Of Royal Descent (17 page)

"Chuck, I need you to listen to me," I said, digging my nails into the palm of my left hand in order to stave off the tears that threaten to fall - an old trick I'd learn when I was a kid.  It gave me something else to concentrate on.  "There isn't a cure for what I have.  I want you to go home.  Promise me you'll go home."

Chuck looked hurt.  "What the fuck, Doyle?"  Tears spilled down his face.  "You tell me you're dying, and you expect me to go home?  Is that what you think of me?  Well, I'm not going," he said defiantly.

It was killing me to see Chuck like this.  I was bare
ly keeping my own tears in check, but if I didn't figure out a way to make him leave, Bradbury would have him killed.  I had a fleeting image of the guard ending Chuck's life right in front of my eyes.  I knew no matter how upset he got, I had to make him go.  I thought fast.

"Hey, listen, that's not what I meant.  You once promised to always look out for me, right?"

Chuck was listening.

"Okay, well, I'm asking you not to hang around and watch me die.  That's the only way you can look out for me now.  If you're here, I'll be putting on a brave front instead of having the luxury to writhe around in agony and scream for morphine.  I'm not telling you to leave
because I think you're selfish enough to go.  I'm telling you to leave because I'm selfish enough to want you to remember me healthy."  I choked out the last words and began to cry silently.

Chuck stared at me, not sure how to respond.  I didn't know what else I could say to persuade him.  I hoped I had said enough.  A long silence passed between us as Chuck looked to be debating with
himself.

Finally, he pressed down on his transmit button on the radio.  "I don't know if you realize what you're asking me to do.  I'm not going to think any less of you Doyle, no matter if you scream or cry.  I can't leave you here to die alone.  You're practically my brother.
  Don’t make me go."

Panic swirled inside me.  I hadn't been able to convince him
, and now he was going to die, and it was going to be all my fault.  Tears fell in fat drops to the floor, and I brushed them away from my face with the palm of my hand.

"Please, Chuck.  Please do this for me."  It was all I could say.  I held his unwavering stare and waited.

"This is really what you want?"

I nodded.

He nodded back, inhaling sharply and looking away.  "Okay, man.  You need me to go, I'll go."

The terror I had been feeling had been replaced with relief so quickly, I had to balance myself against the glass to keep from hitting the floor.

"Chuck, man, thanks - for everything."

Chuck's eyes were red
, and tears continued to run down his face.  He gave me a half-smile.  "I love you too, man."

Bradbury cleared his throat behind me, as if to hurry me along.  One day, I was going to kill that man.  Directly or indirectly
, I didn't care which.

"Okay, I'll let you get back to your doctor.  Hey doc, take care of my buddy here.  He's a good guy," Chuck said, addressing Bradbury.

Edgar was standing behind me, but I could see his reflection in the glass.  He gave Chuck a polite nod in response.

"Bye, Doily," Chuck said.

"Bye, Charles," I smiled back at him.

Chuck handed the
walkie back to the guard and turned to leave.  He was making his way toward the door when I suddenly thought of Addy.

"Wait!  Chuck... Addy," I said into the receiver.

Chuck turned to face me again and held out his hand for the guard's radio one last time.  "Don't worry.  I'll take care of it before I leave."

"Thanks," was all I could say.  I watched as he waved and slipped through the exit followed by the guard.  When the door closed behind them, I slid down the glass and curled into a ball in the floor.  I sobbed like a child, openly in front of Bradbury.  I didn't care.  I was dying.  I was in excruciating pain.  I was going to be a monster.  My entire
family was monsters.  I would never see Addy again.  I would never get to tell her I loved her, or touch her, or hear her voice ever again.  My best friend in the entire world had just left thinking I didn't want him around.  Now I was left alone with a mad scientist who got his jollies by experimenting on humans.  And I had just granted him free rein to perform whatever sick and disturbing test on me he pleased.

Yeah, I cried like a baby.

15

B
radbury allowed me to continue in my self-pity wallow for nearly ten minutes before he attempted to bring it to an end.

"Come now, it's not as bad as all that," he said from where he sat beside the hospital bed.

Another volley of pain assaulted my insides, making me writhe uncontrollably on the floor.

"Stephen, triple Mr. Hawthorne's dosage," Bradbury said, addressing my drug supplier.  Stephen complied and sweet relief swept through me.

"Doyle, it’s time to uphold your end of our bargain.  Please return to the bed so we can begin the evaluation."  Bradbury's voice was soft, but something told me he was not to be taken lightly.  Grabbing the railing in front of the glass barrier, I pulled myself to my feet and slowly staggered my way back to the hospital bed.  I fell in sideways, and Stephen stepped forward to roll me onto my back. 

For the next few hours, I was visited by various staff members who each required different tests for their particular field of study.  It started out simple enough.  Someone took my blood pressure and temperature while other facility personnel withdrew blood samples.  Someone required urine, for which I obliged
, although urination under surveillance has never been a fantasy of mine and I was not allowed by myself for any reason.

