TLO Chapter 23

 Chapter 23

The lights were so bright that I was forced to close my eyes again. Their shine pierced my closed eyelids and still dazzled me, so I struggled to turn around in the bed, wondering why somebody would arrange the sheets so tightly around me. 

The reason was self-evident. My body hurt like hell after making the smallest movement. Therefore some genius thought that making a mummy out of me would prevent any hurtful movement. Through my half-open eyelids, I could see that I was in a large room devoid of every furniture or decoration but for one strange looking machine parked on a corned and a hook to hold an IV line attached to the back of my left hand.

“Don’t wiggle or you’ll regret it.” A voice from behind me said and I could hear footsteps circling the bed. 

Sven smirked in an attempt to smile at me. “Should be glad you’re still alive.”

“Can’t say the same about that witch, can we?” I retorted bitterly. 

“You’re certainly recovering if you can whine again.”

I huffed in reply and he shrugged back at me. So classy!

“Where are we?” I asked because that Swedish-Dane stare was unnerving. Any talk was better than his stern silence, a good match to the white floor to ceiling white tiles. That place looked like nothing like the clinic or hospital I had been before. Maybe if Lars was upset with me, then he didn’t feel obliged to spend much on medical care. 

“Observation room,” Sven answered dryly. “We keep the specimens in these. Should work for you for the moment. Maybe you’re transferred later but it isn’t up to me.”

“I don’t want to be here.” I told him and he smirked. 

“You don’t have a say in the matter,” he answered back. “It’s always better than the morgue. You should be grateful.” 

I tried to sit on the bed, wrestling against the suffocating sheets and covers but it was useless and painful for me.  

“Don’t move,” Sven chided me as if I were a child. “You’ll only make it worse.” His hand pushed me back to the mattress and I had to suffocate a yelp just to save a piece of my dignity. 

“Doctors will see you later but you’ll be here for quite some time. I’ve been appointed to care for you.” 

“You never did a good job as baby-sitter.” 

“That escapade of yours didn’t happen in my shift and thanks to it, we could better manage that rat. It was a clever move to hurt you to make Mr. Berggren to kill her almost instantly. That vixen saw what happened to the old man and knew she was next.” 

My silent question was met with a: “he had it coming as traitor to our cause. It was the Consortium’s decision. That fool sold us to the Chinese and Jews but they never got a shred of evidence of what you are or what we do. It was fun to toy with that bitch and you played your part well.” 

“What part? She was my shadow all the time!” 

“And I was hers. She was too distracted dealing with a brat like you and spying on the boss at the same time to notice me, following her. By the way, did I thank you for that tantrum and escapade to Scotland? That was our chance to neutralise her.”

“Mr. Berggren named her in your place!” 

“To keep a close eye on her,” Sven chortled. He was quite amused by my shock. “She was a spy, planted on us and what do you do with them? Kill them? No, it’s too notorious and you’d probably get a new one and you’ll have to look for them all over again. What you do is to place them where you can feed them rubbish and control the damage.” Sven came closer to me and whispered in my ear. “I think he even fucked her once or twice during a trip, just to give her hope she was doing it right.

“He was certainly fucking her for the past three months.” 

My blood froze and the earth stood still. 

“Mr. Berggren needed sound evidence of what was going on and she certainly provided what we needed to clean our backyard. 

“Don’t look so gloomy. You’re back to where you should have always been and you’re still alive despite all. I’m head of security and even Holgerssen is happy with the world.”

“I don’t get it,” I babbled and wondered if I were on another dimension. Was Sabrina a spy and Lars had been playing Agent Maxwell Smart? What could the Chinese want from him? 

“You should have never left this facility but you’re back again. Maybe he lets you out occasionally. He has a soft spot for you. After all, you’re his Rosetta Stone gone astray and recovered. He certainly took good care of you all these years. We all did.” 

“You don’t make any sense, Sven.” 

