Chapter 39: Out
Yesterday had been a long and uncomfortable fever, so Vlad was only getting the opportunity to see Bianco's collection now, even if they'd talked about it some three days ago. Honestly, three days wasn't much when compared to other times his various symptoms had acted up.
There had been times he'd wasted several weeks unable to do much more than hurt, especially during the first months.
Today, though...
Today Vlad was feeling well. No fever, no nausea, no weak legs or strained eyes: he could afford to visit the library two floors up. He could finally see and learn more than just what he'd been theorizing all alone, based on his own failing body and unruly powers.
Vlad made sure to pick up his nicest set of clothes – one he hadn't worn since the last washing day, as well as a pair of shoes he hadn't had a reason to wear as he was officially always in his room – even if, realistically, he wasn't even leaving the building.
The young man patted awkwardly the Packers-themed scarf his dad had made him – Malcolm Masters had needed new hobbies after his work accident and knitting didn't care if you were a limping mess, which was also how Vlad had ended up watching all the matches with his dad from middle school on and after that with Jack but Jack wasn't here and Jack didn't care had done this to him had never looked back – and told himself he wasn't trying to impress anyone. He just... was leaving the clinic itself for a few hours. Potentially, the people he might cross paths with wouldn't know who he was, why he was there, that he was one of the clinic's patients.
...To be honest, Vlad wouldn't pretend he looked quite healthy yet – too pale from being inside all the time, his already insignificant musculature all but gone with both the illness and the lack of exercise, and so many details he didn't even notice anymore – but he could pass as someone who wasn't a long-term patient if he wore something else than a hospital gown.
"So, happy day, Vlad?"
The young man buttoned up his shirt and turned to look at Ziad.
"I'm feeling alright. You can tell them I'm ready to go and see the library, I promise I won't bloody up any precious book."
The nurse took a few seconds to size him up – and nodded approvingly, apparently in agreement with his patient.
"You do look good, and I'm sure this little outing will do you a world of good. Something else to do with your time... and if this works well enough, I'll see to have you cleared for the communal area. You'd get to eat with the other patients when you feel up to it, and you might even make a friend! If anything, socializing with more people would be good for you."
Vlad paused a moment – he hadn't expected that, didn't quite know what to think of it – but shook his head, postponing what could lead to yet another dive into his shattered wishes. He supposed Ziad's idea couldn't hurt.
"I... Could you go and tell them? Please?"
The older man laughed quietly, fondly amused:
"Impatient, are we? I'm going, I'm going... And if you want to talk about it later, I'm here like always."
Ziad passed the door – and came back barely a minute later, an agent in white on his heels.
Vlad then got gently shooed out of his room.
"Come on, off you go! Follow Agent J, he'll show you the way, and please don't forget to get back for the night. I know guys like you, Vlad, you don't look at the time and before you know it..."
"Hey, what is that supposed to mean?! I'm not completely blind to the world around me, thank you! The only ones who have that problem are Maddie and Ja..."
Vlad didn't finish that sentence, only stared blankly ahead – but the room's door was already closing, leaving Ziad inside to replenish the emergency bandages and other tools in the bathroom.
Agent J raised an eyebrow at him and waited.
"...Let's go, then."
It wasn't the moment to get queasy. It didn't matter that Vlad had almost told Ziad about his friends the ones who weren't here the one who had killed him the one who had tried to prevent it. What mattered was the organization's library and what Vlad may find out about ghosts and about himself there. He couldn't afford to get sick just because...
It didn't matter.
His goal today was simple, and the rules to follow to get there were just clear: don't get sick, follow the agent's directions, don't let anything out that shouldn't be seen in human company.
Agent J nodded at him and turned around.
"This way, Mr Masters. Try not to wander around, for your own safety."
The two men – one sickly and thin as a rake, the other built like a tank in a white suit – proceeded through the corridor, only stopping to let Doctor Hogan and one of the other nurses cross into a patient's room. Vlad looked around almost curiously: it was the first time he was actually allowed out – the other times he'd been hiding, and as far as he was concerned, being rushed to the operating room because he'd coughed up part of his spleen didn't count – and even if nothing was obviously out of the ordinary for a clinic, there was still a particular feeling in being able to watch and observe.
The corridor itself wasn't very interesting, but the fact that he could walk there in broad daylight...
"Don't! Don't, don't, don't! Stay away! Don't!"
