The Blood In the Beginning (8 page)

Ava, come back.

My eyes popped open and I sucked in a breath.

‘Are you having trouble with the memories?' Rossi leaned in, and with him came the scent of the sea. The aroma was heavenly, organic, marred only by a trace of blood, but then, I was in a hospital. The whole place reeked of it. ‘You don't know, or you don't want to say?' he asked.

Huh?
I tried to clear my head.

‘Relax, Ava. You're on neutral ground. I'll look after you while you're here.'

I waited a moment as the last wisps of the dream-vision floated away. Maybe I was brain damaged, because no way was he making sense. ‘I'm okay, aren't I?'

‘I'd like to run more tests.'

I shrank back. ‘What tests?'

‘Just a chest x-ray and more blood work. A DNA —'

‘No.'

‘It won't hurt,' he reassured me, as if I was a frightened child.

‘You do not have my permission.' My voice upped an octave.

‘Ava, it's fine. Look at me. You're in no danger here.'

‘Easy for you to say. You're not the one strapped to a bed.' My throat constricted, forehead beaded with sweat.

‘No one's going to do that again.'

‘You strapped me to the bed?' I sat up, heat rushing through my limbs.

‘It was that, or let you take out the entire ward.' He levelled his eyes on me. ‘We have millions of dollars of equipment here. Couldn't let it happen.'

‘So you tied me down?'

‘I stayed with you the whole time, and you are fine now. Cognizant. I won't do anything without your consent, but you have some anomalies. Your breathing. It's unprecedented. Also, I'm concerned about your hearing.'

‘I hear, and breathe, just fine.' I didn't mention that my mind had switched momentarily to the Cousteau channel.
He doesn't need to know that.

Rossi gave me a quizzical look, which I returned with a blank stare.

‘You don't have my consent,' I repeated.

‘Alright,' he said. ‘We'll leave it for now.'

His penlight was out, flashing in front of me. ‘Ishihara test?'

The Ishihara test for colour blindness was standard, but what was he doing with the penlight, counting my rods and cones? ‘I'm red-green.'

He nodded, like it didn't surprise him, or maybe that was just his doctor face.

I looked at my chart while he took my blood pressure.

‘Approve of your treatment?' He pulled on the chart and I let it slip from my hands.

‘Why two transfusions? My PCV …'

His eyebrows went up. ‘Your packed cell volume?'

‘Sure, it was low, but nothing a banana bag wouldn't fix.' I squinted at the drip rack overhead and saw a haze of fluoro. ‘Oh.' It looked like I already had one. B vitamins were the extra zing in the IV fluids that turned them bright yellow, hence the name
banana bag
. But the transfusions explained some of my freaked-out disorientation. I always went a little nuts from them.
Another symptom to add to my list …

Rossi tilted his head. ‘You were … depleted.'

‘How did you know?'

He ran his hand through his shaggy hair. ‘You don't seem very well informed.'

‘And you don't seem to be helping that.'

‘Your depletion was obvious.'

That's supposed to fill me in?
Did he check my blood slides himself and catch the very hard to detect, rare and scarcely written about auto-immune condition? Sharp, if so. ‘You're treating my blood disorder?'

He hesitated. ‘Is that what you call it?'

What's he talking about?
My ultra-rare condition, hemosomic anemia, was a disorder where my red cells went into a kind of stasis and wouldn't wake until fresh blood was in my system. It flared up every year or so — I still didn't know why — but treatment was a whole blood transfusion, which is when the fun began. Most people don't know that besides the usual suspects of A, B, AB or O, there are at least twenty-nine other blood types. But I'm not on any of those charts. To add to the mystery, I could be transfused with any type, which is a plus. Downside? My condition was a timebomb. One of those AADDs — Aftermath associated degenerative diseases. Eventually, the auto-immune cells would win, or so they told me at CHI Tech. I planned to find the cause, and a cure, before they did. ‘What do you call it, Dr Rossi? There's no mention in my file.'

He flipped through my record, scribbling here and there. ‘Did you try page two?'

