Chapter 10 #2
It takes our combined efforts to move the unconscious Wolfman into a holding cell.
It’s a long process that leaves me sweating under the weight, but we finally heave the fur-covered monstrosity onto the waiting bed.
He lies there on his side, one clawed hand hanging limp off the edge.
His face—a terrifying mixture of wolf and humanoid—is slack in sleep, but I still catch a glimpse of sharp, protruding teeth beneath the metal grate of his muzzle. His tongue pokes out between them.
Ellis snorts a laugh. “Like a sleeping dog.”
I almost laugh, too, until I notice Barnes’s glower.
“Watch the way you talk about the subjects,” Barnes says, an uncharacteristic sharpness in his tone. His expression is cloudy as he looks down at the huge monster.
Ellis holds up his hands in surrender. “Didn’t mean anything by it.” He glances down at the subject as well, expression pinched with worry. “He couldn’t understand me even if he were awake, could he?”
Barnes grimaces. “No. Probably not. Not anymore. But he—” He shakes his head. “It’s not his fault he ended up this way. He still deserves respect.”
“Of course, sir,” Ellis says.
I keep watch over the unconscious creature, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, until it’s time to move him back into his freshened-up room. Ellis is quiet this time, and we’re both careful under Barnes’s sharp gaze.
My shift is almost over by the time I’m done, but I step into the observation room next door to check in with X-16 before I head home.
“Hi,” I greet him as the shutters open. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the window with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I meant to talk to you earlier, but it was a busy day.”
“Nothing too dangerous, I hope.”
“No. Nothing serious.” I notice the book spread face-down on the bed beside him. “You’ve been reading?”
Surprise flashes across his face, as if he hadn’t expected me to notice, or to ask. “Um, yeah.” He grabs it and holds it up, showing me the cover.
My eyebrows arch at the cartoon cover and punny title, which is definitely not what I was expecting. Before I can even say anything, he sets it down again, his ears reddening.
“Is that a cozy mystery?” I ask.
“Yes. I have a soft spot for them, I suppose.”
I smile a little, unable to help myself. “What do you like about them?”
“Oh, uh…” He shrugs, fingers twisting in the bedsheets at his sides.
He’s endearingly awkward like this; I guess he doesn’t get the opportunity for much small talk, given his situation.
“They’re comforting. Everything always wraps up so neatly, and…
” His brow furrows in thought, eyes wandering down to the floor.
“I like knowing that no matter how bad things get, there will be a happy ending.”
There’s a pang of sympathy in my chest. I ask him some more questions, smiling at the way he talks and gesticulates as he tells me all about the—admittedly rather ridiculous—series he’s been into lately, about an elderly lady and her cat sidekick who solve murders.
He looks different when he talks about books, animated in a way I haven’t seen before.
After a few minutes, he falters, flushing red as his rapidly moving hands fall into his lap. “I’m rambling.”
“Not at all. I like hearing you happy, Sixteen.” I pause, considering. “Is it all right to call you that?”
His lips quirk. “Yes. I like it.”
“You wouldn’t prefer something else?” Barnes has mentioned that X-16 refuses to give a name, but I can’t help but try my luck.
He shakes his head slightly. “Sixteen is fine.”
“But… Most of the other patients here have names,” I say. Yet Sixteen, who looks the most human, has nothing. Not even a moniker like many of the subjects do—he’s just a question mark on their charts. “Surely you must, too.”
His smile fades, his gaze dropping to his lap. “It’s better this way.”
“Why?”
“I…would rather not have the people who work here see me as a person,” he says.
“You are a person. Just because you’re different, that doesn’t make you some monster.”
His face remains impassive, but his fingers curl into his palms. “It does, though,” he says quietly. “That’s exactly what I am. You need to remember that too, Willow. I’m not… It’s not safe around me. You’re not safe.”
“I am,” I say. “I’m immune. We’ve all but proved it. And anyway, you don’t hurt anyone on—”
“On purpose?” he finishes before I can. He shakes his head, dark hair sliding over his eyes. “It doesn’t matter if I meant it. I hurt them anyway.” His expression darkens. “I killed… I killed that security guard. I didn’t lay a hand on him, but I killed him all the same.”
Vince. There’s a twist of guilt inside me as I realize how quickly I pushed that thought aside. I can’t deny that Sixteen is right. Vince died because of him, and I can’t exonerate him of that.
“That won’t happen to me, Sixteen,” I tell him. “I’m not afraid of you.”
His lips curl into a faint, sad smile, his red eyes practically pleading as they hold mine. “Oh, Willow,” he whispers, “you should be.”