“You don’t want to make any sense of my words,” he rebuked me. “Suit yourself or put that brain of yours to work but stubborn as you are you won’t do it.

I glared at him without any hopes it would scare him or move him to do anything. 

“Very well, here it is. You’re a one and only specimen; the only survivor of your generation and studying you has allowed us to confirm or discard many theories in many fields. Your carrier escaped and said you were born dead when she was caught again and we believed her because most of the specimens… had troubles; deformities and all that stuff. Many had to be put down.” 

“But the fact that you were alive and in good shape, allowed us to review the gene editing techniques used in your case and what was done specifically to you.” 

“Where’s my mother?” 

“Your mother? I don’t know if you had a single mother or if you’re the product of gluing together several different genetic sequences and then, changing them in order to achieve some of your features, like your eyes for example. 

“But if you ask about the woman who carried you, she’s dead. The old Dr. Berggren took care of that.” 

“You’re lying.” I gulped but my heart clinched. 

“You seemed to be so sure about it last Christmas. Anyway, you’re here and I suggest you to be nice to the staff if you want to be kept in good conditions. You’re property of Berggren Industries and…” 

“I’m a human being!” 

“Yes, you kind of are one but you’re under our care.” 

“I have a family!” 

“Really? Well, everybody know gays are a bit crazy and it was a pity you took that decision. People saw you with that Arab and everybody know how dating mafia boys end. He got crazy, bludgeoned you to death with a hammer, half burned your body and then, took his own life. Don’t worry, nobody of your “family” bothered to identify your body. Somebody from the firm did and he remembered you wore those expensive shoes that fateful day. The whole police department saw the video of you pushing him away and who knows, maybe that piece of shit didn’t take well rejection and murdered you. Your place was a mess.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“Maybe you’re allowed to read the newspapers if you’re nice. Or maybe I’ll let you read my clips about the case. It was quite the talk in Spain.” 

“You couldn’t have done it! You didn’t have the time to do it!” I screamed. 

“I’d say three months is more than enough time even for the Spanish people to follow the dots and close a case nobody wants to have around.” Sven smirked. 

“I slept for three months?” 

“In and out of the sedation but you probably don’t remember much. The nice old lady, your aunt came to your funeral and wrote a nice piece about you. I’m told you’re selling a lot of books now but you know how it is; morbidity and charred corpses  sell. 

“Anyway, you don’t need the money but you’re famous now. Maybe Netflix makes a film out of your murder.” 

My mouth refused to form words; my brain was on strike and the only thing Sven did was to ask me if I wanted dinner. 

I shook my head and he left me there. Alone. 

* * *

Sven returned sometime later with a tray, a closed plastic cup and two sandwiches in a box. “Breakfast,” he grunted and dropped it on my lap. 

I didn’t touch it and he buffed. 

“Hunger strike? I will certainly shove those two down your throat if you start with that nonsense.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Ever seen how rescued penguins are fed?” He smirked and I’m sure he meant it.

“Don’t I get to see a doctor?” 

“You did when you were asleep last night. Eat now.”

I obeyed because fear is a sensible adviser. Those were my favourite kind of chicken sandwich and it was a creepy thing to have them there.

“Good,” Sven praised me. “Don’t give me trouble and things will run smoothly for you.” 

“You’ll give me anaesthetics before you cut me into pieces?” 

“Nobody is thinking about dissecting you so far. Not that I’m aware of.” 

I finished the first sandwich and took a sip of the tea, made exactly as I liked and took it back home. The sight of the second sandwich made me sick and I just couldn’t take another bite. 

“One is enough. Finish the tea.” Sven said and I did as I was told. 

“See? We can get along if you want,” he smirked as he took the empty cup from my hands. 

“Where is… Mr. Berggren?” 

“Your questions-day was yesterday, not today,” he answered and I shrunk in the bed, afraid at his dry, military tone. He had never spoken to me like that before. 

“Since you ask so nicely, maybe I’ll tell you.” 

