BlackWind (18 page)

“I...I'll turn into an animal? A beast?” Sean's eyes widened. “A beast that could hurt people?”

Brian shook his head. “No, no! You will be put in a containment cell to keep you from hurting yourself or others. It's not so bad, really. Transition lasts for only a few hours, then you change back.”

Sean felt hopeless. “This
can't
be happening!”

“I'm sorry, lad, but it is all too real. And about to change your life forever.”

“What will happen to me?” Sean sobbed, barely aware of the tears cascading down his cheeks. “
When
will it happen?”

“In the chimps they experimented on, Transition generally occurs at puberty in males that have had the parasite implanted. Of course, with older males, Transition starts within four to six weeks. In my case, it was delayed for more than two years because I was a strict vegetarian. I think the pain over losing your mother, the fear of worrying about her, the anger over having her taken away from me, brought the Transition on earlier than it might have come had those things not been factors. Three days after she was sent to America, I went into full Transition. Once they saw the correlation between vegetarian and meat diets, they knew what had to be done with you. They sure as hell didn't want you going into Transition outside their control.”

Sean looked up through the screen of his fingers. “Did my mother know any of this?” he asked in a shuddery voice. “Does she know what is inside me?”

Brian shook his head. “They saw no reason for her to know. What they did, though, was bring her into Fuilghaoth before she was sent to America and program her with certain instructions she was to follow to the letter, as was Tymothy Cullen.”

“Instructions?”

Brian held up his hand and ticked off his reply. “First, you were not to be told who your real father was.

“Second, under no circumstances were you ever to be taken to a doctor and examined. The doctor might take a blood sample and that was to be avoided at all costs since the blood would contain antibodies beyond that doctor's experience. Any records needed for you to enter school would be provided—falsified, of course—by Fuilghaoth.

“Third, you were not to be coddled, cosseted in any way. They wanted you to grow up tough and determined. With Tym Cullen as an example, I'd venture to say that was a given.

“And fourth, you were never to be given meat of any kind—you were to be fed only vegetables. There is no blood in vegetables, lad. The parasite thrives on blood, remember? Animal or human, doesn't make any difference to it. Dunne knew from his experiments that, if you received no meat, your Transition would be delayed.”

Sean glared at the man, delving with ease into his mind. What he found made him recoil, and he stumbled back against the wall, shuddering. “I'll never eat meat, so there isn't any chance I will—Transition,” he declared, spitting out the word as though it were filth.

Brian shrugged. “You won't have any choice in the matter.”

“Yes, I will!” Sean shouted.

“By Dunne's time clock, you have another month, at most, before your first Transition. Prior to that, your blood will begin to change. You will feel it as the parasite starts to awaken. Once that happens, once it begins to feed upon you, the byproducts it throws off will turn your red blood to a black, tar-like consistency.”

“That is disgusting!”

“That parasite is what has kept you from getting all them childhood diseases the other brats got. Did you never wonder why you were so damned healthy?”

“I just thought I was lucky.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it. The parasite attacks an illness and devours it. Once you Transition the first time, it will heal you"—he snapped his fingers—"like that! You'll never have to worry about cuts and scrapes again. The flesh heals in the blink of an eye. That is why Dunne sent me to fetch you. Imagine Transitioning over here and having someone see it! That would be bad enough. But imagine getting a cut on your arm that seals itself up quicker than you can strip the backing off a band-aid and you can see why it was imperative I come get you. I wasn't counting on your ma having filleted Cullen, although it couldn't have happened to a more deserving man.”

“There has to be a way to keep me from—”

Brian interrupted in a stern voice. “As soon as your time is up in this wretched place, we'll be leaving for Fuilghaoth. You need to be in the facility when you Transition for the first time. You must be where those who know what to expect can care for you.”

Sean shook his head savagely. “I'd rather die than live my life like that!”

“There are only two ways a Reaper can die, lad. By being burned or being drowned.” He cocked a brow at his son. “Which would you prefer?”

Sean, reading the truth of Brian's words, slumped against the wall. “I'm terrified of either.”

“That's because the parasite is terrified of being destroyed in those ways. What's your feelings on snakes, lad?”

Sean flinched. “I hate the damned things!”

