Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan (6 page)

Susan pushed away from the table, suddenly angry. The most logical explanation was that someone had gone in and “operated” on this corpse to make it look like a radically altered anatomy. The body in the image was impossible. Someone had created a rather elaborate scheme to make her believe this person was still alive, and she had a pretty good idea whom that someone might be.

Her mind began racing. She suddenly realized Mason would have to be in on it as well. It would have been fairly easy for he and David Goldstein to rig this entire episode, first to make her look foolish in ER, then…

Susan felt a coldness in the pit of her stomach. Then they would catch her up here, running all sorts of “Dr. Frankenstein” experiments on an obviously dead corpse. Her indiscretion involving the “borrowed” bodies would come to light, her reputation as a researcher would be ruined.

Her paranoia began to snowball. She looked to the EEG. It would be simple enough for someone to rig the machine, and the heart monitor as well. She began to cast her gaze wildly around the cubicle, searching for a camera or recorder. They could be watching her right now, documenting her actions. Her paranoid gaze settled on the computer screen, and her last words blinked at her incriminatingly.

This whole thing was a matter of manipulating Susan into believing what she wanted to believe. Mason had played her so easily, pretending to be dumb. He and Goldstein had known Susan would begin twisting the evidence in the direction of her research.

Susan leaped to her feet and rushed into the sterile room. If she could just get rid of the body before they had an opportunity to spring their trap. She could get rid of all the evidence, then play dumb when they tried to catch her in the act. If she could just get rid of this body…

She gathered the sheets, trying to wrap the body completely so that no part of it showed. But her hands were shaking so badly she nearly knocked the body to the floor, and in her struggle to catch the corpse, lost the sheet completely. The lower half of the woman’s body was now exposed.

She struggled against the weight of the woman and finally succeeding in shoving the body back onto the bed. She reached down to pick up the sheet and her eyes caught sight of the woman’s legs. She stopped.

For a long moment, she didn’t move. She slowly stood upright, the sheet forgotten as it slipped from her nerveless fingers. She reached out, hesitantly touching the body.

The woman’s legs were intact. There were no compound fractures, no broken skin, only mild bruising where before there had been horrendous injuries.

Susan gazed at the legs. She had been so caught up in looking at the internal organs on the MRI printout she had missed the obvious.  She felt a cold chill whisper down her spine, but it was a very different chill than she had experienced a moment before. This was a much more primitive fear. Thoughts of a conspiracy slipped away.

Susan slowly began backing away from the body. It was still slightly askew in the bed, but she was not going to right it. Nor was she going to turn her back on it before she left the room. She felt for the doorknob behind her, then slid through the crack she opened.

Susan slammed the door, locking it. She peered through the window, not exactly certain what she expected to see.

The body just laid there. The woman appeared to be sleeping. Not completely comfortably, but sleeping nonetheless.

Susan forced herself to take several deep breaths. “Get a hold of yourself, girl. Remember, you’re a scientist.”

As if in support, the computer printed out the reassurance. Susan thought about turning the voice activation off, but she needed the company at the moment, even if it was self-generated.

“Okay,” she said aloud, now addressing the computer as if it were another person. “We’ve got something new, now.” She tried to return to her professional voice. “Not only does this woman possess an extraordinary anatomy, she appears to be healing at an accelerated rate.”

She glanced down at the MRI printout in front of her, and her professionalism fled. “Well that was the understatement of the year, Dr. Ryerson. “ She began to think aloud again. She tried to regroup, putting her research voice on. “This could be some type of chromosomal defect, or perhaps some type of genetic engineering,” she paused, “but if so it’s way beyond anything I’ve even heard about.”

The EEG sprang into action behind her, and she jumped, startled. She felt foolish as she pushed her heart back down into her chest where it belonged. She glanced at the monitor, then turned to look through the glass window. Even from where she was standing she could see the twitching of the intact eyelid, could see the rapid eye movement indicating a dream state.

Susan’s fascination overcame her fear as she stared at the prone body. Half the woman’s face was gone. Her skin had the pallor of death. And yet she was obviously dreaming. What in god’s name could be in that woman’s head to generate such activity?

CHAPTER 6

THE BOY STILL REMEMBERED THE FIRST TIME he saw the Man. It had been shortly after Bertha’s daughter had died in childbirth. She had been small and the baby had been large. Neither had survived.

The boy was standing in the middle of the dirt road that split their small village. He was playing with some of the other boys, boys who were larger than him but never quite as strong or as fast.

They all heard the sound of hooves off in the distance and the boy looked to the west at the cloud of approaching dust. It was rare that horses came to their village; it usually meant that tribute was due.

The other boys scattered but the fair-haired one stood in the street. He was more curious than afraid. He saw what seemed to be a great number of horses; he could not count so in his mind it was simply more than two.

The horses stopped at the edge of the village, snorting and rearing, their riders trying to control them. The men atop their backs were dressed in finery, leather jerkins, steel mesh, brightly colored crests. The boy watched curiously as they gathered and wheeled about.

The horses parted as if on command and a man on a huge black horse rode through the gap to the edge of the clearing.

The boy’s heart stopped. The man was looking directly at him with piercing black eyes. He seemed almost as if he had been looking for him. He studied him intently, his gaze traveling from the top of the boy’s fair head to the bottom of his dusty feet.

