dealt with."
"We need to talk to Corby first. That way we'll know how much of a threat your partner is."
He started to leave, to give her some privacy to get dressed, but her voice stopped him. "Reinhardt, could you go in the kitchen and find a large glass jar? Something with a metal lid. And poke a few air holes in the lid with a screwdriver or something."
"What for?" He could guess, but he was at a loss as to why she'd want to take one of those things anywhere with her.
"We need some way of transporting the parasite and I'm not carrying the damn thing in my hands, that's for sure. There's a ferry arriving at this island at seven-fifteen tomorrow morning, and if the crazies get on that boat, it's all over. This thing's going to spread like the plague. A geometric rate of progression. When we get off Peachbloom, I'm going straight to the Center for Disease Control so they can institute a quarantine until the parasites and the crazies are under control. The CDC won't believe a wild story like this until they see some proof, though, which is why I need the jar for our little friend. I also need some blood samples from those bodies and some of that slime, but I'll do that myself later."
"Want me to haul a corpse out to the boat with us, too?" He didn't know whether to laugh or go crazy. It was the most surreal situation he'd ever been in.
She shook her head. "There'll be more than enough of those right here before all this is over. The jar, please?" Turning her back on him, she picked up her panties–light blue lace bikinis, he noticed–and started to shimmy into them under the robe.
"Your wish is my command," he muttered as he left the bathroom. Reinhardt got an unexpected and unpleasant shock when he looked at the clock in the kitchen. It was eleven-thirty already, and the trip back to the mainland would take at least forty-five minutes, even in the Cigarette boat. Sunrise tomorrow happened at 6:27 a.m., so if he wanted to reach a safe place in Atlanta before dawn, he was running out of time. Damn Cromwell for the stupid pussy hound he was, and damn him for wasting his time with this pretty little female, even if he did need her blood. He'd best remember what really mattered now, and what didn't.
OOOOOOO
Carolyn dressed quickly in the dead woman's clothes, then moved into the living room and looked around for Reinhardt. Unbelievably, he'd done what she asked and found a big pickle jar which he was rinsing out as she walked into the kitchen. His back was to her, but she knew he'd been aware of her ever since she'd left the bathroom. That knowledge made her skin tingle. She scolded herself for it. You keep your mind on the big picture here, girlfriend. The only important thing now is to keep that ferry from reaching Peachbloom Island, or if that doesn't work, keep it from getting back to the mainland. If it does, well, that's it for the human race. Corby will have his Eden of fucking then. I have to see that it doesn't happen. Delusions of grandeur, she knew. Little Carolyn Robideaux, savior of humanity. But right about now, with the crazies on the rise, she and the tough guy looked like the only game in town.
"Need a pair of metal tongs," she told him. "Did you see anything that might do?"
"Just a pair of salad tongs, and they're plastic." With quick, sharp movements he stabbed the screwdriver into the lid, leaving perfect round holes.
"They might last long enough to get it inside the jar. It seemed smaller than the one that came out of that woman's mouth, so it might fit if it curls up on itself." Her hands throbbed with pain at the memory of touching it. Could she still hold the katana, use it well enough to stay alive? She didn't doubt her psychological ability to kill anymore, just the physical.
"I'll get it in the jar. You go talk to your friend, warn her about these things. And take this with you." Reinhardt set the jar on the kitchen counter and picked up what she recognized from the movies as an Uzi. "Seven and a half pounds, light enough for you to handle. Pretty simple to operate, too. You ever fired a gun before?"
"No."
"It still won't be much of a problem. I have it set to full automatic fire, which means it'll fire until you take your finger off the trigger. I'm giving it to you that way because if you get rushed, I don't want you having to pull the trigger for each crazy. Just sweep it side to side and they'll fall down. It does have a recoil, so hang on to it when you're shooting."
"Some men just know what to give a girl for a present." It was a weak joke, but he smiled. "That's a nice smile, Reinhardt. I wish I could see more of it."
