Sullied

Chapter 5

Five

Sullivan

Dr. Martin’s house is cozy. It feels all lived in and warm and safe. Smells of bread and pasta sauce. And it’s not too bright. The lights are golden instead of blue. The walls are cream and covered in art instead of being blank, sterile, and white.

I head to the living room, which is next to the kitchen, but a step down, like it’s tucked away gently, made for lounging.

A green and yellow knitted afghan lies folded over the back of a brown fabric couch. I sit. A soft, worn red rug cushions the floor beneath an oval coffee table. The TV remote is on the seat next to me, but I ignore it. I don’t want to watch anything.

Socks appears out of nowhere and rubs herself against my legs.

“Hello. May I?” Seeing as she doesn’t speak English, I take her lack of open hostility as tacit permission to pet her head.

She allows this, but her yellow gaze isn’t on me, it’s on Twenty-Four.

“There will be no attacking the rat, you hear? He’s a good rat. He won’t bother you.”

She leaps with feline grace onto the cushion next to me and begins grooming, gaze fixed steadily on Twenty-Four.

It’s easier to referee the two of them than to think of what’s coming next. My plan beyond escape-and-get-to-Dr.-Martin’s-house is woefully lacking in substance.

Do I want to destroy II Tech? Yes.

Do I know how to do that? No.

Do I know how to get a job, use a telephone, book a hotel room, drive a car, or even make a simple meal for myself?

Also no.

Without Dr. Martin’s help, my dream to burn II Tech to the ground will never amount to anything more than that, a dream.

Besides, I’m more likely to get caught or die of exposure before learning to light a match on my own anyway.

I need to know what I’m dealing with in terms of basic food and shelter.

I need to know if I can trust Dr. Martin before I tell him how I really feel.

After a few minutes of the clanking and clattering of him cleaning up the kitchen, he joins me in the living room.

My stomach knots. The pizza feels heavy.

Socks flops onto her side against my thigh.

Dr. Martin sits in a worn leather recliner not too close and not too far from me. He looks tired. “She likes you.” He nods to the cat. “She doesn’t like anybody, but she likes you.”

“It’s not me she likes. It’s Twenty-Four. And until I know whether she likes him as a friendly furry companion or as a tasty side dish to her smelly kibble, I’m not letting them get too close.”

A half smile ticks over Dr. Martin’s lips. “Smart choice, though she’s not much of a hunter. I saw her run from a little gray lizard once.”

“Good to know.”

He sets his hands on his thighs. He looks about as comfortable as I feel. The sooner we get this over with, the better.

I meet his gaze. “I’m aware you saved my life. I’m thankful, of course I am, but saying so doesn’t seem like enough.”

He rubs the back of his neck and looks away. “You don’t owe me anything.”

I’m glad he feels that way because I have nothing to give.

“If anything, I owe you,” he continues. “I hope you know I never wanted you caged.”

“I don’t know what you want, but I do know you’re the only kind doctor among many. And I saw your distaste for their cruelty. Even when you tried to hide it, I saw.”

His head bobs in a nervous nod, but he doesn’t respond.

“This morning you said you had questions.” For some reason I want him to start. Let him ask a few things before I beg him not to turn me out on the streets. Not sure if I’m acting out of strategic thinking or sheer cowardice, but regardless, I’m not ready to ask for more favors just yet.

“So many. Some of them are answered now though.”

I cringe. “Security footage?”

“Yes. You’re extremely resourceful. Where did you get the tools?”

“That took a while, but mostly from the custodial crew.” I think of Hector, the night maintenance man, a low-level mage who listened to rock music blaring so loud I could hear it through his headphones. Not unkind, but clueless. “He didn’t know I stole them.”

“How did you even know to do that? To steal tools?”

“I listen. I watch. Hinges aren’t exactly complicated.”

His brows lift. “No one else thought of it. How about the tablet?”

“Stole it too.”

“Yes, but how?”

“Took it from the lab after some testing.” This next part won’t be easy to share, but I need him feeling sorry for me. Feeling guilty even. So upon careful consideration, I decide to tell him the whole story.

As I talk I relive the memory.

It was one of my worst days.

Nights?

I don’t even know.