“Please,” I added in haste. Maybe he had been the one in charge of staging my own murder. Lars had killed two people without hesitating it and this one was his “head of security” whatever that meant. 

“Gone for the week. Maybe you’ll see him in a few days. It all depends on your behaviour.”

“Am I a prisoner?” 

“You’re a patient. Get better, obey me and we’ll see.”  

I nearly bit my tongue to keep the “Mr. Berggren is the leading puppet master around here, not you,” to myself. Perhaps said puppeteer had handed me over. 

“A nurse will pass later and help you to stand up. Once he’s done with you, I’ll take you to the bathroom and you can clean yourself. Whenever you need to go, say it and somebody will take you there.” 

“How?” 

Sven only slightly moved his head to one of the corners and there it was a small dark point; a camera. One for each corner and nothing else. Even the machine was gone. I gulped and nodded. 

“If I deem it appropriate, you’ll get some books to read. Forget about computers or anything else. Is that clear?” 

I nodded again and Sven took the tray from my lap. “Could I have a folder to write?” I ventured. 

“That’s a privilege. Do you deserve it?” 

“I never did anything against you,” I protested softly. 

“You were quite a nuisance for the past months and you went out with that walking filth when I told you not to do it several times.” 

“He was my friend and nothing else.”

“Your friend was paid to deliver you somewhere, probably to the Jews and he certainly passed on your phone number to the people who wanted to kill Mr. Berggren. That’s how you were tracked that day.” 

“That was a stupid huntress!”

“Normal hunters don’t coat their bullets with à la carte pathogens. Those things would have killed anyone but you. If the bullet wouldn’t have killed Mr. Berggren, then those bacterias would have finished him off in two weeks. Luckily for you, your immune system is quite robust against infections. Thank Mr. Berggren for that.” 

“That’s not true. I’m always sick and weak.” 

“You’re weak because your system is permanently fighting against a residual bacteria which would kill anybody else and you break your bones easily too but besides that, you’re quite healthy. Didn’t you receive a doses of rabies and survived it?” 

“I got the vaccine against it. Jocko bit me.” The idea was too horrible to even consider it. Rabies? That’s an awful death. 

“With the exception of your fragile bones, you’re healthier than anyone else in the world. Unfortunately what makes you strong against many diseases makes you too weak for the battlefield. You survived because you were designed for other purposes and some characteristics weren’t included in you.” Sven sighed. “We can’t have it all, can we? I’m confident that this setback in your kind will be overcome over the years. We have now the key for a super immune system and…” 

I was literally hanging from his words. He just cracked a looped smile and went silent. “Other features,” he said instead. “Use this time to get used to your surroundings, Eric.” 

* * *

I don’t know for how long I was locked in that room. At the beginning I was counting the breakfast trays to have an idea of the days passing in that windowless enclosure but at some point I started to mistake breakfast for tea time and then, it didn’t matter. It was always the same routine and same people around me. Only Sven spoke to me while the other two beefy, mindless machine killers only accompanied me to the bathroom and checked that I didn’t do anything “dangerous”. 

I never saw a doctor or maybe I did in the form of an assistant, taking blood out of me or checking my vitals. 

Four books were all what I got; two novels by Jules Verne and two by Ray Bradbury. An ocean of words for a middle school student; a half-dried pond for me. I read them like a pauper; skimping each page, not knowing if there would be more in the future. I re-read them several times just to kill the time… and my mind. 

Processing all of Sven’s words was a task I couldn’t face. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were true but I was determined not to believe them. The implications of all what had being said (and done) around Lars was soul shattering. 

Sven was still calling me “Eric” but he had had no problem to confirm me the bloody tracker planted inside me. “We must always know where you are. Can’t lose you again. Any idea of how much you cost us?” 

The ghost image of my mother -carrier as they called her- haunted me. Who was she? Why had she done it? Did she love me? Maybe she did and that’s why she had risked her life to give me the chance of a life in freedom. I would have loved to be the bastard child of a drug addict or a prostitute than being what I was. 

