Beautiful Haunting - Chapter 1

Chapter 1
Five years of torture, of sneaking into that place and finally … finally he was allowed on the team. He was old enough, responsible. He didn’t know why she was here, and frankly he didn’t care. The young years of his adolescence had been tortured by this sleeping beauty, her limbs still slim though she hadn’t moved in years. He had never seen her eat, heard her speak. But now, he was here. Attired in the white robe of an assistant, he poised the pen over the clipboard.
“Are you writing this down?” His father snapped.
“Yes Sir,” He scribbled down the jargon his father spoke, eyes focused on the limp hand resting over the edge of the bed. His father was pressing his fingers down on her chest, pulling her eye lids open. He checked her pulse, peered into her mouth with a flashlight.
“Everything seems to be normal.” His son wrote it down under the other notes, eyes still on the hand. It was calling to him. He wanted to touch her, stroke that delicate looking skin, but his father was pulling him away, ushering him out of the room and locking the door.
 
“What is she?” The question had been playing on his mind for as long as he could remember, before the infatuation, before the lust and hunger. His father grunted in response. “Doctor Maverrick, what is she?” He never called his father by his name. That would be suicide, the man was far to professional for that.
“You don’t want to know, you don’t need to know. Just go home to that girl every night and forget about your job.” Vodriche fell silent at this. He knew not to press. Instead he continued typing up the notes gathered from that day. Most of it didn’t make sense to him. He had never had the marks to become a Doctor, in fact, he hadn’t even finished school. He’d been in this institution as long as he could remember, cooped up in his father’s office, glimpsing his mother’s face every now and then as she brought him a book to read, some crayons to draw with, a poppa to drink. That was long before he first saw her. “She is a project, our test subject.” This was the best opening into a conversation his father had ever given him.
“A test subject for what? She hasn’t aged at all since I first saw her,”
“Which was purely accidental.” Doctor Maverrick continued flicking through his reports. “We are testing her responses, seeing how long we are able to contain her with an induced coma.”
“But you wake her up.”
“She wakes herself up.” Vodriche frowned. You couldn’t wake yourself up from a medically induced coma, that made no sense, but his father had shut himself off before he could question further. Disgruntled and full of more questions then he had started with, he rose stiffly, file saved, computer off.
“I’m leaving now, see you tomorrow.” The old man before him didn’t move, as if not having heard. But he had, he always did. The one thing he never wanted was a son. Especially a son with no aptitude towards science. Now a daughter Doctor Maverrick could have used.
Vodriche pushed the thoughts away; they didn’t bother him much anymore. He dug his hands deep within the pockets of the lab coat, letting his feet guide him. He didn’t want to go home. He liked it here, somehow, being so close to her meant he could think clearly. At home his thoughts were clouded, and his woman, Cassie … she was so dull, so mindless … so … so young. He blinked in surprise. What was she, sixteen? Three years his senior, a high school drop out. He was screwing a junior. Did that make him a pedophile? But it wasn’t like he loved her or anything, she merely eased the frustration. Not completely, but enough to get through the day. He looked up from the tiled floors strewn with heavy shadows to find himself in the restricted wing. Her wing.
He moved to the window, staring in at her, adopting his familiar habit of watching her breath, of her chest rising and falling under the white sheet. Induced coma. And she awoke from it? How could she do that? Had she managed to adapt to the chemicals they pumped through her body? And why was she put into a coma? Was she dangerous? Seriously hurt? Or were they trying to preserve her? But … shouldn’t she age if that was the case.
He stared at the ident. Tag around his wrist.
Vodriche Maverrick 72948771.
He was just another object around here, part of the daily process. His shoulders rose and slumped with a sigh. He looked back into the room. She’d moved her hand since he’d been in there with her. It was now on her stomach. As he watched her fingers twitched. It wasn’t unusual for her to move, but his gaze traveled up her body to her face nevertheless. That perfect angelic face. He watched her eyes twitching. She was in the early stages of REM. Her sleep cycle had only recently been reactivated.
His watch beeped, drawing his attention away from her yet again. 12.14. Great, he was supposed to be leaving now. He sighed again. Something he seemed to do a lot. His life was so dull, so boring. If it weren’t for her he would probably have killed himself already. A sad smile curved his lips as he glanced at her face again.
Blank green met his vision.
He froze.
He felt deaf. Dumb. It wasn’t real. She wasn’t awake. But she was sitting, rising. She was moving towards him, towards the window. Her loose gown billowed about her. Terror seemed to unlock his frozen limbs, no longer gaping he jabbed at the alarm button, staggering away from that impassive face. She was terrible to gaze upon, her eyes freezing his heart. She was a monster of pure destruction. She moved like water, beautiful yet so deadly.
He couldn’t hear the flashing alarms as his back met the opposite wall. He sank to the floor, eyes still locked with hers as she reached the window.
Her head tilted to the side like a curious puppy, yet she wasn’t curious. She seemed to be calculating him, but her face was so blank. Like ice. Like … like nothing.