Chapter 9 #2
I shove the thought away as quickly as it rises, the warmth in my belly turning to cold shame. I cannot be thinking these things at work, least of all about a subject.
Focus. This is important. I swallow as I walk around the table to the last of the restraints. X-16’s main eyes are shut, but the third on his forehead swivels to follow my movement. “Is the strap around his neck really necessary?”
There’s a pause. I keep my gaze trained on X-16, making sure the rise and fall of his chest is steady.
“I’ll need to examine his teeth,” Dr. Sullivan says, after a moment. “Last time there were changes. So I’m afraid…”
Barnes nods at me. “Do it.”
I reach for the final leather strap and carefully slide it through, securing X-16’s neck. He looks so pale and fragile, barely conscious and strapped up like some sort of dangerous criminal.
But he is dangerous. I’m not sure why I have to keep reminding myself of that.
I stand by, arms folded over my chest, as Dr. Sullivan jumps into her examination.
“Since you’re awake this time, I’ll walk you through what I’m doing,” she says.
“May I touch you?” She waits for his nod before placing her hands on his body.
She talks through everything she’s doing, true to her word.
Her touch is careful but sure as she checks X-16’s pulse and breathing and blood pressure, his lymph nodes, his eyes and mouth.
I notice, with fascination, that his canines are longer than I’d expect, and his teeth have a noticeably sharp edge.
I keep an eye on him while her fingers are in his mouth, but he’s listless through the process.
As minutes pass, I notice the haziness leaving his gaze, his half-lidded eyes beginning to open wider as the sedative wears off.
The rise and fall of his chest quickens.
I watch him closely, but he remains pliant on the table.
Until Dr. Sullivan says, “I’m going to open your gown now.”
X-16 tenses in his restraints. “Is that… really…?” His voice is hoarse as he speaks for the first time.
“Necessary? Yes.” She traces a finger through the air above his abdomen. “I can already see you’ve had some development here. I need to document any changes in your file so we can keep track of what’s happening to you, and when.”
X-16’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. His eyes dart to me again.
Dr. Sullivan’s eyebrows pull together as if she doesn’t understand what the problem is.
“Would you like me to leave you with Barnes or send in another male officer?” I ask. “I want you to be comfortable.”
He hesitates for a long moment and then manages, “No. It’s… it’s fine.”
“You can keep your undergarments on,” Dr. Sullivan says, her tone perfectly neutral. “Unless there have been any changes there…?”
X-16’s normally pale face turns an alarming shade of red. “I— No. No changes.”
Dr. Sullivan reaches for the tie on his robe. I look away automatically, jaw set. I want to be professional about this, but my job here is to keep an eye on X-16 and evaluate his mental state throughout the exam, so that means I have to watch. Right?
After a moment’s hesitation, my eyes dart back to him.
His medical robe is open now, revealing more of his body than I’ve ever seen before.
An expanse of pale, creamy skin is bared, all the way down to the black band of his boxer briefs preserving his modesty.
His collarbones are a prominent curve, the rungs of his ribs visible through that sun-deprived skin.
His waist is tapered, a trail of faint dark hair leading down his stomach.
He’s slender, almost delicate. Pretty. Exactly my type, though I feel guilty even thinking it.
But…then there are the extra eyes.
I’ve seen the one on his forehead and heard there were more.
But nothing could’ve quite prepared me for the full sight of this.
There are at least a dozen extra eyes of various sizes scattered over his torso and arms. It’s a haphazard, asymmetrical array, placed seemingly at random on his body.
One peeks out from the right side of his ribs, a second tucked below his left collarbone, another on his lower stomach just above his waistband.
All red—and all fixed on me at the moment.
The veins of his chest are prominent and colored deep black, stark against his skin. The darkness seems to begin in his heart and spread over the rest of his body—up through his chest, down toward his hips. I can see the darkness pulsing through him as his heart beats.
I can’t stop staring. Perhaps I should find it disgusting, disturbing, but instead I can’t look away because it is fascinating.