People came and went, poking here, prodding there,
and leaving me to grow more tired with each test.  Occasionally someone would, unintentionally or otherwise, inflict a significant amount of pain, and Stephen would return to his post of providing medicinal comfort.  Maybe it was the morphine talking, but in another life, I considered the possibility of being pals with Stephen.

Bradbury sat quietly observing at the side of my bed the entire time.  After a host of staff members had been paraded through the examination room, he finally spoke.

"I believe that takes care of the preliminaries.  Let us begin the invasive testing."

Not having the energy to do anything else, I whimpered in response.

"Stephen, be ready; we may have to knock him out for the next series," Bradbury said, as if this was his routine Monday schedule.

My head lolled to the side
, and I saw two men wheeling a cart toward the bed.  As they came closer, I could see all manner of sharp instruments laid from end to end. 
Oh God, why would they need a hacksaw?
  I involuntarily threw up in my mouth and someone hurried to suction it out, as I lacked the strength to spit.

One of the men picked a long, slender scalpel from off the table and turned his attention to my leg.  I tried to see what was happening, but I couldn
’t.  I felt the incision and glared hopelessly at Bradbury. 

"They need samples of muscle tissue to compare during your second and third shad
es.  Your vastus lateralis in your thigh will undergo more prominent physical changes than any other muscle by the third shade.  You'll understand why when you begin to spend more time in a crouch than you do standing."

I could feel the flesh of my leg being splayed open, but thanks to good old Stephen, the sensation was severely dulled compared to what it could have been.  After several minutes, the man with the scalpel bagged his coveted tissues samples and left to make way for the next lab
coat.

The new guy picked up a small hand drill from the table of torture.  I couldn't imagine which of my body parts
was his intended focal point.  It didn't matter.  I screamed at my body to move, to run, to start throwing punches, anything.  All I got was a half-hearted wiggle.

"
I must relay the importance of keeping still during the invasive testing," warned Bradbury.

I tried in vain to scream.  It came out as a mumble.  My lips barely moved
, and I was momentarily relieved to see Bradbury hold up his hand to stop the drill coming any closer.  He leaned his ear close to my mouth.

"I thought I was the monster," I managed in a barely audible whisper.  I knew enough to know a request for clemency would have fallen upon deaf ears. 

Bradbury righted himself. 

"Stephen, Mr. Hawthorne has requested to be knocked out for the remainder of the testing."  Looking at me, he continued, "See Doyle?  I am not without compassion."  He leaned down, close to my ear.  "But make no
mistake; I always get what I want, one way or another.  I'd advise you to remember our agreement."

The rage that had
begun to coil inside me was quickly snuffed out by the morphine injection.  My eyes grew heavy, and I found myself giving in willingly to the sedation.  There was nothing I could do to stop that drill, or any other implement of torture, from being used on me.  There was no one coming to save me from the hands of these madmen.  My very best option was in welcoming unconsciousness.  So I did.

* * *

The sun shone down brightly on the happily-situated, little cottage, and wildflowers carpeted the entire clearing.  A soft breeze wound through the trees, rustling the leaves.  I turned my face up to the sun to revel in the warmth, and I inhaled deeply. 

I surveyed the perimeter of the clearing and found woodland as far as the eye could see
, but there was no fear in the isolation, only tranquility.  I turned to face the cottage and realized it seemed familiar. 
Had I been here before?

With its quaint
, thatched roof and ivy trailing up the side, it drew me closer.  Déjà vu tickled the forefront of my mind as I approached the door of the cottage.  Mid-stride, awareness assaulted me, and I broke into a dead run.  Reaching the door, I flung it wide.

My mother sat in her rocking chair in front of the hearth and appeared startled when I entered. 

"Doyle!" she cried out and ran to embrace me.  Huge teardrops rushed down her cheeks.  She wrapped her arms around me and kissed my forehead.  "You didn't run.  Oh Doyle, why didn't you run?"

The lump in my throat kept me from answering her
, and she hugged me tighter.  After the last few hours of painful testing, this one kind touch was enough to reduce me to tears yet again.  She needed to coddle me as a mother coddles a small child, and I needed to let her. 

I wanted to tell her everything, all of it.  All about Addy and how I would never see her again.  I wanted to tell her how I had to make Chuck leave and how, even at that very moment, Bradbury was doing unspeakable things to me.  I wanted to tell her about Dad and William
.  But I couldn't say anything, and so I just stood there and let her hug me until the fire in the hearth began to die.

"Your fire is almost out," I said, crossing the room to kneel and prod at the logs with the poker.

She moved too, reclaiming her seat in front of the hearth.  The second chair was also there, the one I had used on my first visit.  I sat down, and she smiled at me.

"Will you sing to me?" I asked.

She smiled again, and in the waning sunlight she appeared very young.

"Of course
."

I closed my eyes and pressed back into the chair, gently setting the rocker in motion with my feet.