“Aye, well, there is a viper called a ghoret that Reapers fear almost as much as fire and water. I'll tell you about them evil little reptiles one day.”

Sean slid down the wall and hunkered there with his head buried in his arms.

Squatting beside Sean, Brian put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I will be beside you every step of the way, lad. I swear I will do all I can to make it up to you for this.”

“You didn't know what would happen.”

“But I regret every day of my life that I didn't let the Stalcaires murder your ma.”

Slowly, Sean raised his head. “Why?”

“To keep her from Cullen's brutality all those years, for one thing,” Brian said between clenched teeth, “and to keep you from having to go through the agony of Transitioning every four months.”

“But you loved her.”

“I
love
her,” Brian corrected. “That hasn't changed. But it would have been better for us all if I had had the courage to let her go back then.”

Sean stared into his father's eyes and saw his own guilt. “If I had known what was coming, I would never have laid a hand to Bronwyn, either.”

“I know, and I regret not having come earlier. Blame me, if you want.”

Sean looked at the floor. “I've no one to blame but myself.”

“Now you see why it might be best to keep away from her.”

With shoulders sinking in defeat, his heart breaking, Sean lowered his head to his arms once more. “Aye, I understand.”

Bronwyn refused to look at the nun who had entered her room without knocking. She detested the wiry woman, whose body odor was acrid and sharp within the folds of her long black habit.

“The physician is here to examine you,” Sister Mauveen snapped. “Be up with you, girl.”

Bronnie's fingers tightened around the pencil in her hand, but she gave no other sign that she had heard the nun's words.

“If you wish to be dragged down to the infirmary, that can surely be arranged.” When Sister Mauveen clapped her hands, two larger nuns appeared at the door.

Her lips pursed tightly, Bronwyn got up from her desk. She barely looked at Sister Mauveen as she passed.

“The wages of sin are pain and death,” Sister Mauveen pronounced, folding her hands into the sleeves of her habit. She lifted her pointed chin. “The Lord will provide both for those who disobey His commandments.”

The nuns at the door parted as Bronwyn walked toward them. She stepped into the hall, expecting them to fall in behind her, and was not disappointed. Bringing up the rear was Sister Mauveen, the rosary beads at her waist clacking together as she followed.

Dr. Liam Darby was waiting for them at the door to the infirmary. He smiled encouragingly and ushered Bronwyn inside with a gentle pat on the back. He stepped in front of Sister Mauveen as she tried to join them. “I have a nurse to assist me,” he said in a firm voice. “You won't be needed.”

Sister Mauveen's nose twitched and she twisted to see inside the infirmary. Her beady eyes swept the room, her upper lip quivering. Upon spying the nurse talking to Bronwyn, she sniffed and straightened up to look the doctor in the eye. “Mother Superior will expect a full report from you on the girl's condition.”

“Naturally,” Dr. Darby replied. “I give a full report when I do physicals, Sister.”

Sniffing again, Sister Mauveen tossed her head. Spinning on her heel, she clapped her hands and her entourage fell into step behind her.

“Bloody vicious old penguin.” Dr. Darby shut and locked the door behind him. “Well, Bronnie, how are you feeling today?”

Bronwyn liked the tall, rawboned physician. He had a kind face and understanding eyes. “I've got a cold. I've been coughing like crazy.

“It's this rainy Connacht weather. Well, I'll leave you with Miss Moher. She'll help you get into the gown.” He patted Bronwyn's cheek. “Let's see if we can't do something about that cough.”

Bronwyn smiled and started undoing the buttons of her uniform blouse. She stopped to cough. The sound was wet, filled with congestion, and lasted a long time. She was grateful when Miss Moher handed her a tissue.

“That doesn't sound good, now does it?” Miss Moher said with a cluck of her tongue.

“I had bronchitis a few years ago,” Bronwyn said, “and I think I've got it again. That's why they sent for the doctor.”

Miss Moher took Bronnie's blouse and folded it carefully before placing it on a bench. “Me Da got that once. Didn't it put him in the hospital for a fortnight?”

“Where is the hospital here, in case I have to go?”

“Isn't it down in Belfast?” Miss Moher asked. “But wouldn't you be kept here if you had to be hospitalized?”

