The Source (27 page)

When we walk in, the lights automatically come on to
show a room with a few different large machines. There are two tables with
chairs at the front of the room, along with a whiteboard that looks so clean
that you could eat a meal from it. Well, unless you are Rick.

Gwen passes us to take a seat at the table on the right-hand
side of the room. Rick walks over to the other table and sets his bags down. I
follow suit as the assistants enter and let the door close and lock. I suddenly
feel trapped, especially since each assistant stands to one side of the door as
if they’re guarding it. I wring my hands and begin checking out the machines
while sneaking glances at the door, wishing them to take a seat and relax.

“Here’s the one we want,” Rick abruptly says.

I slightly jump and turn to him. “What is it?”

“Well, it’s what we need. Basically an
industrial-sized grinder.”

“Are there any instructions?”

Rick looks at me quizzically. “Why? What’s difficult
about putting tablets into the opening and turning the grinder on?”

I close one eye, sneering at him. “I meant like is
there only so much we can put into it? Is there a possibility of overloading it
and causing the engine to burn up?”

“Right,” he whispers. “Good thinking. Calm down.”

He walks over to the assistants. “Are there any
special instructions for the machine, like how much can be loaded into it?”

The man tips his head toward the cabinets on the far
wall as he says, “There are manuals and accessories in the cabinet on the
left.”

“Thanks,” Rick says as he doubles back to check the
contents of the cabinet. I wait as he rummages through what he finds while Gwen
lightly taps her pen on the table. It’s as if she is not only an archivist, but
also a time-taker, ticking off the seconds it takes Rick to find what we need.
Thankfully it doesn’t take too long or else the drumbeat would get annoying.

He returns with some sealed, sterile containers to
hold the ground powder. He then walks over to the table and picks up some of
the bags. “We can put about half of what we have into the grinder.”

I watch him silently, twisting my fingers into knots.
I hesitate and then finally ask, “Are you still thinking about using a
syringe?”

He stops in mid-stride, multiple bags in each hand.
“It might be more thorough if we get it into her blood stream. What if we dump
all of the powder on her, and she doesn’t get completely covered? What if that
affects the outcome?”

“Isn’t that a possibility with the syringe technique,
too? I mean, what if she hasn’t fed recently. Her heart wouldn’t be beating as
regularly, would it?”

“No, it wouldn’t,” he admitted. “But it would still be
beating enough to push any remaining blood through her system. Most likely once
the liquid entered her veins, her heart rate will react the same as if she had
blood in her system. Hopefully it would start beating more regularly and speed
up the process of spreading the solution throughout her body.”

I cross my arms, more hugging myself for comfort than
anything else. “Those seem like a lot of ‘ifs’.”

He smiles warmly at me. “That’s why they call it an
experiment. IF we knew for sure what would happen, we wouldn’t have to do it
the first place.”

I look down at the floor, kicking my foot back and
forth. After contemplating possible outcomes for a while, I finally look back
up to find Rick staring at me. The corners of his mouth turn up, but not into a
full smile, as if he’s confident but doesn’t want to seem too overly eager.

“Are you ready to help?” he asks.

I just look at him, still sweeping my foot across the
floor. I drop my arms to my sides and hurriedly exhale, like I was holding my
breath in hopes for a last-minute change in direction. I guess I had hit the
point of no return, or more honestly, I had hit the point where if I told
myself that if I have made it this far, I will see it through to the end. Mom
would be so proud. She always warned me against being a quitter. Growing up,
regardless of whether it was school activities or summer camp, my unhappiness
was never an issue because her mantra was “if you start something, you finish
it - no matter what.” Problem is, sometimes the “matter” does matter. But, old
habits die hard, especially when it was pound into your head for the greater
part of your childhood.

“Okay, let’s do this. What’s first?”

Rick hands me the container. “Position this container
at the end of the grinder then help me open these bottles and put them into the
receptacle.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” I quip.

“Aaarrrggg, you would make a fine wench,” he says in a
horrible pirate voice.

I raise one eyebrow at him.

“Sorry,” he says, “just trying to lighten the mood.”

I smile. “Thanks. It’s as light as an elephant now,
which is a significant improvement.”

I position the container then we begin opening half the
vitamin D bottles and empty the contents into the grinder. It seems to be a
very solemn act as we complete it in silence. It’s like we are reflecting on
the seriousness of what we are doing and don’t want to ruin the sacredness of
the moment by talking.

When we empty the last bottles, Rick motions to the
grinder. “Do you want to do the honors?”

My first reaction is to say no and I open my mouth,
but stop. I wet my lips, as my mouth is suddenly dry. “Sure, I’ll do it.” Rick
stands back to allow me extra space to get the machine started. It’s a gesture
that is more about giving me emotional space than physical space. I’ve never
known someone so in tune with my feelings. But then, I’ve never been so close
to a vampire before. That I’m aware of anyway.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath and say a silent
prayer. I press the green button and the grinder comes to life. The groaning of
metal permeates the room as the tablets are reduced to a fine powder. As Rick
and I stand by and watch the machine do it’s magic, I look into his face. “Does
any of this bother you?”

He turns to me with a surprised look on his face. “The
sound of the machine and smell of the tablets?”

“No, not that. You can smell the tablets? Never mind.
No, what we’re about to do to Thalia. Doesn’t it bother you?”

His eyes slide to half-mast. He turns to face forward,
away from me. “Yes, it bothers me.” He states it very simply, very
matter-of-fact-like.

“I don’t mean to pry. It’s just that you can sense how
I’m feeling so well. With you, I don’t know unless I ask. If I went by your
actions, I would think you didn’t care much at all.”

