~Until Your Heart Stops Beating~
'Answers to the name of Buck,' the man soliloquized, quoting from the saloon-keeper's letter which had announced the consignment of the crate and contents. 'Well, Buck, my boy," he went on in a genial voice, 'we've had our little ruction, and the best thing we can do is to let it go at that. You've learned your place, and I know mine. Be a good dog and all 'll go well and the goose hang high. Be a bad dog, and I'll whale the stuffin' outa you. Understand?'
As he spoke he fearlessly patted the head he had so mercilessly pounded, and though Buck's hair involuntarily bristled at touch of the hand, he endured it without protest. When the man brought him water he drank eagerly and later bolted a generous meal of raw meat, chunk by chunk, from the man's hand.
He was bea-
A knock interrupts my reading, making me look up from my book, The Call of the Wild by Jack London. I stare at the heavy door of the room and wait for a second knock. Another knock comes and then the door slowly opens to reveal Private Jenkins and Doctor Dalton standing behind him. I look down at the book and then close it, setting it down on my lap with a finger marking my place for the moment.
"You need more blood already, Doctor Dalton? Weren't you just here two days ago?" I ask as I remove my finger from the book and stand up from the floor. I fix the bottom of my shirt and walk to the cot, setting the book down lazily.
Doctor Dalton had been coming for my blood for four months now. Lately though, it seemed liked every other day rather than once a week like it was supposed to be. I couldn't help but wonder what they were doing with my blood that would cause them to need so much. How many tests could they possibly run?
"How many times have I told you to call me Edward?" Doctor Dalton or Edward asks as he walks further into the room accompanied by the soldier. I give Edward a shrug and look up towards the ceiling as if I was actually thinking about it.
"Oh, I think we're up to twelve now." I reply with a smirk and look over at Private Jenkins, who had followed Edward into the room like every other time. "Good evening my ray of sunshine. How are you today?"
Private Jenkins growls lowly at me and bares his fangs, one side of his upper lip twitching. I nod my head, look away and then shake my head while rolling my eyes. I look back at Edward and he gives a small sigh, staring down at me for a long moment.
"Do we have a diagnosis yet, Doc? Is it that I have some rare genetic deformity that keeps me from becoming like the soldier of stone over there?" I ask and nod my head in Jenkins's direction. Jenkins gives another low growl and crosses his arms, glaring at me. Edward shakes his head and switches the medical box from one hand to the other.
"I don't believe so. Your cells look very healthy. There are no blood diseases or deformities that we can find, but we're just still not having any luck figuring out why your blood won't accept the infected cells as the dominant." Edward looks behind him at Private Jenkins and gives him the nod, signaling that he should leave.
"I'll be right outside if you need me, Doctor Dalton sir." Jenkins grits out while glaring at me. Edward nods at him again and then Private Jenkins walks to the door, shutting it behind him. Edward looks back at me, his expression seeming to try and apologize for Private Jenkins's behavior.
"We're not all like that." He speaks up after another moment, shoving his free hand into his lab coat pocket.
"I know that. You're proof of it." I reply with a small laugh. I push myself back further on the cot to lean against the wall, letting my feet dangle off the side. "What do you think it could be if not some deformity or disease?"
Edward watches me a moment and then gives and small bob of his head while trying to think of a logical answer. I knew he had a few ideas. Otherwise, he wouldn't still be coming to get my blood and I wouldn't still be alive.
"Right now, I'm thinking it's either an extra enzyme or lack thereof. It could also be an enzyme that has evolved or one of your chromosomes, but I think that's highly unlikely." He replies and stares down at me. His golden eyes seemed more yellow today then gold. I had seen this several times before, but I was unaware of what it meant.
"I still don't understand. What could my blood possibly do for you?" I comment and lay my hands in my lap. I had ideas of why they wanted my blood, but I had never been told by anyone in the building the actual reasons for my capture and containment.
"It could help us find a way to keep humans human so we won't run out of food." He answers almost immediately. I knew he was joking, but I couldn't help but give a small harsh laugh anyway.