There is something strangely beautiful in his asymmetry.
I want to trace a finger over his dark veins, to study the pattern of his eyeballs in an attempt to make sense of it.
“The black blood has spread through your veins quite rapidly,” Dr. Sullivan says, pulling me from my thoughts. She frowns as she leans over X-16, one finger extended in the air just above his skin. “Is there any discomfort?”
“N-no,” X-16 says.
I glance up at his face, kicking myself at the reminder that I’m supposed to be monitoring him for discomfort, not getting an eyeful of his body.
His main eyes—the normal ones, that is—are angled away from me, though the third on his forehead is watching me closely like the rest of the extras.
There’s a flare of red across his pale cheekbones.
“And the eyes?” Dr. Sullivan prompts. “You’ve grown a couple more, it looks like. Are they painful?”
“They hurt and bleed when they, um, first emerge from my skin. But I hardly notice them after a while.”
“And they’re all functional?”
“Sort of?” His eyes flick to me, only to dart away again immediately, the color in his face deepening. “It’s like seeing something out of my peripheral vision. I’ll notice movement and such, but I can’t really focus on it.”
“Okay.” Dr. Sullivan leans back, a hand on her hip. “Is there anything else I should know? Any other changes you’ve noticed?”
He hesitates. The tip of his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Nervous.
“I’m here to help you, X-16,” she says. Her tone is patient, but I notice that her already pale face has grown almost translucent, and she sounds a little out of breath.
She’s hiding it well, but X-16 is starting to affect her more as the sedative wears off.
When I look at Barnes, he’s retreated to the far wall, leaning against the counter for support.
He straightens up when he notices my glance, grimacing.
“You can tell her,” I murmur to X-16. “We’re both here to help.”
“Well…” X-16’s throat bobs in a hard swallow. “My…feet.”
I walk to the end of the table before Dr. Sullivan can and slip off his shoes, and then his socks, to save her the trouble. She gives me a small, grateful nod before leaning in to take a look at his bare feet.
“Interesting,” she murmurs.
That’s one word for it. His feet have turned entirely black, dark veins extending up to his ankles. But more than that, there’s an odd texture to his skin.
“Feathers?” Dr. Sullivan asks, peering closely. “Hm. That’s new. When did this happen?”
X-16 squirms in his bindings. “I noticed it after my last episode.”
“Was the growth painful?”
“Not really,” he mumbles. “Itchy. But the feathers are…sensitive. It’s hard to wear anything on my feet.”
“You could’ve left the shoes off,” I tell him.
“Right. It doesn’t help anyone if you hide your symptoms, X-16,” Dr. Sullivan says.
“I don’t like to look at them,” he says, fidgeting again. “Have you seen enough? Can I have the robe back?”
A light flickers overhead. We all pause to look up at it.
“Robe’s fine,” the doctor says, nodding at me. I quickly lean over to pull it back over X-16’s body, covering him again. “I’d like to take some samples of these feathers, though.”
There’s a weighty pause as I retie his robe. The rise and fall of his chest quickens. They’re sensitive, he said, and I fight the urge to argue on his behalf.
“We need to move quickly.” It’s the first time in a while Barnes has spoken up, and he doesn’t sound good.
I’m about to glare at him for rushing when X-16 is uncomfortable, but I can’t bring myself to do it when I see how ill he looks.
His breathing is labored, his face faintly green. “Unless we’re gonna sedate him again.”
“This should be the last thing. X-16?” Dr. Sullivan asks. “Do I have your permission? You know I only ask because I think it’s important for monitoring your development. It could provide a hint about what’s happening to you and why.”
“Okay,” he says quietly.
“Very good. I’m going to pull out a couple of them as carefully as I can, but I’m not sure how deeply embedded they are. If the pain becomes unbearable, speak up.”
X-16 nods wordlessly. I’m still close at his side after adjusting his robe. And after a moment, I instinctively reach down and slip my fingers into his, holding on to his restrained hand. He looks sideways at me, surprise flaring across his face, and squeezes me gently.
