The Source (32 page)

I subtly start to shake my head back and forth, like I
didn’t want to hear any explanations for this…this nightmare.

“Emma, listen to me,” Rick pleads. “That vampire is
not a child. He’s one hundred and three years old.” I just continue to look at
him, my eyes fuzzy as if I’m seeing him through a haze.

“He’s a very old vampire. Not only that, he’s a
pedophile. He used having a child’s body to lure human children away from their
parents. He would then sexually abuse those children before killing them. He
may look like a child, but he’s a monster. We can’t allow him to live.”

I slowly nodded with my eyes wide before I turn to
gaze at the monster in his cage, still making childlike hand gestures. I turn
my attention back to our audience who are still whispering and motioning toward
the metal cell.

Rick places his other hand on my knee. “Emma, I’ll
administer the chemicals. You don’t have to do it.”

I shake my head, still staring out into the audience.
I try to concentrate on just breathing, but even that seems like too much right
now. Rick rubs his hand in circles around my knee, his voice sounding pleading,
“Emma?”

I slowly turn to him. “No, I’ll still do it. I’ll
still pull the trigger.” I can feel that my eyes are still wide, almost as if
I’m subconsciously willing more light into my vision to block out the darkness.

Rick’s face softens. “You don’t have to. I can do it.”

I feign a brave smile and shake my head again,
fighting the tears that are struggling to escape. “No, Rick. I actually want to
do it.” A shocked expression crosses his face. I turn back to look at the
gaping crowd. I whisper, “Sometimes it’s easier to do something than it is to
talk about it.”

Rick pauses and then slides his hands from my arm and
knee, slowly leaning back in his chair. It seems like ages before Mr. Caulfield
finally steps behind the podium to address the twittering audience. As I stare
ahead of me, I can barely hear him as if he’s speaking from a great distance. I
pick up a few sentences that let me know he’s explaining this particular
vampire’s crimes and why he has been sentenced to death.

“Without further delay,” Mr. Caulfield states as he
motions for Rick and I to begin our demonstration. Rick touches my shoulder as
a sort of prod to get me to move from my stationary position. I stand up as he
picks the box up, setting it on the empty chairs. He hands me the dual
distribution system then looks deeply into my eyes. I can do nothing but
slightly nod then cradle the system in my arms, like it’s a newborn ready to
meet the world, but the mother is too frightened to let go.

Rick begins explaining about our vision for the
project and how we were on much the same path as Drs. Vinh and Krishnamurthy.
I’m only half-listening as I stand in front of the cage, regarding the bogus
vampire child sitting in the corner. After a few moments, he stands up and
walks slowly to the front of his cell, his eyes never leaving me for even a
moment. No blinking, no anger, no fear…just a morbid resolve.

In the background I can hear Rick summing up the
findings of our research and how we developed the dual distribution system to
both incapacitate and annihilate any vampire that came into contact with the
chemicals. When he finishes, it’s my cue to press firmly on the trigger
mechanism that will begin the agonizing rain of death on a child monster whose
very existence is an abomination to human life and a blight on vampire
corporality.

I raise the container to waist level and aim the
tubing at what still looks like a small child. I hesitate for enough time that
the vampire begins to turn around in place, a soft murmur rising from the cage.
I step forward, feeling as if unseen strings that are orchestrating an
unscheduled and improper performance are pulling me forward. I strain to listen
as the soft singing and twisting of words begin to make sense to my frazzled
mind. He’s singing. He’s actually singing as a way of giving his last words. My
whole world is condensed into this one moment.

“Ring around the Rosy

Pocket full of Posy

Ashes, ashes

We all fall down”

I squeeze the trigger. A spray of vitamin D water,
saline, alcohol and formaldehyde drench the small frame of the vampire twisting
and turning before me. Multiple things happen at once. His body seems to fold
in on itself as his skin wrinkles and shrinks while the vitamin D begins eating
through his leather like encasing. He stops moving. Stops singing. That’s when
the screaming begins.

The vitamin D solution continues to erode his flesh
before he collapses onto his knees, his body then explodes into a torrent of
blood and gore. Then silence.

I didn’t even realize that my eyes were closed until I
felt a hand grasp my elbow before relieving me of the distribution system’s
weight. I open them to see gooey chunks sliding down the metal bars and a
crimson mass on the floor where the tiny vampire once stood. I look down at
myself to see that I had once again received the unrighteous baptism of vampire
blood and flesh, speckling all over my arms and down the front of my clothes. I
look up at Rick, the one who has been holding my arm as I wake from this
walking nightmare. I whisper, “I want to go home.” Then there’s darkness.

I wake up in a room similar to the one I was in before
when the nurse had cleaned me. Again, Rick is sitting by my side. Without
preamble, I sit up a little too suddenly and put my fingers to my temples,
rubbing slightly. Resting my hands in my lap, I glance at Rick. He’s watching
me rather intently, almost like he is waiting to see what will happen next.

“You’re fine,” he begins. “The nurse already checked
you and there are no issues. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

My head bobs up and down almost uncontrollably. I slip
into an almost spastic state. “What else did I miss?”

“Well,” he leans forward running his hands through his
hair. “Mr. Caulfield thanked everyone and declared this the end of the project
work. You and I will receive the fifty thousand dollar bonuses. He wants us to
meet him here at the facility at 8:00 p.m. tomorrow.”

I continue to look at him, still nodding.

He briefly smiles, whispering, “We did it, Emma. You
were great. One of the bravest things I’ve ever seen a human do.”

The nodding seems to involuntarily stop because I
don’t remember trying to stop the neck motion. I simply state, “I want to go
home.”

