o ed4c3e33dafa4d72 (5 page)

straightened and looked toward the gallery. "No intracranial bleeding."

"Then proceed!" a woman from the viewing box commanded.

Dr. Dean frowned. "Second syringe."

Cree's eyes went wide. Were they going to put him through that hell a second time? He

opened his mouth to protest, but Bridget's cool, efficient hands were once more at his

mouth and the rubber wedge being inserted.

"Don't!" was all he got out before his jaw was pressed shut around the bitter rubber.

Then Hell came up to greet him.

Kamerone Cree's whole life, such as it had been, passed before his eyes and he tried to

spit out the wedge that was jammed so tightly between his lips. He tried to get up,

irrational fury and terror filling him as he realized he could not. He felt the cold swab of

the disinfectant, the prick of the needle and the ungodly heat washing over him with

blinding speed.

Bridget's brows met as the convulsions began so quickly she barely had time to brace

the Reaper's head. She saw his eyes roll back until only the whites could be seen. His

body went absolutely rigid as though he was in the throes of electroshock. He shuddered

violently as he passed quickly from one state of assault therapy to the other. She felt the

intense heat of his high fever, the sweat pouring down his temples. The convulsions that

wracked his body—despite the security of the thick metal restraints—lifted him partially

ABC Amber LIT Converter

http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

ABC Amber LIT Converter

http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

off the treatment table. His groans and muted shrieks gave evidence of the absolute terror

under which he was existing. She could only imagine the horrors that were invading his

mind, driving him to the brink of madness.

"Stage Three complete."

Cree's body shook and he came crashing down, falling past the jutting rocks toward

which he had been plunging. Vaguely, in some sane part of his jumbled mind, he realized

the sequence of impending destruction had been altered: the drowning came before the

falling this time. His mental processes were so scrambled, he had trouble latching onto a
single coherent thought even as it entered his mind.

"Stage Four complete."

Bridget re-wet the cloth and wiped his face, his neck, under his arms where the thick

brown hair was matted with perspiration. She put the cloth in the water again, noticing

that he had awakened and was watching her. He followed her movements so blindly, he

reminded her of a little lost dog trailing hopefully behind someone who had been kind to

it.

"Third syringe."

Cree whimpered: a lost, hopeless, pitiful thrust of breath from his tortured mouth. He

cringed away from the wedge as it was brought to his lips, but he didn't have the strength

to deny it entrance. He tasted the cold slime of his own saliva clinging to it, gagged at the feel of it between his teeth and down his throat. The gentle hand that cupped his chin

protectively was cool against his heated flesh as once more the needle pierced his flesh.

Dr. Dean did not have the needle all the way out of his arm before the convulsions

started again. She stepped back, her face filled with concern as a trickle of blood eased

down Cree's neck.

"Left ear drum rupture," Dorrie remarked, noting it in the computer.

"Both," one of the other women corrected. She gasped. "My god! His blood is black!"

Bridget looked down at the thick ebony blood dripping to the stainless steel table

beneath the Reaper's head. She was having a hard time keeping his head still and was

aware that he had bitten entirely through the protective wedge as the computer

announced:

"Stage Two complete. Flat line!"

Cree felt something sharp drive deeply through his breastbone and shrieked like a

madman beneath Bridget's hold. Pain rocketed, exploded in his chest and chilling fluid

flooded into his heart.

"That has to be a real bummer for him." Dorrie chuckled.

"Shut up, Burkhart!" ordered Dr. Dean.

He was jolted from the table, slammed down and the shrill shriek of some horrible

monster roared after him as he experienced a sudden, blinding white light.

"He's not breathing, ladies!" Dorrie told them. "Move it, Dunne!"

Bridget fumbled the wedge from between the Reaper's teeth then moved quickly out of

Dorrie's way as the tech hurried to drop an airline down Cree's throat to intubate him.

The monster was crawling down his throat, plunging into his lungs. He could feel it

laying its insidious eggs inside him.

"Syringe!"

How many times were they going to stake him? he thought. Hadn't they already killed

him? Why were they tormenting him still? He was thrown upwards against his restraints,

ABC Amber LIT Converter

http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

ABC Amber LIT Converter

http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

then seemed to melt into the table for a moment as the blinding white light seared

through his brain and brought intense, sickening pain.

"We've got a hitch!"

The shrill shriek of the monster seemed to cough, then cough again, before finally

settling down to a piercing succession of hiccups. Cree wondered it if had bitten off more
of him than it could chew and choked. The thought made him giggle.

"Captain Cree?" Bridget asked, seeing the fixed stare leap back to life. "Are you with us, Captain Cree?"

He had never seen such beautiful eyes in his life as the ones that were staring down at

him with such compassion. They were the most delicate shade of green: pale and

soothing. They looked at him with so much tenderness, such overwhelming sympathy, he

knew he could trust their owner.

"Three," Dr. Dean stated firmly. "That's it. No more today."

There was a long pause then the woman in the viewing gallery agreed. "Three it is."

"Onar demanded five," Dr. Dean told her treatment team.

"Five and he would be fodder for the Ionarian worms," Dorrie scoffed, reaching for the tube. Cree gagged as she pulled the airway from his throat. He coughed and felt dribble

running down his chin until the woman with the beautiful eyes moved over him and

wiped it away.

"It's over," she told him gently. "We're through."

"S...stay," he whispered, his throat an agony.

"What?" Even as the orderlies lifted him, moving him to a gurney, Cree found he could not look away from the woman's beautiful green eyes. He tried to lift his hand, to touch

the hand of the woman whose eyes held him so enthralled, but his muscles wouldn't

cooperate.