"Oh! Why didn't I think of that?" I comment sarcastically and shake my head. That was the first idea I had had about the topic. It seemed the most logical and it fit Bromley's prick attitude. "And the other reasons?"
"Well, your blood could help us develop a blood substitute. That's what we're trying for right now." He replies, his yellow eyes beginning to smolder a bright gold as his fangs glisten with the light from the false sun light in the room. "With a substitute, we would never need to hunt humans again."
"Do you think other vampires would go for a substitute as opposed to the real thing? Especially, after we start repopulating again?" I ask seriously. Edward stares at me hard for a long moment and then moves to the cot, sitting down beside me on the edge of it. He sets the medical box down between us, to create some kind of barrier, and then looks down at the floor.
"I think that there will always be some vampires that will want the real thing." He starts and then falls silent. I see his eyes glaze over as he begins to be pulled into his thoughts. "For the most part though, I believe that most of us don't want to be the cause for the extinction of the human race and therefore will use the substitute."
"What's the third reason?" I ask while I play with my finger nails. Edward lifts his head and looks back at me a moment. He then turns away and stares across the room at the door. I wait patiently for him to continue, half of me wanting to know and the other half just wanting to listen to his voice.
This vampire doctor, whom I was wary to trust in the beginning of things, was the only person that ever came to see me. He was polite and we always had good conversations. I didn't want to rush him and have him never come back again. I think I would go insane in here if it weren't for him.
"I firmly believe... that your blood could be a reversal." He says after another moment. I raise my gaze from my nails and stare at him, seeing he was being completely serious.
"What do you mean a reversal? A cure?" I ask somewhat hastily. I had never even thought about a cure for vampirism. Why would I? Most the vampires I knew liked the way they were and wouldn't change it for anything.
"Yes, a cure. I believe I can develop one from it; from whatever is keeping you human." Edward replies, lacing his hands together in front of him, balancing them on his knees. I fall silent, unable to think of what to say. A cure would be better than any substitute ever would. I look back at him again and see he had floated off into his thoughts again; his eyes glazed and face straight.
I wonder what he is thinking. Maybe about the possibility of a cure? Would he want a cure? Would he use it? Edward seemed to be compassionate with the humans. He spoke like he didn't want to be a vampire; like he felt he was cursed by it rather than blessed.
"...do you want that?" I ask slowly, unsure of how he would answer. Some days he seemed like every other vampire I had ever met; no wanting to change and seeing this virus as evolution; a blessing. Then there were other days, like these, where he seemed so angry or sad that he was this way.
"I'm not sure." He replies, looking back at me for a brief moment. I stare at him a moment longer and then look down at my hands.
"Yes, you are." I retort with certainty. I could tell by the way he had looked at me that he knew what he wanted.
"It doesn't matter." He speaks softly and looks down at the floor.
"It does to me, Edward."
"Why?" His head snaps to look at me, his smoldering gold eyes searching mine for an answer. "Why?"
I pause, his look burning a hole through me. He looks so sad, so... helpless; like a puppy that's lost its master and is now roaming the streets alone. I feel my heart sink into my stomach as I tried to think of an answer.
"...I'm human, Edward." I reply softly, unsure of myself. I didn't know what to say to him, how to answer his question. "Humanity means to be compassionate, sympathetic, and benevolent. I care about everything... more than I probably should, but I do care. Especially, when I see distress... or suffering."
I fall silent; feeling like my words didn't do justice. Edward looks away from me and stares at the door across the room. It feels like hours that we just sit there silently, but then Edward moves, running a hand over his face.
"Edward, do you really believe that you can make a cure?" I ask softly, making him look back at me. He pauses a moment and then nods his head sure of himself.
"I hope so anyway." He replies with a half-hearted smile and then kneels beside me. He opens the box and takes hold of my right arm at the wrist. He slowly starts to roll up my sleeve and then stops, staring at my forearm. I see him swallow hard and see his expression go blank as his icy fingers delicately trace my skin.
He had seen it many times before. Almost every day that he's been coming he saw it; the two little puncture scars that burned bright red against my fair flesh. He knew what it was before I could even explain it to him. To him it was a battle wound, but to me it was a permanent reminder that I could never become one of them.