I had, and there was nothing about my blood condition that I could see, but I decided to play along. ‘Must have missed it.' His back was to me now. Those broad shoulders … I wondered if he surfed, or maybe just worked out. A martial art? I couldn't help imagining him rocking up to my training … rolling on the mats … pinning him down …

‘I train in jujitsu, weights … swimming, of course. You?'

Heat flushed my face again. My thoughts and vocal cords were working way outside the box today. ‘Has LAPD come back? A Detective Rourke?' I changed the subject as fast as I could, and suddenly fear washed over me. Would my stalker be waiting out in the hall?

‘Rourke is dropping in tomorrow, as soon as you are out of ICU, and Ava, you're safe,' he said without turning around.

Like I believed
that
! I pulled the covers up higher now that he appeared to be through with the physical.

‘You're under my protection here.' Rossi turned around and for a moment, I saw something in his look. It was excitement, curiosity and maybe a touch of caution. ‘How long have you been rogue?'

Whoa, left field.
I rubbed my temple. ‘I wouldn't use that word exactly. Yeah, no parents, grew up in the system, went a little wild, but hey, I'm fourth year medical science and up for a research internship. With CDC, if I'm lucky.'

‘That's not what I meant.'

I stared at him until he put the chart down.

‘You really don't know?' He crossed his arms and frowned, as if trying to work me out.

This man had to be the worst communicator ever. I was betting he was single. ‘When can I use my phone?'

He looked at his watch. ‘First thing in the morning.'

‘Then I'm out of here.' I wasn't asking.

‘I'll release you when you can walk without falling over.'

I made to stand up, showing him how fast I healed. The room whirled. The sound of the sea barrelled in and dragged me down to the sunken graveyard. Bioluminescence bloomed wherever I looked; it lit up the columns surrounding the tombs. The gravestones were chiselled with symbols, nothing I recognised. Part of me wanted to reach out and touch them, trace them with my fingertip, but I snapped my hand back, frozen to the spot. Like a horror movie, a woman rose from the tomb in front of me. She was beautiful and terrible, and not wearing a thing. I tried to get away, but all I could do was flail about.

The woman was calm, utterly at home in this submerged world. I backed until I hit the tomb behind me. Something pushed me down … My vision flickered back to Rossi. He pressed me into the bed, only the paper gown between his hand and my chest. ‘Ava, it's alright. No one can hurt you here.' He lingered there, as if waiting for something. Finally he straightened. ‘Any other questions?'

I shook my head, vanquishing the hallucination. ‘Have I had any visitors?'

‘The woman who came in with the ambulance was back the next day. Cate, is it? I told her you'd call, when you could. Those came as well.' He pointed over his shoulder without looking. ‘From Daniel. Your boyfriend?'

‘My boss.' I hardly glanced at the massive bouquet of yellow roses. ‘What day is it?'

‘Sunday.' He looked at his watch. ‘Monday now.'

That had me counting on my fingers. ‘I've been here three days?'

He nodded.

I formed the next sentence carefully. ‘May I please have my phone?' Cate would be out of her mind with worry.

‘Not in here. When you make it under your own steam to the patients' lounge, you can use it.' Rossi tucked the clipboard back in the holder. ‘Don't worry. She's been calling the nurses' station for updates.' His look was parental, not that I'd had any of that since the Big One.

The nurse came with a bowl of soup and Rossi left, pulling my privacy curtain closed. The broth was warm and soothing, and even better with extra salt. I drained it and closed my eyes. Maybe it would make more sense in the morning. Either way, come tomorrow, I was out of here. No tests.
No freaking way.

CHAPTER SIX

The patient lounge was on another floor. Rossi hadn't mentioned that, but the next day, I was discharged from ICU and put in a rehab ward. The Sykes healing gene had kicked in. The more I learnt in bio, the more I knew my immune system was off the charts, in both directions. Part of the gift-curse of hemosomic anemia, was my best guess. It presented in one of two extremes: hyperbolic metabolism, which meant wound healing was a superpower, or the dead opposite, where I went into near-suspended animation until transfused. The worry, of course, was I'd go into the damn stupor and never come out, or go so far to the opposite end my cells would virtually explode. For now, I was feeling somewhere in the middle. Nice. It was a short walk to the lounge from my room on the new ward. No problem making it ‘under my own steam,' as Dr Rossi had called it.
Who says that any more? Steampunks?

