My Familiar Stranger (7 page)

They were almost back to Elora’s room when the emergency double doors crashed open and a voice was on the P.A. urgently talking about codes. Three medics were moving fast, guiding a gurney bearing a young guy with an oxygen mask over his face. He was covered with blood. One of the nurses shouted, “Make way!”

Storm pressed Elora backward toward the wall trying to make them as small as possible quickly, but gently keeping in mind that she was still fragile.

Three guys followed the frantic activity. Every one of them looked haunted, soberly watching that gurney roll away with grave expressions and a lot of blood on their own clothes. A couple of them looked to be bleeding from their own wounds.

In their dazed state it took a couple of minutes to register Elora’s presence. When they did, their heads came up in unison as they looked from Elora to Storm and back again. Their eyes came to rest on the familiar way he had his hands on her.

Female personnel in the infirmary were common. A female patient wasn’t just an oddity. It was impossible.

After their eyes swept over Elora’s still swollen and discolored body, they looked questioningly at Storm. He shook his head at them and turned Elora toward the door to her room. He knew that small, silent communication would be enough to suppress the spread of rumor, but that it was only a matter of time until everyone at Jefferson Unit was aware of her presence and wanting to know more.

Once inside she raised the back of the bed, sat, then eased onto her side trying to use as few muscles as possible. She pulled her legs up and adjusted her body so that she was half sitting and half curled into a fetal position.

“Are you going to tell me or are you going to make me ask?”

Storm closed the door. “You know this is a military base.”

“So you’re at war?”

“Not the conventional kind, no.” He pulled a chair up beside the bed. When he sat down he was so tall that they were eye to eye. “I’ve promised not to say more until we’ve had a chance to ask you some questions.”

She smirked. “You mean interrogate me.”

“I mean ask questions. I’ve never been involved in this sort of thing so I don’t know exactly what to expect, but I’ve spent half my life with this organization and I know their commitment to ethics. I swear you will not be treated badly. I know you have a lot of questions of your own and I’ll make you a deal. You get well and I will move heaven and earth to get you out of here.”

She didn’t know if he had any actual power or authority, but she’d bet her booties that he meant what he was saying. Her eyes were getting too heavy to stay open.

“Okay.” And just like that she was asleep, snoring lightly.

Storm pulled the covers up over her and left the room.

***

BLACK SWAN FIELD TRAINING MANUAL Chapter 6, #31

Because there is an erotic element in vampirism, female victims are the rule. Human females are usually not susceptible to the vampire virus, but survivors are rare because of massive physical damage. Consequently, the great majority of vampire are male, having contracted the virus through contact rather than bite. Ironically, the contact wounds are often received in defense of a vampire’s target.

Chapter 8 #22

The paralyzing saliva of vampire takes effect within five seconds of entering the bloodstream. The saliva contains the agents of paralysis and the living virus. A victim infected with the virus, but not drained of blood, will transition to vampire in two to three days.

The worst was over. The pain was quickly being relegated to memory in that merciful way the brain has of protecting us from perpetually reliving every atrocity visited upon us by life. She was completely free of medication and starting to look ahead to the possibility of getting out of the goldfish bowl where she lived. Her day to day progress was accelerating. Within another two weeks after witnessing the incident of D Team returning from assignment with a man down, all external indications of injury were gone. Her skin was flawless in color and texture. All signs of swelling were gone and Storm finally got to find out what she looked like. Beautiful.

One day on his way in to visit, he passed the glass that separated Elora’s special accommodation from the hallway and stopped short so that he could watch her Tai Chi routine in progress. She was wearing Danskins, going through the movements slowly, deliberately, with the grace of a dancer and the muscle control of an athlete.

The form fitting tights revealed that she was neither too thin nor overly curvaceous.
Just right.
Because she was tall, her neck, arms and legs appeared long. Even after an extended convalescence she had retained enough muscular definition to indicate that she had been in top physical condition before the injury.

When she turned she caught Storm’s shape on the other side of the window in her peripheral vision. To finish quickly, she sped up the routine to the much faster pace of Tai Chi when used as a martial art rather than an exercise or meditation regimen.

Storm was amazed. He was amazed by the swiftness of her recovery. He was amazed at the strength and beauty of the movement. And he was amazed by the woman. When she stopped, they stood facing each other, separated by a glass barrier that was almost invisible, but practically impenetrable. When he made no move to enter, she finally smiled and said, “I can’t come out there. You’ll have to come in here.” And motioned toward the door.

He shook himself out of the spell that had him mesmerized and came through the door smiling. “Is that thing you were doing your way of saying you’re ready to get out of here?”

“Yes. How about now?”

“I wish. I told you I’d get you together with the powers-that-be when you’re ready. I know you want to be ready, but we need to be sure you’re up for a series of questions. I’m not saying it will be brutal, but sometimes people are afraid of what they don’t understand. Incredibly, that even goes for people who work here. The last thing we want is to set your progress back.”

“There is only one way to find out. And I need to get out of here. Will you be there?”

“I can ask if that’s what you want.”

When shopping for clothes online, she hadn’t thought to buy a face-the-tribunal outfit. After looking through the options several times, she pulled on charcoal gray knit pants and a black silk turtleneck, not too loose, not too tight. She tucked the pants inside her riding boots and already felt better. There was something about low heeled boots that gave her confidence, or, if not that, at least made her feel a little less vulnerable.