He slowly starts to continue to roll up my sleeve and stops again. This time it was the large black and blue mark circling the crease of my elbow. He sighs heavily, exasperated by everything.
"It looks worse than it is." I comment on the bruising as I stare down at it. He looks up at me and I can tell that he's not buying into my words. "So it's really sore. I'm not going to die from another poking though."
"I'll take it from your other arm." Edward stands up with the blue medical box and moves to the other side of me. He rolls up my left sleeve and ties a tourniquet around my arm. He dabs my arm and prepares the needle, slowly sliding it into my skin. I lean back against the wall and close my eyes.
"I started the new book you gave me. It's pretty good." I try to strike up a conversation and open my eyes.
"I'm glad." He replies softly. I hadn't known him for long, but it was long enough for me to become accustomed to the tone in his voice; distracted. I look over at him and watch while he watches my blood fill the vials.
The rest of the time was spent in silence. I wanted to talk with him more, but today was just one of those days. I could tell he wanted a moment of silence from everyone upstairs and a distraction from the work Bromley was making him do. So, I gave it to him.
"All done." Edward taps a piece of gauze over the small pinprick in my arm and packs up his medical box with the vials.
"Alright. Next time bring my arm some ice please." I give him a small smile and lie down on the cot, pulling the sorry excuse for a pillow against my chest.
"What for?" Edward asks as he walks towards the door.
"For all my bruises and aches." I laugh as I close my eyes and let out a long yawn, pulling my knees up a little closer to me. I expected Edward to leave without another word, but, as he had done so many times, he surprised me.
"...Rosaline?" I slowly open my tired eyes and look to him, standing by the door of the room. Edward stares at me and I can see he had a serious question to ask me.
"Hm?" I lean on my elbow and watch him as he moves a little closer.
"Have you always bruised easily? And scarred?" He asks simply. I knit my eyebrows together and nod my head a few times. He licks his lips and takes a step closer. "Have you ever had an immune response?"
"Edward, I'm not a doctor." I give a small laugh and let out a yawn. I had no idea what an immune response meant. It could be a rock band for all I knew.
"An immune response is any response of the immune system to an antigenic stimulus, including antibody production, cell-mediated immunity, and immunological tolerance." He defines like a dictionary and takes a few more steps closer.
"I don't know. When I was a kid I was always going for doctor visits though because I was sick a lot." I reply, not seeing a connection between anything.
"A lot of flu like symptoms?" Edward asks as if knowing something concrete.
"Yes...?" I reply though it sounded more like a question. Edward nods his head and looks off to the side. He runs a hand over his mouth and clicks his teeth. He points a finger at me and wages it up and down slowly.
"I think I might have just figured it out." Edward quickly turns from me and heads to the door.
"Hey wait! Figured what out? Edward!" I call after him, but he departs through the door in a hurry before I can get an answer. I scoff and shake my head towards his behavior. What could I have said to have made him act so funny? What had he figured out so suddenly? The secret to my blood perhaps?
I scoff again and pick up the book from beside my feet. I plop back on the cot and slip through the pages, searching for where I had left off. I get as comfortable as I can and begin reading again.
He was beaten, he knew that, but he was not broken. He saw, once for all, that he stood no chance against a man with a club. He had learned the lesson, and in all his afterlife he never forgot it. That club was a revelation. It was his introduction to the reign of primitive law... The facts of life took on a fiercer aspect, and while he faced that aspect uncowed, he faced it with all the latent cunning of his nature aroused.
As the days went by, other dogs came, in crates and at the ends of ropes, some docilely, and some raging and roaring as he had come; and, one and all, he watched them pass under the dominion of the man in the red sweater. Again and again, as he looked at each brutal performance, the lesson was driven home to Buck: a man with a club was a lawgiver, a master to be obeyed, though not necessarily conciliated. Of this last Buck was never guilty, though he did see beaten dogs that fawned upon the man, and wagged their tails, and licked his hand.
Also he saw one dog, that would neither conciliate nor obey, finally killed in the struggle for mastery...