He nods then helps me from the makeshift hospital bed.
We return to our suite to collect our things. I dig my keys out of my purse and
hand them to him. Without saying a word, he takes the hint and the keys before
leading me out to my car. For the first time that I can remember, I get into my
own car on the passenger’s side without any help. We drive to my apartment in
complete silence. We arrive to find that the paint is still on my front door. I
guess the landlord was too busy to paint over it. Just another reminder of
things that I would rather forget.

I go directly to the bedroom and get a change of
clothes before heading to the bathroom to take a shower. I momentarily notice
Rick sitting on the couch, running his hands back and forth on his legs. I
wonder what he’s thinking, but don’t have the will to ask. Instead I slowly
begin the all-too-familiar process of washing dead vampire from my hair and
body. My showers were once my solace, my place to escape from the world’s
troubles so I could think clearly and have amazing ideas. Now it’s the place
where I scrub the world’s troubles from my reddened and chafed skin. I have a
deepening sense my personal altar has been defaced…by my own doing, my own
choices.

I turn the water off, towel dry and put fresh clothes
on before joining Rick in the living room. He’s still sitting in the same
position he was in before I went to shower. I stand behind the chair across
from him. I softly announce, “I’m going to bed.”

Before I can turn he says, “You don’t want to talk
about it?”

I look down at the floor. I can’t look at him right
now. If I do, I’m afraid that I’ll burst into tears. “No, Rick. Like I said,
sometimes it’s easier to do something than it is to talk about it. I just
can’t. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

I walk to the bedroom door before Rick responds,
“You’re still you. Regardless of what you did and how distasteful it is, you’re
still Dr. Emma Burcham. The most kind-hearted person I know.”

I close my eyes as a few tears run down my face. Damn
him and his empathy. No matter what he says, I know this has changed me on a
deep, almost molecular level. In the darkness of my bedroom, I crawl under the
covers and pray for the peace of dreamless sleep.

 
I languish in bed
until late afternoon. My sleep wasn’t dreamless, but it was still preferable to
what my waking hours have been like since working on the project. I sit up and
look over the side of the bed where Rick is sleeping soundly on the floor. He literally
sleeps like the dead. I guess that’s where the myth came from that vampires die
at dusk. Just wish I could sleep that well every night.

I get up as
quietly as possible and go to the living room. Sitting on the couch I try to
figure out what I’m going to do with my life now that the project is over, and
more importantly, who am I now that I’ve done the things that I’ve done? Rick
says I’m the same person. I sure don’t feel the same. If anything, I
feel…broken. Logically I know that the demonstration yesterday went seamlessly
and the world is a better place without such a deplorable creature roaming the
streets. Still, when it came down to pressing that trigger, I was still looking
at a child when I did it. I can tell myself over and over again that we killed
a hundred-and-three-year-old vampire, but the identifiable nature of the images
forever tattooed on my memory is not something that I expect to get over any
time soon.

Does it make me a
bad person? No. It just makes me a person who is willing to do bad things in
the name of science, in the name of human survival…in the name of what is
right? I don’t know. Forcing this internal debate aside, I pick up the phone to
call mom.

“Hello,” mom
states.

“Howdy, mama. How
are you?”

“Well, Emma Jean.
It’s about time I heard from ya. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Why do you think
something is wrong?” I ask.

“’Cause you
called me ‘mama,’ Emma Jean and you only do that when somethin’ is wrong. What
is it?”

“Well, we
finished the project. Rick and I actually developed something that works. We
will both receive a bonus.”

“That’s
wonderful, Emma Jean. Will you have to stay in Rowan much longer?”

I think for a few
moments. “I don’t really know. I don’t think so. No more work will be done on
the project, unless they need us to stay and oversee implementation of our
work. I doubt it though. So once I get my final payment, I guess I’ll be coming
back to Huntington.”

“My prayers have
been answered! I’ve been countin’ down the days ‘til you’d be home.”

Smiling I say, “I
know, mama. But nothing’s definite yet.”

“So what else is
botherin’ ya?” she asks.

“Um,” I stammer,
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with all of the work that we did here.”

“Not comfortable?
But I thought you all had the best project?”

“We did, but the
actual nature of the project itself is somewhat troubling,” I respond.

“Emma Jean, was
anyone hurt with what you did?”

“Yes.”

“Was it a good
person that was hurt?” she asks.

“Not exactly.
Definitely not good,” I answer vaguely, not wanting to involve mom in too many
of the details.

“Your pawpaw had
a dog. I loved that dog. He was like my best friend, which is kinda sad if you
think about it.”

“Mom, I’m not
talking about dogs,” I interrupt.

“Emma Jean, you
hush and listen. This dog, I sure did love him. He was kinda moody though. Some
neighbors had told your pawpaw that the dog growled at them and even chased
them, trying to bite. Pawpaw was going to put him down. I cried and begged him
not to because of how much it would hurt me. So, your pawpaw didn’t do it. He
didn’t want to see me upset. And I was so happy to still have my best friend. A
couple of months later, that dog bit a neighborhood boy who ended up having to
have two of his fingers amputated.”

“My God, mom,
that’s awful!” I exclaim.

“Yes. Was quite
awful. They came and took that dog away. I was hurt and crying over it. But I
can guarantee you that boy hurt more than me.”

“Um, mom, you’re
not trying to make me feel better are you? Because this story is not helping.”

“Emma Jean, we
all hurt. That’s a part of life. Sometimes we are given an opportunity to
prevent hurt. If we would have done something about that dang dog, that boy –
now a man – would still have his two fingers. But your pawpaw didn’t want to
hurt me although we saw the warning signs with that dog. If he would’ve allowed
me that hurt, a tragedy would’ve been prevented.”