Vlad jumped an entire foot to his left when the screams "let him go!" assaulted his ears, the door on his right banging from someone trashing against it "banzai!".
Words died on his lips as Agent J held him back from trying to – do what? He didn't know. Maybe open the door and see what was happening.
Maybe stay rooted where he stood, frozen by the cries and trashing on the other side of the door.
A nurse – he'd never seen that one, he thought idly, she wasn't on rotation for his own room – rushed by to open the door and see to...
Whatever was going on there.
People running and screaming in the clinic didn't happen that often, from what Vlad had observed. He could rarely hear anything – sobs, maybe, and sometimes whines, but he was never quite sure – through the walls of his bedroom. There had been a few times of screams and violent bangs, yes, but at the same time...
He'd been here about two years now – twenty-six months since the accident "banzai!" green hurts burns pain itself next Wednesday, about two months had been at the hospital, and since then...
The agent shook his head and – with a displeased squint at the large man trying to scratch his own eyes out where a burn-like green rash crossed his face, the nurse trying to help by his side – quietly pushed Vlad back on the path to the organization's library.
"There's nothing to do but wash the ecto-burn and wait for it to heal, anyway."
That part had been mumbled under Agent J's breath, not intended for Vlad – but the young man still heard it, heard the bitter tone, the anger, the sense of powerlessness.
He bit the questions on his lips, swallowed his unwelcome inquiries.
did a ghost do this is he going to get better why was that man hurt do you know him
This wasn't Bianco, and the agent hadn't spoken a word further – he hadn't even been talking to Vlad to begin with.
and let's be honest
Vlad wasn't certain he wanted to know the answers
It was only a minute later, as they turned a corner, that he heard a woman's voice whispering between two sobs, just behind a door that was half-open.
"I don't know why I did that. I... I don't remember, I was doing something at work and then... then, I was at someone's house, and the place had been trashed! I don't remember anything! I... I don't know what happened... You people said..."
Agent J didn't slow down, didn't stop, and Vlad couldn't hear the rest, couldn't hear whatever the person this woman was talking to answered, but he could guess.
He didn't ask what happened to her either.
was that because of a ghost too was that what ghosts did to people
of course it is Vladislav
you already know that don't you you were the one cross-referencing witness accounts and ghost stories around the world looking for patterns of behavior and elements of proof
you remember the victims don't you?
missing time ecchymosis burns destruction of property and someone left to deal with the aftermath as they get the blame for those consequences
The two men eventually reached blue double doors – there was a desk right next to those and a woman tiredly looking through files, it looked like the clinic's entrance – and Agent J turned to look at Vlad, a severe look on his face:
"Once again, Mr Masters: outside of the clinic, do not wander off. Stay with me, and if you need something, the toilets, a lunch break, to come back here... you ask me. If you can't follow that rule, you could get in trouble and you won't be allowed back. The director is already kind enough letting you into the library, but headquarters rules apply to everyone and especially to visitors."
Vlad ignored the uncomfortable feeling in his guts – because of the man scratching, because of the woman sobbing – and nodded.
"...I understand."
The agent watched him a bit longer, searching for deception or flippancy.
He found, of course, nothing; Vlad didn't intend to push his luck – not while human and under surveillance, if anything, and for now he had no reason to try and covertly explore the rest of the building either – and was also far from feeling flippant.
"Alright. I'll hold you to that, Mr Masters."
They passed by a patient – slowly walking from a branching corridor – right before the blue doors, and Vlad couldn't ignore the skin covered in bruises, black and yellow and purple. Like he'd been thrown against a wall and battered with a hundred cardboard boxes – not enough to kill, and yet.
The patient eyed them – eyed Vlad – without a word for as long as he could.
Maybe he knew.
Maybe he could see it despite the clothes and the disappearance of the visible symptoms. Maybe there was no hiding it, no pretending. Maybe he thought: he's that patient. The one at the end of the left corridor. The one who'd been there for two entire years. The one who wasn't leaving, wasn't healing, wasn't getting better or not enough to be considered healthy.
the one who wasn't even human anymore closer to the monsters who'd hurt everyone here an abomination a pretender in his own skin
Maybe he watched Vlad and knew and wondered: what was wrong with him?
The blue doors closed behind Vlad – the only thing he had to do was follow Agent J. Forget about the other patients, their scratching and sobbing and bruising. Leave, if only for a few hours, the clinic and the doctors and the victims behind.