Bronnie sighed. “I should have guessed that,” she said in a disgusted voice.

“Wouldn't we take as good care of you as the hospital in Belfast, now, lass?”

“I'm sure you would,” Bronwyn mumbled. One of the things she found annoying about the Irish was the way they constantly asked questions instead of stating fact.

“Don't you be worrying none ‘bout having to go to the hospital. Won't we be curing you of that nasty cold right here?” She turned away as Bronwyn stepped out of her slip, panties and bra. Holding up the gown so it blocked Bronwyn's nudity, the nurse waited until Bronwyn had stuck her hands through the armholes before looking around. “Aren't you ready now for Dr. Darby?”

“I am.” Bronwyn turned around dutifully for the nurse to tie the gown in back for her.

“Won't you be sitting on the examination table now, lass?” Miss Moher went to the door behind which Dr. Darby had disappeared. She rapped lightly. “Aren't we ready now, Doctor?”

Bronwyn frowned as she sat on the paper-covered vinyl seat. Despite being the daughter of one, she hated doctors. Having grown up being inflicted with chronic bouts of tonsillitis, her blood had never coagulated fast enough to undergo surgery to remove the offending appendages. Despite copious amounts of vitamins and tonics to build up her iron level, as well as injections of penicillin and bottle after bottle of streptomycin, all the medicines had done was instill in her a morbid fear of hospitals and men in white.

“Well, now, let's take a listen to your chest,” Dr. Darby said as he came into the room. He took a position slightly behind and to Bronwyn's right and warmed the bell of his stethoscope between his palm. “You're from the States, aren't you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Georgia, is it?” he asked as he untied the top string on her gown.

“Yes, sir. Albany.” She flinched as the stethoscope touched her back.

“Breathe.”

Bronwyn fought the urge to cough as she took a deep breath.

“Let it out.” He moved the stethoscope further down her back.

Her breath wavered as she released it, and the tickle at the back of her throat grew worse.

“Again.” The instrument slid across her back to the other side.

This time as she took a breath, the cough got the better of her. She spent several ticks of the clock hacking into the tissue.

“How long have you had the cough?” Dr. Darby asked.

“Three, four days,” Bronnie managed to say. She wiped her lips on the tissue. “I've had bronchitis before.”

He looked in her eyes, her ears, and her throat. He listened to her heart, checked the glands in her neck, under her arms. “I think you've got the flu. It's been going around school.”

“I take classes by myself,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I don't see much of the other girls.”

“Umm. Scoot up on the table and lie down, lass.”

She did as she was told.

Dr. Darby looked at Miss Moher. “Would you get me the gynecological tray?”

Miss Moher blinked, cast Bronwyn a quick glance, and looked back at the doctor. At his curt nod, she hurried to get the tray.

Bronwyn nervously twisted the sides of her gown. She met the doctor's kindly gaze. She was trembling, her lips skaking.

Dr. Darby put his hand over hers. “Everything will be all right, lass.”

“You know, don't you?” she asked in a scared voice.

“The Mother Superior asked that you be examined, Bronwyn. Sister Mauveen voiced her suspicions and I was asked to confirm or deny them.” He pulled a rolling stool to the side of the table, sat, and took Bronwyn's hand. “How far along do you think you are?”

Tears welled in Bronnie's eyes. “I've missed two periods.”

“About three months? That's how long you've been here.”

She whimpered.

“Well, let's be sure about it, all right? It could be something other than what you think.”

Mother Mary Joseph, the Mother Superior of the Galrath Convent of the Poor, was having a cup of tea when Sister Mauveen knocked on her office door. She frowned, sighing deeply at the interruption, and bid her visitor enter. Upon seeing who had come to call, her frown deepened. “And?” she asked, setting aside her cup.

“She is in the family way,” Sister Mauveen reported with more supercilious glee than the situation warranted.

Another deep West of Ireland sigh wheezed from the Mother Superior's lips. “Have Sister Rosalyn place a call to America. Dr. and Mrs. McGregor will need to be informed.”

Sister Mauveen inclined her head. “What of the child?” she asked, rubbing her hands together, her eyes bright. “What will become of it?”