Detective Rourke, who'd promised he was on his way, hadn't arrived, so I sat on a dark blue, overstuffed couch and texted Cate.
Hey saviour, give me a lift.
While I waited for her to reply, I picked the scab around my wrist.

At yours now, grabbing things,
Cate texted.
They letting you out already?

I texted back,
Yeah, on good behaviour. LOL.

Ha Ha.

Bring tee, jeans and boots? Bra? Laptop?
I was in a hospital issue tracksuit, less than attractive, not that it mattered. It seemed my clothes had been scissored to death in the ER.
Contacts on sink? Blind as bat here.

Cool. Joey's taking me. C U xx

Crap. Crap. Crap.
I didn't text that, but I sure as hell thought it. Cate had been vulnerable and scared. I was hospitalised and she went straight back to jackass Joey.

I texted back,
K. b careful.
As I tapped ‘Send,' Rourke showed.

He paused for a moment before taking the single lounge chair opposite me. ‘You look like hell, Ava.'

I leaned in to focus on his face. ‘So do you.' He smelled of cigarettes and exhaustion. ‘Tell me you haven't lit up.'

‘Haven't.'

I took a long, exaggerated sniff. ‘Liar.'

Rourke shook his head. ‘Been arguing with Flanagan. He's a chimney.'

‘Flanagan?'

‘Never mind. Tell me what the hell happened.' He had his tablet out. This was official.

‘My first night working for Poseidon …'

His brows went up. ‘When were you going to tell me?'

‘Yesterday, at class, but I was unconscious, so didn't manage it.'

He ignored my snark and kept going with the question. ‘Did Poseidon scout you?'

I thought about it. ‘My friend Cate works there. She mentioned me to her boss.'

‘Daniel Bane?' He frowned. ‘He wants to take you under his wing?'

‘I don't think there are any wings involved.'

‘Are you seeing him?'

‘Of course not. I work there, that's all.' My face heated as I spoke, because it wasn't the whole truth. I knew Bane had some kind of other intentions. I mean, the kazillion roses? The cute note? But, it was none of Rourke's business and I hadn't had time to sort it in my own head yet. Besides, the answer should have been ‘no', so I stuck to it.

‘Duly noted. Go on, please.'

‘I was attacked on the way home.'

‘Time?'

‘'Bout one a.m.'

‘Walking? From Grand Avenue?'

‘Do you want me to tell the story or not?'

He pressed his lips together and I shared the whole thing, starting with my little trip to hell, a la VIP.

When I finished, he said, ‘You let him hurt you this badly?' Rourke knew how strong I was. Hell, he'd trained me from white belt to black in jujitsu and coached me in MMA. Street fighting wasn't a foreign language to me.

I sat up straighter. ‘I didn't
let
him do anything.'

‘But he got the jump?'

‘Did you not register the part about VIP? I was trying to wrap my head around what I saw. A bit distracting.'

‘I've heard they put on quite a show.' His eyes didn't meet mine.

‘No kidding.' I glanced away as well.

‘Can I see your wrist?'

‘The perp tied something around it when he first pinned me. Weird, eh?'

Rourke frowned as he held my hand, turning it to examine the damage. ‘Hmm.'

‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘Maybe nothing.'

‘But if it were something?'

He sighed. ‘Keep this to yourself, but it's the copycat's MO.'

‘Copycat?'

‘We've kept it out of the news, but some savvy journalist will put it together.'

‘You aren't making sense.'

‘The attack matches a stack of unsolved cases from ninety years ago. We don't see how it could be the same guy, hence, copycat.'

‘Yeah, it wasn't a geriatric dude that jumped me.' I stopped to chuckle, but Rourke didn't join me. ‘What's the MO, exactly?'

Rourke looked at his hands as he talked. ‘All the bodies had the same calling card: a tightly tied, coloured ribbon around their swollen wrists, or sometimes ankles. Usually coeds from the university.'

A wave of nausea rocked me. ‘My stalker's that guy? Did he take Daina?'

‘You know her?'

‘Yeah, a bit.'