My Precious Nightmare

Chapter 46: Cold Fingers

After being left in a dark, cold room of cement and metal for longer than he cared to keep track of, Husani's captors pulled him back out into bleaching, artificial light.

Everything after that fulfilled all of Husani's expectations. Needles. Phials of blood. Prods of instruments and their measuring filaments. X-rays. Cold exam tables. White masked faces above biohazard white clothing Husani had seen in a surgery room recording once. Fingers without a hint for dignity. Lights as bright as the sun. Black armored bodies. Rifles. Pain.

But after the street of bodies, the terror of his own self-preservation was lost on him. So Husani just closed his eyes and let it all happen, doing as he was told with all the brain power of a mindless drone.

Even with all the metal to trap him, Husani knew he could escape. A single tendril of shadow in the right place and he'd be out. Just one dark room would be enough to veil himself and slip by, unseen. Guards could be downed without a sound. Brick and metal broken. The parasite in his body, after all, had changed him into mankind's predator.

But he had not the desire. After all, a good part of him wanted to work alongside the scientists, poking and prodding and doing whatever test, painful or otherwise, that they willed on his body. Perhaps with all this technology they'd find something. Or, perhaps, they'd learn how to do away with him and do him the honors.

Then he'd think of Lea's pale figure watching him from behind bars.

Why did they treat a dying girl in a jail cell?

It felt wrong. But, then, he could only think of how it was all because of him that she was in there in the first place.

A faceless man tapped Husani's face.

"You still in there? I have a few questions."

Husani grunted, but didn't dare to open his eyes. The surgeon lights were still on him full blast. It would be like looking into the sun for him.

"Were you the one who brought in Lea Sokolov? A young girl, very petite, long dark hair with reddish tips and blue eyes?"

"Yes."

"Were you the one who bit her and put her in her state of hypovolemic shock and hypothermia?"

"No."

"Do you know who did?"

"Yes. He's dead now."

An expected, stunned pause.

"Did you kill him?" Really, Husani felt they were friends already. The man's bluntness was refreshing.

"No."

"You do know it won't matter whether or not you lie about that. You were seen by a street full of witnesses murdering seven people."

Husani didn't even flinch. You couldn't be shocked by cold water if you were already in it.

"I know."

"So you didn't kill him?"

"No."

"Do you know who did?"

"Yes."

"Were you there when he died?"

Now that was a tricky question. Getting your head blown off didn't necessarily mean death for a vampire. But then he wasn't there for the burning, so in a way he could be lying about whether the ancient vampire was dead or not. Then Husani decided he didn't care.

"I was there for his disabling, but not for the actual death."

"Then how do you know he is dead?"

Husani said nothing. No matter what happened, he didn't have the right to rat out Morianton. The kid still had a whole future ahead of him, vampire or not. Also, the slaughter of the ancient vampire who started this mess should have been a paltry matter to a simple murder charge. But, of course, the judiciary system wouldn't see it that way, especially once it was found out that the vampirism disease essentially gave eternal youth and immortality.