His grip tightens as Dr. Sullivan leans in close, inspecting the tufts of feathers.
The squeeze of his fingers becomes almost painful as she carefully grabs one with a pair of metal tweezers.
He’s shaking as he grips me—it clearly hurts—but his lips are pressed into a thin line as he refuses to make a sound.
The lights flicker again, more insistently. I hold his gaze instead of looking up at them.
“Calm, Sixteen,” I murmur. The nickname slips out without a thought. It’s not exactly a name, but it’s better than calling him Subject X-16 all the time. “You’re almost done.”
He sucks in a breath and clings to my hand, and the lights flare back again, their glow steady. After a moment and my nod of approval, Dr. Sullivan returns to her task. With some wriggling and a little huff of effort from the doctor, the feather comes free.
“It took quite a lot of force to remove,” Dr. Sullivan says, studying the sample.
It’s dark and glossy under the lights as she turns it, the end stained red with blood.
There’s blood on Sixteen’s foot where it came out, too, trickling down over his black skin.
“One sample should be enough for now.” She carries it over to the counter and carefully places it into a glass vial.
It takes her three times due to how badly her hands are shaking.
“I don’t want to cause you any undue distress,” she says, her voice much steadier than her fingers.
I look down at him and squeeze his hand before letting go. “You did good, Sixteen.”
“Very good,” Dr. Sullivan agrees. She slips off her gloves and turns away quickly. “We’ll save the blood samples for another day. I have enough to work with and— Oh. Excuse me.”
Then she walks over to the trash can in the corner and promptly vomits.
Barnes is walking Dr. Sullivan out of the building—and giving himself some time to recover, I suspect, though he didn’t want to admit it—so I escort X-16 back to his cell on my own.
He’s almost fully alert now, his system clearing out the sedative with remarkable ease.
Yet with his feet now bare and his hands cuffed in his lap again, he looks especially vulnerable sitting in his wheelchair.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says.
I frown, glancing down at him. “See what?”
He doesn’t look up. His hair falls across his face, obscuring his eyes. “Me.”
“Sixteen—” I pull to a stop and circle around the chair so I can look him in the face. “Hey. None of that bothers me. All I’m concerned about is your comfort and safety.”
He nods, but his eyes stay on his lap.
“Sixteen.” After a moment—and a glance down the hallway—I place a finger under his chin and guide his face up, wanting him to know that I mean what I’m about to say.
His eyes widen as he finally meets my gaze.
“Nothing about you is gross to me,” I say, the words coming out in a rush.
The moment feels oddly intimate, all of a sudden.
“And none of this is your fault. The doctor was ill because of the side effects, and she and Barnes both know you can’t help it.
And as for me…” I shrug. “Look at me. I’m fine. ”
“I…” He searches my face and nods slightly. “Okay. Thanks.”
I let my finger drop and take my place behind the wheelchair again. There’s a weighty silence between us now, and even the light touch of my hand on his shoulder feels like too much contact. Like I’m doing something wrong.
But I’m not. Am I?
Of course not. I’m just doing my job. But when I step into his room with him, alone, there’s an odd flip-flop in my gut. I clear my throat and undo his cuffs, removing them carefully before stepping back.
“Good job today,” I say. “I know it must’ve been uncomfortable for you.”
He turns to me, rubbing his wrists one at a time. “It was easier,” he says, “with you there.”
“Well… I’ll be there whenever you need me, from now on.” My smile feels lopsided, rusty, awkward. It’s not an expression I make very often.
The way he smiles back at me makes it worth it. It makes something in my chest start to thaw. It makes me want, so badly, to prevent him from further pain.
I want to save him.
I know that’s certainly not within the boundaries of my job. There are smarter people than me trying to help Sixteen—Dr. Sullivan, the researchers.
But I still can’t shake this idea that I am tied to him somehow. That we were meant to find each other. That there must be a reason that I survived, and that I’m immune to his abilities, and that I found my way to him.