A week has passed.
Seven days.
The blood dripping into the vials has a rhythm that could lull you to sleep. At least, would lull you to sleep if you had no idea why the noise was being created in the first place. I have to imagine that any sane person would see the source of this rhythmic lullaby and be so sick to their stomach that sleep would be the last thing on their minds.
It’s still hard for me to stomach, and I’ve seen things over the years.
Of course I pushed back in the beginning. I told him I understood that sacrifice was necessary in the journey towards a cure of his virus. Benny seemed to be OK with it as well.
We never told him he had no choice.
It was my idea to have his wife brought in to help him cope with the idea that he would need to stay in our care for a certain number of days while we tested his blood. We told them both that this type of testing would be draining, and in order to keep the variables at a minimum, we need him to stay with us for the duration of it.
Lying has never been easy for me, and there was a moment I almost broke. However, that same picture on my wall gave me the conviction I needed to continue this farce.
Conviction.
Strength.
Fear.
Definitely, fear. Who am I kidding? My spine is gone. I’m trying to make myself believe in the strength you see in the movies, when the protagonist has to do what’s right, even though it seems wrong in the moment, and they’re celebrated as a hero in the end. The truth is, I can tell there won’t be that same ending for me in this story. It’s written on the walls around me.
Except for that one spot. That one rectangle, framed with a few simple pieces of wood, with glass protecting the faces of those who see me as their hero. The hero of their story.
Me.
A momentary beeping on the monitor nearby brings me back to reality. I check it over; a slight panic rising up my spine.
No errors or warnings. Simply a notification that the vials are filled. For the moment, I can relax.
I push myself up off the shitty office chair that’s quickly forming an imprint of my ass in the cushions. I really should consider rolling my actual office chair, with its nice comfortable leather seat, into the viewing room adjacent to the surgery room where Benny is. Something tells me I won’t do it.
Probably the unconscious part of my brain telling me I deserve a little bit of punishment doing this to another human being. Why do I deserve a comfy seat when Benny, one of the nicest people I’ve ever come across, is hanging in the room next to me.
I pass through the doorway and walk up to him. The other thought that sickens me is how accustomed to this view I ‘ve gotten over the last few days. As I approach him to retrieve the vials, another primal part of my brain perks up and tries to convince me to make the sign of the cross despite the fact I haven’t entered a church in 40-years.
Fuck – I really am starting to lose it.
As I pop the vials off the receptacles, I’m reminded of the second day of testing. I wasn’t aware how much blood my “friend” thought was necessary. That night when he approached me as I was bent over my microscope, checking the mutated cells in the sample, he made a comment that this wouldn’t be enough.
“What do you mean it’s not enough?” I asked incredulously, looking up from my workstation, but still not into his eyes.
“We won’t find our answers in your microscope. Not the answers we need. Our blood must interact for us to find the truth.”
When he said that, I knew he was withholding information from me, but at this point, I continued my role as a pawn and simply followed directions. Who am I to question him? I’m sure he’ll just find another to run his tests, and I still need his help curing my daughter.
“How much?” I asked.
“As much as you can take without killing him.”
“If you need that much, why not just kill him and take it all?” I asked.
“Are you that confident in your abilities to find the cure after one chance?”
I debated answering, but immediately closed my mouth. I turned and grabbed another syringe and he shook his head at me when I turned back to him.
“May I? I’ve…done this before.”
The lack of explanation sent shivers down my spine as my mind wandered to the possibilities he’s talking about. I can only imagine how many people he’s strung up and bled dry to keep him and his family alive. When I saw the end product of his work, I almost vomited.
Benny was still under a sedative, however when this being entered the room, Benny’s eyes opened a little bit wider. It seemed there might be some fight in him and he was done being our guinea pig.
Although, as he approached, the fear in Benny’s eyes disappeared. A calmness replaced it. Benny didn’t move or fight as he was lifted off the hospital bed and carried into the surgery room.
The strength this individual portrayed was unlike anything I had ever seen before. He carried Benny like a child, and then using straps meant for restraining patients, proceeded to hang Benny, upside-down, from the ceiling. The whole time, Benny didn’t say a word or move a muscle. His mouth stayed shut and his breathing stayed even.
The being takes the catheters connected to butterfly needles and sliced them open with his fingernail. The look of shock on my face was immediately replaced with repulsion when I saw the being insert the split catheters into its mouth and suck on them, covering them with his saliva. He quickly does the same thing with the other catheter.
Standing there, with two catheters that are sliced halfway up the tubes in his hands, the being reviews his work. I opened my mouth to ask my question, but as if he could read my mind, he answered first.
“Our saliva has a component that increases cohesion between it and blood.”
As if that was a good enough answer to justify the madness I’m watching, he turned back to his work and ignored the look of confusion on my face.
“Get me the largest vials you have,” he asked me, pretending like all of this is normal.
I followed instructions and gave him eight of the largest vials in the office. He placed them at even intervals underneath Benny’s body.
The needles are then inserted into both of Benny’s arms. The catheters that would typically connect to the collector tubes are hanging inches above the vials. Before long, the catheters fill with blood, and then it seeps down the cut plastic into each vial as if some magical force keeps it from spilling all over the floor.
“A cohesive substance in your saliva?” I asked.
The being, stepping back to revel in his work, shoots me a look. For a moment, I thought maybe he would divulge his secret and this elephant in the room would be addressed, but instead he turned and left the room. Nothing was said.
As I stand in front of Benny today, I haven’t seen the being since that day. During the time alone, I crafted some pseudo receptacles to hold the large vials of blood being filled on a daily basis. I also connected an IV of fluids and other nutrients to Benny to keep him alive and pumping blood. All in all, the entire situation is beyond fucked up, and I’m just chugging along like it’s any other part of my day-to-day life, which only adds to the insanity of the situation.
After collecting the vials of his blood, I turn my back to Benny and retreat to my office in the viewing room next door to deposit today’s bounty in the fridge with the others. Placing them in their holders, it dawns on me that the fridge is starting to fill up. I’ll need to come up with another storage solution sooner rather than later.
Beeeeeeep
Come on. What now?
The beeping continues. Shit.
I turn and race back into the room. Benny’s looking pale, but all things considered, it makes sense. I rush to the monitor and check the data.
No readings. No pulse.
Shit.
The blood draining from his body and through the catheters is moving extraordinarily slow, even considering how much has been drained today.
This isn’t good.
My distrust of equipment is at an all-time high all of a sudden, so I press my fingers against his throat and feel for a pulse.
Nothing.
Fuck.
Benny Benividez is dead.
Writing by Adam 