"W...with me," he asked.

"What is he babbling about?" Dorrie snapped.

"I don't know," Bridget answered. Following behind the gurney, she watched the

intense shivering that had taken hold of the Reaper. His body was quivering, his teeth

chattering. He stared fixedly at the lights running by overhead as the gurney rolled down

the corridor.

"Get me some blankets for him, Dorrie," Bridget ordered. She walked ahead of the

gurney, opened Cree's cell door for the orderlies to roll him inside.

"There you go, Sir," the taller of the two orderlies said as he and the other man shifted Cree from the gurney to the bare cot. He glanced at Bridget. "Should we strap him down,

Doc?"

"Wouldn't hurt," Bridget replied. She was watching the vague smile trembling on her patient's face and wondered where his mind had taken him for the moment.

"Green," she heard him say. "So green."

The orderlies tugged the webbed restraints into place around the Reaper's wrists and

ankles, then wheeled the gurney from the room. Bridget walked to Cree's bed and leaned

over him.

"Captain?" she questioned. When he didn't switch his attention from the light above him to her, she repeated his name. Still there was no response. She sighed, then reached

out to tilt his head toward her. "Captain Cree?"

There they are again,
he thought, his lips pulling back in a slow, confused smile.
There
ABC Amber LIT Converter

http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

ABC Amber LIT Converter

http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

are those beautiful, understanding eyes.
He tried to lift his hand to touch their owner's cheek, but could not.

"How do you feel?" Bridget asked him.

"What's your name?" he croaked.

"Dr. Dunne," she replied. When he frowned, she amended her answer. "Bridget.

Bridget Dunne."

"Bridget," he repeated.

"Are you cold?"

"Aye," he sighed. Her voice was so soft, so incredibly gentle. It filled him with a need to which he could not put a name.

"We're getting you a blanket." She reached out to smooth away a lock of dark hair from his forehead.

Cree closed his eyes, the effects of the synthetic neurotransmitter making the smell of

her flesh a vivid sensation in his nostrils. Like the caress of her voice, her touch was

infinitely desirable and completely calming. "I understand what you are trying to do," he muttered.

Bridget straightened up as though an unseen puppeteer had jerked her strings. "You

do?" she gasped.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her, his awareness returning in bits and pieces.

There was no recollection of what had actually happened to him in the treatment suite—

there never would be—but the emotions he had experienced in that hellish place were

slipping back to him slowly. He knew whatever had been done to him had been extremely

unpleasant, excruciatingly painful, and not something he'd care to ever repeat again.

"What was I saying?" he asked, blinking.

Bridget stepped back from the bed. "Do you know where you are?" she asked.

Cree frowned. "In my room," he said, looking about him. He tried to move his arms

and legs and when he found himself restrained, the softness evaporated from his

expression and the belligerent, arrogant mask that was the Reaper's face settled into place

once more. "When can I leave?"

"Captain, you—"

"Answer me!" he ordered. "You bitches have had your fun with me so unbuckled these gods-be-damned restraints and let me leave!" He pulled on the restraints, livid that he was shackled in the first place.

"I hate being the one to tell you..."

"Tell me what?" he exploded. Unease was poking a cold finger at his spine and he

jerked viciously on the restraints. "Unbuckle these things!"

Bridget shook her head, thankful for the confinement the webbed belts provided. "I

can't, Captain." She took another step back from the bed. "We aren't through with you yet."

Cree had been about to shout at her, but her words stopped him cold. He stared at her,

his face going rigid. "What are you talking about?"

"There's another session right after lunch," Bridget answered.

"Another..." Cree stopped, shook his head. "No, you are mistaken." When the woman remained silent, looking down at him with what he knew could only be pity, he blinked,

his lips parting in confusion.

"I'm sorry, Captain," Bridget said and was surprised to realize she meant it.

ABC Amber LIT Converter

http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

ABC Amber LIT Converter

http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"What are they going to do to me after lunch?" he forced himself to ask.

Bridget bit her lips before replying. "There are to be three sessions like the one this

morning every day you are here, Captain."

Shock flashed over Kamerone Cree's pale face. "Every day I'm here?" he questioned in a disbelieving tone. He tried to sit up, became enraged that he couldn't. He pulled

furiously on his restraints. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Bridget could hear the fear closing his throat. She amazed herself again when she

began to feel true sympathy for the man. He had no idea what sentence he had been

given, but was just now realizing it was far more brutal than he had expected it to be.

"How long am I supposed to be here?"

Cree saw her hesitate and knew a moment of abject terror. He couldn't remember what

they had done to him in that room, but the residual anxiety of it was still thick in his

mind. Whatever had been done had been the worst kind of torture that much he

understood, and he didn't want to go through it again.

"Answer me!" he bellowed. "How long?"

He might be a Reaper, she thought, the most vicious of his kind if rumors were true,

but he was also part human and the human part of him was staring back at her with a fear

that had a sentience of its own.

"How long?"

"Two weeks."

He stared at her, stunned. Surely he had not heard her correctly. He shook his head,

wanting to clear way the buzzing that had suddenly filled his hearing. "How long?" he whispered, hoping against hope that he had not really heard what he knew he had.

"You will be with us for two weeks, Captain," Bridget replied and almost reached out to touch him for she saw a little boy's expression of fear pass quickly over his face before

his features relaxed with hopelessness.

"Two weeks," he repeated in a dull, lifeless voice, understanding there if not

acceptance. Slowly he shifted his gaze from her, turning his head so that he could stare up

at the glaring white light overhead. "Two weeks of that hell?"

"Yes," she answered, her pity growing even though she knew she should feel no such