Do you see now why God in the shape of a pink elephant had truly peed on me? Why on earth did Lars go to that wretched wedding? Why did he notice my eyes? Why couldn’t he leave them alone? No, the scientist in him couldn’t believe that nature could have created by all by herself what he strove to achieve in a lab. 

He needed to know. 

He would stop at nothing to get back what he considered his property. 

All this time, I believed Lars to be an insecure psychopath. Possessive, control freak, autistic and impulsive. 

Nothing farer away from the truth. He knew exactly what he was doing all the time. To Lars being considered as a psychopath wasn’t an issue as long as I obeyed him, stayed out of trouble and under his sight; a freak too valuable to be lost again. 

I was in a limbo of misery and utter boredom. I didn’t know what to expect because nobody bothered to tell me anything. I was regularly fed, checked by a doctor-assistant, allowed some movement in my room or walking along the corridor that led to the bathroom but nothing else. No outside contact of any kind.

As a show of human concern, I’d get asked about how I felt or if I was in any pain but no, with the exception of a permanent feeling of something pressing all my limbs gently but firmly, I was all right. It was some sort of dull, permanent pain but nothing that could be compared to that first shot. It rendered me tired, a bit cranky and depressive but considering it all, it was nothing. 

Or so I thought till one day, right after breakfast, my pain quickly transformed into a million pins being stuck into my body. It started so suddenly that the pain knocked me down to the floor. I assume I shrieked and curled into a ball like an armadillo but I don’t remember it well. 

I could only feel as if my bones would be growing inside me, taking a life of their own, and making themselves ready to pop out. The sudden, sharp pain had disappeared but that oppressive feeling as if something would be trying to come out from under my skin while my brain believed my bones were going to be ripped apart by a mysterious force, kept me on the floor. 

At first, Sven didn’t buy it. Up to the dumbest jailer knows prisoners lie and put on shows like mine. Good jailer bursts in to save the convict and his life is cut short by a treacherous leech like myself. 

I don’t know for how long I was on the floor, unable to scream because the oppressive feeling was too painful to let me think on doing it but finally, common sense (and fear) gripped my jailers’ hearts and they checked on me. By that time, my bones had decided not to burst open and preferred to feel as if I was sunken in ice. My body felt as if it were covered in snow but my skin still felt warm to my touch. I was dropped on the bed but I was shivering so violently that Sven had to cover me with a blanket and place his body over mine so I wouldn’t fall again. I vaguely remember a doctor asking me what I was feeling but I don’t remember if I answered or not. I just felt a prick on my arm and began to feel drowsy and whatever was on that syringe knocked me out not soon enough. 

Waking up was like finding yourself after being run over by a freight. I felt drained of any energy and still cold. Sven asked me how I was and I didn’t bother to answer him. The answer was quite obvious.  

“What was that?” I asked 

“A paroxysmal pain episode,” Sven replied. “You were getting them many times before the doctors nailed the right dose for you. We injected you what we give to the prisoners to keep them going when the drug becomes too much for their systems. Anyway, nobody expects them to outlive it.” 

“So you have something against it.” 

“Not really. It’s a strong opioid mixed with anticonvulsants. The drug attacks and destroys the myelin around your nerves at a very fast pace, therefore the pain. Once it is out of your body, the deterioration stops. I think it’s like if you’d catch multiple sclerosis at top speed.” 

“I can walk; I don’t have multiple sclerosis.” 

“You don’t.” Sven made that face you dedicate to retarded children or normal teenagers. “I never said you had. The damage in your system is pretty similar to it. Similar, not equal.” 

No Sven, you don’t need to spell it out for me. I’m stoned with your things but not stupid. 

“Can it be healed?” 

“Doctors will tell you,” he shrugged and I remembered that once you destroy the myelin around your nerves, you’re screwed for life. 

“Try to get some rest and later, someone will talk to you.” That’s something I love about organisations; pass the problem on till it reaches the supreme boss; Lars in this case.