About three years ago, before they turned me completely. Before I needed blood. But for some reason, they wanted me to drink it anyway. I think they wanted to drown me in it just to see what would happen.

The lab was cold. It’s always cold in there. Sterile and dry and smelling of latex and disinfectant. I was strapped half naked to a metal gurney and scared.

I didn’t recognize the vampire they brought in and chained to the opposite wall.

He was terrifying. Old enough to exude a strange aura of power, the kind that raises chill bumps on your arms and dries out your throat.

Unsettling to say the least. His hair was shorn but must have been dark because his scalp was dotted in black.

But it was his eyes that scared me most. Feral eyes, glowing burnished-brown nearly swallowed by inky pupils, dark and angry.

I wondered how they caught him. He looked so strong. Powerful. And fast. The chains clanked as he tore at them, trying to escape. I stopped wondering once the experiments started.

They cut me, neat and clinical with a scalpel so sharp it took a few seconds to feel the burn of the slice. I whimpered. I was told to hush.

Then they cut him.

Doused my wound in his blood. Watched and took notes as it healed. Cut me again. Cut him again. Used less blood. More notes. Made me drink his blood. I gagged on it. Wretched. Tried to throw up, but they wouldn’t let me. The bite of the blade. The sting of alcohol. Cut me. Watched. Cut him. Noted.

Our mingled blood pooled and swirled toward the metal drain in the floor, scarlet on silver.

It went on and on until I was covered in red, crying, and snot-nosed.

The feral vampire cursed and spit, glowered at me like I was torturing him and not them. Called me an abomination. He let out this awful noise, an ear piercing screech. Muddled my brain.

I’m not sure what they did to him, but he shut up real fast. I wasn’t watching. I was shivering. Freezing. Hurting.

Looking back, I think they might have killed him because when they dragged him past me, he wasn’t fighting anymore. His body was limp, like a rag doll. I don’t even know how you kill a vampire without burning him, and there was no fire.

After he was gone, they hosed me off with cold water. “We’ll give you a minute to get dressed and collect yourself.” How kind of them. So if I collected a tablet left charging on the counter along the far wall instead, who was going to know?

Who’d look for it after what just happened?

And if they did, so what? They’d take it away from me.

It wasn’t like my life could get any worse.

It wasn’t like they could concoct a punishment worse than my day to day existence.

It wasn’t like I cared what they thought of me.

So I tucked the charger in my pants and shoved the tablet down the back of my sweatshirt, and I got lucky.

They never knew I had it.

“Jesus.” Dr. Martin’s face is ashen. Horror haunts his gaze.

Part of me feels bad for sharing that story in such vivid detail. For making him feel it. But the rest of me is desperate. I won’t make it on my own.

I need him.

I pick at my nails. “As far as I know, Jesus had nothing to do with it, though I don’t believe in him anyway.”

“Yeah, I get that. I’m just… Damn. I’m so sorry. About everything that happened to you.”

“Not your fault. You were always the nice one.”

“The nicest one in a bag of dicks is still a dick.”

That startles a little chuckle out of me. I hadn’t expected to laugh tonight. Feels good. “You said it, not me.”

The beginning of a smile lifts his lips, until he reins it in and turns serious again. “So you got the tablet, and then what?”

“Started learning, I guess. It had Wi-Fi, but I didn’t know what that meant.

Took months to figure out exactly what I’d gotten my hands on.

I could only use it when I was sure no one was watching.

A bit behind the shower curtain, a bit under the covers, in increments of five and ten minutes until I began to understand the technology. ”

“You found my address.”

“I didn’t use the tablet for that.”

A crease appears on his forehead. “Then how?”

I release a sigh. That’s another story, and I’m not sure I have another retelling in me at the moment. “Paperwork in Voijin’s office.”

Dr. Martin’s expression shifts. Fear? I wouldn’t blame him.

“Couldn’t risk stealing the papers, so I had to memorize the information. Then I used the tablet to find your house and learn the route. I even learned to erase my search history, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

He blinks. Swallows. The movement draws my attention to his throat. “You knew I’d help.”

“I didn’t know. I hoped.” I force myself to hold his gaze. His brown eyes are warm, but sharp. What’s he thinking? “I still hope.”

“For?”