"I'll take you to a comedy club once we get off this island. Go talk to your friend and I'll get our pet into the jar."
Carolyn sank her teeth into her lip, worried. "That thing moves fast. Will you be careful?"
"As a porcupine fucking. Now hurry up and get back. We've got to get some answers and I have to find Cromwell." He picked up the jar and headed for the bathroom.
He was right; they did have to get a move on, and pretty soon. As she hurried down the corridor toward Mrs. Porteous's apartment, she wondered how much of the story to tell her. Parasites that turn you into a retarded sex maniac, a doctor turned killer, gangs of crazies trying to infect you–that was the stuff of horror movies, not everyday life. But she had to make sure the older woman stayed inside her apartment and didn't get infected. But how to do that? She hadn't come to any definite answers by the time she knocked on the door of 1911.
Mrs. Porteous opened it at once. "Carolyn. Are you all right?" Her eyes widened at the sight of the automatic weapon she was holding at her side.
"No, not at all. Something really bad's happening, something a lot worse than Dr. Corby deciding to get physical with me."
Moving aside, the older woman gestured her inside, never taking her eyes off the Uzi. "Do you need to talk about this?"
"I don't really have time to give you anything but the barest details." She took a deep breath. "Earlier tonight I found out that Dr. Corby had been doing illegal medical experimentation on some of the tenants here. He's implanted a parasite in them that secretes a substance which turns them into psychotics." She decided not to tell Mrs. Porteous about the sexual aspect of the psychosis. "They become violent in the extreme, and the parasite can pass from person to person through direct contact. Dr. Corby had killed a woman in his lab when I got there and tried to attack me. He's up there now, restrained. I'd call the police or the Coast Guard, but the phone lines are down."
"All right." The other woman put a hand to her throat and glanced up and down the corridor. "I don't know anything about parasites or diseases, but I'll suspend judgment on all that for now. How are you going to deal with it?"
Not we, not how can I help. Just what are you going to do about it. Carolyn wasn't really surprised, but she was sure Reinhardt would be happy she wasn't going to drag a fifty-year-old woman along to slow them down. "I ran into someone who'd had a narrow escape from the infected. He has a boat, and we're going to the CDC in Atlanta as soon as we question Dr. Corby. Any help we can get in stopping these creatures we need. What I need you to do is lock the door and stay inside your apartment. Don't answer the door for anybody. You can't always tell immediately who's infected." The specter of Nicole rose up in her mind. "By tonight this whole island will be crawling with doctors. I'm hoping they can get things under control."
Mrs. Porteous nodded. "I can do that." Carolyn wasn't convinced that she believed the story, but there was no time for convincing. The woman's next words told her she'd failed. "Just be careful. If even half of what you said turns out to be true, you're in serious danger trying to escape and more if you try to stay. Where did you get that gun, by the way?"
"Staying's not an option, Mrs. Porteous. I have to go. My friend's waiting for me. The friend who gave me the gun. Some of your neighbors were very dangerous people." And still are, she thought. She turned and took a few steps down the hall, then turned back. "Just promise me you'll keep the door locked."
"I promise."
Carolyn didn't believe her, but time was slipping through her fingers and she had to get back to Reinhardt, make sure he was safe. So she simply nodded and returned to the jeweler's apartment, casting one last glance at the now-closed door of Mrs. Porteous's home.
Inside, Sara Porteous turned around as a man walked out of the bathroom, drying his face on a towel. He was a few years older than she was, with something of a hangdog face and a thick head of gray hair. "Who was that?" he asked.
"A girl I met earlier today in the elevator. One of Dr. Corby's students. She had a wild story about him, but I think there may actually be something wrong up there."
He made a dismissive gesture. "Whatever it is, it'll straighten itself out by morning." He draped the towel over his shoulder, and she noticed the red stains on it.
"Charlie, what's wrong?" She stared at her husband, worry rising up in her.
"Nothing. Just a little nosebleed." He smiled and held out his arms.
Without an instant of hesitation or a second thought, Sara went to him and lifted her face for his kiss.