His head bobs up and down as he crosses his arms,
looking down at the floor. “I care. More than I let on. Not because I think
Thalia should be freed.” He lifts his head and looks at me. “I care because I
know that all it would take is a change in political climate, and it could be
me in that glass cell.”

My eye twitches as I imagine Rick in Thalia’s
position. His explanation is a verbal punch in the face, assaulting my senses
and my emotions. I continue to look at him, searching his eyes. I whisper,
“Then why do you do it?”

“Honestly? In part because by fighting the good fight,
I help to ensure that it will never be me on the other side of that glass. At
least that’s what I tell myself. The biggest reason is that I actually believe
in the purpose. I don’t think any of us are safe with individuals like Thalia
walking the streets, human or vampire.”

“I started this project because I needed the money,” I
admit. “Things have changed along the way. My views have changed.” I look away
from him, searching for the right words in the white walls of our seeming
confinement. “It’s no longer just about the money for me.”

He turns to me, taking a step closer. Even with his
nearness, I can’t bring myself to look at him. Not right now, not at this
moment. “It’s just,” I continue, “I know that the majority of everyone would be
safer if we take the extreme measures needed when dealing with vampires. I
agree and wholeheartedly support that. I just struggle with the idea of being
the one that helps decide how we deal with it. I didn’t think of this before
coming to Rowan. I guess I had assumed that I could remain detached.” I shrug.
“I don’t like being someone who helps to kill others, even if we are talking about
criminal vampires. I know I’m a hypocrite. It’s like, I support it, but I don’t
want to be the one to do it.”

Rick startles me by taking my hand. I look into his
face, which looks so firm yet gentle. It’s there in his eyes, his willingness
to comfort me. It’s a mysterious thing how the eyes can completely change the
look of someone’s face. They can make the face of a predator - a vampire - into
the calming lines of warmth and caring.

He runs his thumb over the back of my hand, slightly
squeezing. “You’re not a hypocrite. You’re just compassionate. Even when it
comes to the worst in people, your compassion stays your hand before moving too
quickly to judgment. That is genuine kindheartedness. You are the most humane,
even to the non-human. That makes you the most special person I have ever met.
And I don’t hold it against you. I admire you for it.”

He releases my hand, raising his to brush the back of
his fingers against my cheek. My lips slightly part as it becomes harder to
breathe. Rick runs his fingers over my chin, his tongue lightly running between
his lips. I have a quick moment of panic as I realize that he might actually
try to kiss me.

The grinder buzzer sounds to let us know the first
batch is done. Rick drops his hand and motions forward. “I’ll see how much room
we have left in the container.”

When he turns his back, breathing suddenly becomes easier.
I run my hand over my stomach, trying to quell the pressure of mixed emotions
building in the pit of my being. He admires me. He touched my cheek, and it was
the most loving feeling that I have ever experienced. I want so much to believe
that he’s being true, and it’s not just vampire mind tricks. Maybe someday I’ll
know for sure.

He returns to the table to pick up the rest of the
bags. “We should have plenty of room for the rest.”

We again start the solemn process of emptying the
bottles into the grinder. Once we’re done, I have a brave moment and take his
hand. “Please.” I look deeply into his eyes. “Let’s avoid an injection. That
level of civility somehow makes this even worse than it already is, like we can
‘sterilize and medical-ize’ it enough that it won’t be like torture, when we
both know that it is.”

He holds my gaze. He nods, placing his free hand over
mine as I gently squeeze the hand I am holding. “Okay. Let’s go forward with
the original plan. Surely they have some equipment around here that will help
distribute the powder evenly enough to emulate Thalia being out in direct
sunlight.”

I smile at him as I breathe a sigh of relief. I feel
like I have won a major battle, in a morbid way. It’s as if the cruelty has to
be as cruel as possible so I can make sure that no one could possibly forget
the gravity of what we are doing. What I am doing. Would it help my conscience?
Probably not, but at least I won’t be able to pretend that it’s just another
medical procedure.

Once all of the tablets are ground, Rick reseals the
container and carries it to the door. I motion to Gwen that we are ready to go
back up to the upper level of the facility. 

The assistants open the door and lead us back through
the conduit of hallways and stairways that take us to the reason we came to
this little town in West Virginia in the first place. Time to see if our work
would kill a vampire.

Mr. Caulfield is waiting for us when we arrive back at
Thalia’s cell. He’s standing with his hands clasped behind his back as if he is
the head of a major organization that is taking over the world. Wait. He is, in
a way. The vampire world at least.

We stop beside him as Rick continues to hold the
container filled with vitamin D powder. Mr. Caulfield looks at the box with
upraised eyebrows. “Is this all you need for the experiment?” he asks.

“No, sir,” Rick replies. “We will also need a device
that will distribute the powder over the majority of Thalia’s body.” Rick
pauses to look at me, his eyes confirming that the syringe idea has been laid
to rest. Looking back at Mr. Caulfield he continues, “I was imagining something
like a leaf blower. That is if the facility has such an implement.”

Mr. Caulfield blinks quickly then turns to the female
assistant. “Lower level, room 18.” Nothing more and the woman quickly turns and
retraces our steps to the equipment room below.

Room 18? I wonder just how many rooms there are down
there and what they all contain. Or maybe I don’t want to know. What I’m
actually doing on this project is enough; don’t need to cloud my brain with any
other government secrets.

As we wait, Rick turns to me. I’m trying very hard not
to make eye contact with anyone, including him. He steps closer to me and leans
into my personal space. “Are you okay?” he whispers.

I look up at him and nod, not wanting to commit to
anything with my voice. It would be too easy to tell that I am lying. He
regards me for a few moments then says, “When you’re ready to tell me the
truth, let me know.”