“Safe haven. I have nowhere to go, Dr. Martin. No family, no friends, no sire, no means. I need you.”

He drops his forehead into his hand. “Fuck.”

“Indeed.” I won’t pretend I’m calm when I’m feeling anything but. If he turns me away, I’m as good as caught. Pressure builds behind my eyes. My throat narrows. “Please?”

When he lifts his head, his eyes are clear. The decision has been made. My chest tightens as I wait to learn my fate.

His voice is soft. “What happened to calling me Ru?”

Oh. Friends.

For some reason this part feels impossibly hard. He’s been Dr. Martin in my head for a whole year. But I want it. Friendship. With this man. “Please, Ru?”

He lets out a breath. “I won’t turn you out. You can stay here as long as you need, Sullivan.”

Tears burn, threatening to spill, but I blink them back. It won’t do to get so emotional. I pet Twenty-Four with one hand and Socks with the other. From zero friends to three. Feels like winning.

“I guess this means I’m harboring a fugitive,” says Ru, more to himself than to me. “We’ll need to light-proof the house somehow, unless you want to sleep in the bathtub.”

“I do not.” My sore hip aches at the thought.

“Come on then.” He rises. “You can help.”

I’m glad for the distraction. Maybe he knew I needed it. Something to do.

I follow him around, collecting supplies. Blankets, hammer, nails, something called command strips. We close blinds, draw curtains, and tack extra fabric up anywhere light could get in until the living room and kitchen area are a dark vampire fortress.

“You can have my room.” He leads me past the hallway bathroom where I spent my first day and into a room that smells of freshly washed cotton and something crisp and perfumed.

An unmade bed stands in the center, tan sheets, green quilt. Folded clothes lie on the dresser instead of in it. Like the rest of the house, there’s a treasure trove of books and trinkets scattered about. Not messy, just not quite tidy either.

“I can’t take your room.” But I want to. I want to crawl into that bed, bury myself in his scent, close my eyes and feel safe for the first time in my entire life. Bad idea. Can’t do that. “I’m basically nocturnal anyway. I’ll be fine out in the living room, sleeping on the couch.”

“A guest shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch.” He busies himself straightening piles of books and stuffing clothes into drawers. “I’ll change the sheets. Or… there is another bedroom but it hasn’t been used in a while. It’s probably dusty. I don’t go in there much.”

I want to ask why, but it feels intrusive. So I wait.

He blows out a breath. “Come on. The other bedroom makes more sense anyway. It has its own bathroom so we won’t have to share. Let’s get the windows covered, okay?”

I nod and follow. Twenty-Four hasn’t budged from his safe spot on my shoulder, taking it all in. Socks follows us and perches on things as we work, ever the supervisor.

This room smells different.

Stale, dry, old. Lived in but not freshly so. A fine layer of dust covers every surface from the bed linens to the furniture and even the art on the walls. It’s not until this moment that it occurs to me Dr. Martin’s house is rather large for one person. That he might not live alone.

“Whose room is this?”

“It was my parents’ room. Their whole house actually, but they died last year. Car accident.”

This stops me in my tracks. “I’m sorry.”

He keeps moving, pulling sheets from the large bed in the center of the room. “Me too. They were good people.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch, really. It’s fine.”

He shakes his head firmly. “Maybe for tonight, while this room airs out, but no. It doesn’t make sense to have you bunking in the living room while a perfectly good room goes unused.”

I don’t know about that. This space feels sacred. A memory captured in time. Lives frozen. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not.” He dumps the sheets into the hall and pulls a fresh set from the closet before looking at me.

“You’re alive, Sullivan, and you need a place to call your own.

They’re gone. They don’t need this room, and neither do I.

They’d want you to put it to good use. If you want to honor them, read some of these books while I’m at work. They loved these books.”

I’m alive. Alive. Not dead, not captive, not even on the run anymore, thanks to Dr. Martin. Thanks to Ru. Ru who is already opening the window to let fresh air in. Everything feels so big and important.

“Grab the sheets, will you? I’ll show you how to put them in the wash.”

A little rush of excitement scrabbles through me, quickening my breath. It may sound stupid to anyone else, but I’m about to learn my first new life skill.

Laundry.

I can’t wait.