The boy stood as if mesmerized. Indeed, if the man’s troupe had decided to run him down he would have been unable to move. But instead the man wheeled his horse around with a shout and the troupe moved to follow him. As quickly as the contact had been initiated it was broken, and the band galloped to the southwest. The boy stood in the street, feeling an inexplicable loss.

It did not take long for word to travel through the small village that the band was encamped a short distance from their rough huts. There was much speculation on the identity of the visitors and whether this was a good or bad omen. It was evident that his lordship, whoever he might be, was very wealthy and powerful. Some even speculated that it might be the King, or at least a relative. Few, however, were exactly sure who the King might be and none would recognize him if they saw him. Lacking pictures or even the most rudimentary artwork, if a man didn’t know another face-to-face, he didn’t know him.

Hans’ wife watched her son with a certain amount of anxiety. She had seen his lordship eye the boy. Her son possessed a remarkable beauty and it was only by the grace of his unknown benefactor that he remained untouched by the lecherous world that surrounded him. The priest was afraid to touch him but someone as powerful as the stranger might not know of his protector, or care.

The boy was preoccupied, stirring his watery soup with his finger. He could not seem to get the man out of his thoughts. The man had looked at him strangely, almost as if he had known him. And the man had looked at him in a way like the priest looked at him, but somehow differently.

The sun was going down and soon blackness would blanket the land. It was a moonless night, and save for a few lamps and still-burning embers, the blackness would be complete.

The boy settled onto the rough-hewn mat he shared with his parents. He heard his father’s rough grunts a few feet away as the evening ritual began. The slap of flesh would keep the boy awake, but tonight he was not going to sleep anyway.

Hans finished quickly and soon his snores filled the small hut. The boy waited until he was sure he could hear his mother’s rhythmic breathing, and then he rolled off the mat.

He pulled the cover back into place in the doorway and set off toward the glow of the firelight in the distance.

No other person from the village would dare roam about at night like the boy did. They were terrified of the various creatures that lurked in the surrounding forest. Many stories of demonic creatures, half-man, half-wolf, circulated through the village. The villagers knew the stories were true; they were in the Bible weren’t they?

The boy paid no mind to the stories. He knew they were true, but he was willing to take the chance. He picked his way through the underbrush with care.

He climbed a tree where he could overlook the clearing where the troupe was encamped. He had chosen a lucky spot because an elaborate tent was pitched within his view; he was sure it belonged to the man.

He clung to the branch, watching the few men still awake mill about the camp. He did not have to wait very long. Almost as if on cue, the flap of the elaborate tent was pushed aside and the man stepped out.

A serf rushed up to the man but he waved him off. The serf quickly disappeared into the shadows. The boy took the opportunity to study the man. He was tall, nearly taller than the head of a horse, and he had none of the fat the boy had seen on other feudal lords. His hair was black, as dark as his eyes, with no gray to betray his age.

The man turned and looked directly into the boy’s eyes. The boy was so startled he nearly fell backward out of the tree. The man had to be further than the distance the boy could throw a stone, and the boy could throw far. He regained his balance and again locked eyes with the man.

Another man approached his lordship and their words drifted to the boy’s location.

“Is something wrong, my lord? Is there something you need?”

The younger man peered out into the blackness, seeing nothing. The man spoke, and his voice was smooth, smooth like the stones at the bottom of the river that had been worn by water and time.

“Nothing you can provide me.”

The reply seemed to anger the young man and he stalked off. The man watched his departure mildly, then turned his attention back to the boy.

Or at least it seemed that way to the boy. But he realized there was no way the man could see into the blackness, no way he could see across the clearing to his hiding place. Still, the boy’s heart was beating so loudly it seemed the man could hear it.

The boy quickly climbed down the tree. He began to make his way back through the forest, more hastily than he had come. No sense in staying out here all night.

The boy was about half the way home when he stopped, feeling as if something was behind him. His senses strained the blackness around him, but he heard nothing. He shrugged and started on his way once more.

He again stopped, whirling around as if to catch whatever was stalking him. And that was what he felt, as if someone, or something, was in the darkness behind him. There was nothing but silence.

The boy began to trot, and then to run. Whatever was behind him seemed maddeningly close yet unidentifiable.

The boy had feared few things in his life. He had always been faster or stronger than most things that threatened him. But he was very afraid right now, and he began to crash through the underbrush, his breath coming loud and harsh and his heart pounding in his chest.

Whatever was behind him was not only keeping pace but was catching him. He could not see it but knew it was too large for a wolf and too fast for a bear. He began to dodge side-to-side in a futile attempt at evasion.

He was tackled from behind and went face first into the warm, dark earth. He could taste the rich soil in his mouth as he was grabbed roughly from behind and lifted off his feet. He was imprisoned in a grip as strong as a vice and waited to be torn limb from limb.

He did not have long to wait. He felt a piercing pain, then felt his insides turn to liquid. He saw an extraordinary redness behind his eyelids, then all went black.

CHAPTER 7

SUSAN TAPPED THE BLOOD FROM THE SYRINGE onto the glass slide, then tapped a cover slip into place. She held the syringe up to the light, noting the bend in the needle. She had finally gotten up the courage to re-enter the room, and had discovered the skin of the woman was not any easier to pierce.