My mother began to sing, and for a moment, all was right in the world.  When she finished, we exchanged glances.

"So, tell me," she s
aid, smiling.  "Is my son dating anyone?"

I choked back a laugh.  "Dating?  Mom, I'm dying," I said without the weight of solemnity.

My mother smirked good-naturedly.  "In your case dear, not even death will hinder your pursuit of the right girl."

I attempted to suppress a grin as I looked toward the floor.

"Ah, I thought so.  What's her name?" she prodded.

"Addy," I answered.  "She's
beautiful and kind and smart.”  I stared into the fire, watching the flames slowly consume the wood. 

"I sent Chuck to tell her I was dying," I said, suddenly sobering under my present circumstances.

"Don't give up hope.  Even in your darkest hour, there’s always cause for hope.  It's the one thing no one can take from you."

"
If anyone would be able to figure out a way, it would be Bradbury.  I'm sure he would want samples of it," I sighed.

She reached out and held my hand in hers.  "I know it looks bad now, but you have to remember that good always prevails."

"But I won't be good for long.  I'll be some kind of mutant monstrosity."

She sensed my desperation.  "Don't spend any time worrying about that.  You may not be able to stop the process, but you can have control over the result.  What makes a man a monster lies in his heart, not in his appearance.  So no matter how many extra teeth you may
sprout, you'll always be my little boy."  The corners of her mouth turned up, and she resumed her rocking.

We
sat in comfortable silence for a while, and I began to feel an ounce of peace take root in my heart.  I wanted to stay, but all too soon, I felt the pull of the outside world.

"Mom, I think I have to go," I said, rising from the chair.  She stood too and hugged me around the waist.

"I love you, Doyle."

"I love you too, Mom."

"Don't forget, there’s always cause for hope.  Don't extinguish it."

The room blurred, and I felt myself begin to slide through the
figurative doorway that connected the two realms.

"I won't forget." 

* * *

"You won't forget what?" asked Bradbury, standing above me.

I was in a small efficiency-style apartment.  The room was clean and furnished with a refrigerator and television.  I could see a small bathroom to the left side of my bed.

"I won't forget
your courtesy of the pain killer," I said, swallowing my hatred. 

I may have agreed to submit to testing, but I sure wasn't going to offer up any tidbits of information voluntarily.  The fact that I had visited my mother twice now would never be known by Bradbury.

He smiled graciously down at me.  "There now, I'd like to believe we could get along on friendly terms.  And look, I've brought you your own analgesic pump."  He gestured to a box on a hospital pole at the top of my bed.

"See, every time you experience pain, you just push the button."  He handed me a cord with a button on the
end.  "Medication will be injected into your IV.  Don't worry, there's no way to overdose, the machine has a built in lock out.  Each press of the button is timed.  Although if you should find the dose continually inadequate, give us a wave," Bradbury said, pointing to a camera in the corner of the ceiling.  "And we'll come down and see how we can best accommodate you."

I stared at the camera that was I was to be policed by. 

"Do you find your room comfortable?" Edgar asked.

"Quite.  But
I guess anything would look comfortable when you're expecting to be locked in a cage."

Bradbury stifled a chuckle.

"Oh, eventually, make no mistake, we will have no other choice but to go that route.  But right now, in the first shade, you pose zero threat," he said, beneath his rosy smile.

I tried to sit up
, and pain sliced at my arms.  I pushed the button Edgar had handed me.  Liquid happiness twined its way through my system.

"Now, I just have one last test I require of you today."  He handed me a cup.  "I need a sperm sample.  We save this test for last so that you are granted the most privacy you will be allowed."

I stared at the camera. 
Perverts
.

"Is there anything you will need? 
Movies?  Magazines?" Bradbury offered.

"I need you to leave.  Can I have that?" I answered snidely.

He placed his hands on his belly and gave a deep laugh.  "I suppose I'll leave you to it then," he said making his way to the door.  He paused halfway through.  "Oh and Doyle, just to prove to you what an asset having me as a friend would be, I have a little surprise scheduled to arrive tonight.  I daresay you will be very pleased."  He exited the room, and I heard a lock click into place.

I stared at the cup in my hand.  I stared at the camera. 

I might have considered getting up to the bathroom, had I had someone to assist me.  My current condition led me to believe I would not make it there on my own.  But I was willing to bet there was a camera mounted in there too. 
Freaks.

I blew out a sigh. 
Let's get this over with.

I drew up my comforter
, and once I was buried inside the warm cocoon, I began the ritual of abusing myself.  Despite everything I'd been through that day, I was relieved to find all equipment functioning properly.  When I had finished, I held the cup in the air and waved it in the direction of the camera before sitting it on the night stand beside the bed.

Rolling over
to face the wall caused another wave of pain, and I pressed my morphine button repeatedly.  As I began to mellow, I heard someone unlock my door and enter.  They walked to the side of my bed, where I presumed they collected their sample, and made their way back to the door.  Another click of the lock, and I knew I was once again by myself.