She stretched the walk from the infirmary by going slowly so that she could enjoy the change of scenery and the larger picture of the facility where she was being healed and held. There wasn’t as much to see as she had hoped. Long expanses of hallways, white floors cleaned and polished to a gleam. They encountered a few people who were clearly curious about her presence. She supposed that meant that the medical staff know how to keep a secret.

Storm was a little amused by the leisurely pace she was setting. He had, after all, seen her in action and knew she could move if she wanted to, but he didn’t see any potential harm in allowing her to take her time.

On the 1st day of October, Elora entered the Chamber for the second time. This time she walked in on her own, accompanied by Engel Storm and an orderly who sort of doubled as security guard.

In one quick sweep she took in the surroundings. The walls were interrupted by four equidistant doors, placed at the quarter points to balance the room energetically and symbolically forming an equal armed cross. The doors, made of high polished cherry, added warmth to the room despite the intricate glyph carvings suggesting the arcane, if not occult. There were no windows other than a large, domed skylight forty feet overhead.

Everything was the same, so far as she could remember, except that the portable podium had been removed and replaced by a conference table with chairs, lamps, writing materials, and pitchers of water. Seated at the table were five senior level personnel including Sol and Monq, the exact number necessary to form a quorum for purposes of a deliberative hearing. One other guy sat off to the side at a table laden with tech equipment.

Elora’s eyes went immediately to Monq. His hair was cut short and he wore a button down shirt and slacks which was an odd look for him, but it was still unmistakably Monq. For a split second she was relieved to see a familiar face, but that was quickly replaced with outrage over being betrayed and thrown into a machine that had scrambled her body inside out, then delivered her prisoner into this strange place.

The fact that he regarded her with nothing more than a dispassionate objectivity enraged her even further. Without warning she lunged for Monq. In two explosive steps she had grabbed him by the front of his shirt with both hands and effortlessly dragged him to his feet like a rag doll so that they were face to face.

“Why?” The sound she made was somewhere between an accusation and a sob. “Why did you do this? My family trusted you. I trusted you. All my life. You were more than my tutor.” Her voice broke. “I thought you were my friend.”

At that point the dam that had been holding back all her unspent emotion broke open. She began to sob convulsively at the same time she was shaking Monq back and forth. For the family she had witnessed murdered. For the agony she had endured. For the uncertainty and confusion. She continued to hold him up with her left hand while she brought her right hand back and formed a fist with every intention of striking Monq in the face.

Storm, having been captivated by the unfolding drama, like everyone else in the room, swiftly moved into action. He grabbed her by the hand she had drawn back and pulled her away and into his arms. She curled into him willingly, hugging him around the waist, and sobbing into his chest for what seemed like a very long time.

When finally she quieted and began to regain some composure, she felt humiliated by the public breakdown. No one in the room was unaffected, not even the hard crusted Sovereign. No one in the room thought she was acting a part. Storm turned to Sol and suggested that they delay the hearing for a day.

Sol nodded. “Yes. Let the young lady have a day. Reconvening here tomorrow. Same time.”

Storm called for Jim, the orderly/guard, who was waiting just outside the Chamber doors, and asked him to see Elora back to the infirmary. He leaned down and promised her that he would follow momentarily.

When she was clear of the room, Storm looked from face to face around the table. “I think there’s a good chance that we know more about what’s happened than she does. It was a mistake to keep her isolated and completely in the dark. It may even have been cruel.

Surely you understand that she’s the victim here. When she arrived here, in this very room, she was as good as dead. It’s more than a miracle she’s not. I know because I was there. If you saw what she’s been through you’d know that nobody, no matter how zealous or masochistic, would willingly go through it. Give me clearance to tell her what we know.”

Monq, still looking pale and shaken, slid down into his chair. “I, for one, am convinced that she doesn’t understand what has transpired. I am also tending to agree with Sir Storm that it would be more productive to work together to sort this out. She needs answers as much as we do.”

Sol leaned against the table. “Anybody mind if I smoke?” Sol didn’t wait for an answer, but took out one of his little, black cigars and lit it with an old fashioned, ornate lighter, the kind you refill with lighter fluid.

Storm figured Sol must have listed off kilter. Smoking in the building, outside the poker room, was against the rules and Sol wasn’t the sort to call a rule a guideline. He was strictly by the book.

“Dr. Monq is right. She has skin in the game.” Sol winced slightly when he realized that was an unfortunate choice of phrase. “Any objections to briefing her?” Heads collectively shook from side to side. Sol surveyed the group, then nodded at Storm giving him an implied "go ahead".

Storm judged this a good time to press further. “She wants out of that room. What does she have to do to make that happen?”

Sol took a lengthy drag on his cigar, exhaled, and said, “She just has to tell the truth. Supported by polygraphic evidence. When we’re satisfied that everything is what it seems, we’ll explore the possibility of alternate quarters.” Sol looked down at his cigar. “That comes with a new set of problems though.

We can’t send her out into the general population saying ‘have a nice life and don’t mention that you’re from another dimension’. Likewise, we can’t give her freedom of the building and grounds without divulging the details of who we are and what we do.” He looked up at Storm again. “But I agree that we’re not in the business of imprisoning innocents. If she proves by truthful statement that she is a victim, as you say, we’ll figure something out.”

Storm nodded again. Satisfied with that, he went straight to see how Elora was doing and tell her the news that she was about to get some well deserved answers to a whole lot of questions. He held back nothing that he considered pertinent, not even the information that there had been, in his dimension, an Elora Laiken who died young of pneumonia. He did not mention her royal heritage or equestrian hobby because he was interested to learn how closely these details would match up with the Elora Laiken who was now stranded in his world.