The Donor (9 page)

The cellar looked almost nothing like the upstairs. It was more like Jonah's house: modern, shiny, white and clean. The off-white linoleum floor was shiny and the room smelled clean, almost sterile. There was a black leather armchair and a desk chair with wheels on it. There were also white cabinets above a counter and sink. It almost looked like a doctor's examination room. I wanted to speak, to run, but my tongue swelled in my mouth and my feet were paralyzed.

Jonah tried to let go of my hand when we reached the bottom of the stairs, but I didn't let him, gripping so tightly that I thought my knuckles cracked.

“It's okay,” he said quietly, turning to me with a concerned look on his face. “I need to show you, that's all. You're safe here.” There were more reassuring words after that, but I couldn't hear them over the throbbing in my temples.

The place reminded me of all the tests I had to take to find out what was wrong with me, all of the machines and blood and sitting still and waiting. I wanted to leave, but I wanted to find out why the hell Jonah had a secluded cabin in the woods with a room like this under it.

When I didn't move, Jonah turned so he was completely facing me, blocking off most of my view of the room. “Take a deep breath,” he instructed.

I did, I felt a little better. I did it again.

“Okay?” he asked after a while.

I finally looked him in the eyes. They were cautious, but gentle. Like he was just as scared as I was. “Okay,” I said.

He backed away, but his hand lingered around mine and I was grateful for the contact. “What...” I had to clear my throat. “What is this?”

Jonah finally let go of me, letting me walk around on my own. My boots made a solid, hollow sound against the linoleum. He leaned against the counter, his hands behind his back. “It's where I keep my inventory,” he said.

Looking around the room, I found nothing but the clean surfaces, the cabinets, the chairs. “For your store?” I asked. “I don't get it.”

He crossed his arms uncomfortably, a gesture that seemed out of place with his crisp and clean clothes. “Open the bottom drawer,” he said. “The last one on the right.”

I looked up at him and he nodded. I didn't know what to do other than what he had asked. Kneeling down near said drawer near his shin, my fingers came to rest on the handle. Jonah didn’t move.

“I better not find human teeth in here,” I said, scolding myself immediately afterwards. This was a serious situation and here I was trying to tell jokes. For all I knew, there really
could
be teeth in there. “Sorry.”

But Jonah didn't say anything other than, “You're nervous. It's not teeth.”

The metal was cold against my hand but my face was burning hot. I wanted to believe it was from the fireplace heat radiating down the stairs, but I knew that wasn't the case. Without any more hesitation, I opened the drawer.

***

I mentally check off the things I packed, just so my brain has something to do. I had my clothes, toothbrush, medicine, a few books...and that was it. I forgot that I hadn't actually packed all that much to begin with. I hadn't planned on staying with Jonah all that long. I hadn't planned on any of this.

A hand brushes my shoulder and I relax. I recognize the cool fingertips and reassuring pressure. Funny, how two people could know each other for such a short amount of time yet know the simplest things instantly.

I turn and Jonah is behind me, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Sorry it took so long,” he says, handing me the paper cup. “The line was really long.”

He sits down next to me and my heart slows, my breathing becomes more even. “You're nervous.” It’s not a question.

I make a sound that’s half-way between a snort and a
Psssh
, embarrass myself, and take a sip of my coffee.

Jonah places a hand on my knee. “You're afraid of flying?”

I shake my head. “I kind of like it,” I say. “I mean, I've only been on one plane ride so far so I don't know if I like it or not, I guess...but I think I do.” Now I’m rambling. I take another sip of coffee to shut myself up.

Jonah kisses my forehead and brings me closer to him. “You are a very brave woman,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

I swallow my coffee and whisper back, “No thank you’s.”

He smiles. “You're right.”

***

It was surprisingly cold inside the drawer, and I noticed that it was a lot deeper than it looked from the outside. There was a small light that illuminated what looked like heavy duty, light blue paper towels.

“It's refrigerated?” I asked, only glancing at Jonah momentarily.

He nodded once. “Peel back the paper.”

His voice had become quiet, which made me uneasy.

Underneath the paper was plastic. Thick, clear plastic. And
inside
of the plastic was blood.

I took a deep breath, telling myself that there was no need to freak out. Not until I knew more. I took out one of the bags and it was cold, the liquid sloshing around in my hands. There was a label with writing on the front:

Name:
Silvia Croft.

Age:
32

Type:
O+

Special:
Mother, divorced, antidepressants.

Match:
No.

I set that one aside and picked up another

Name:
Monica Graves

Type:
A-

Age:
21

Special:
Drug User

Match:
No

And another

Name:
Jason Straight

Age:
23

Type:
B-

Special:
Athlete, College Student

Match:
No

Then I found me.

Name:
Casey Williams.

Age:
18.

Type:
AB-

Special:
Fear. Dying.

Match:
Yes

I recognized the handwriting as Jonah's immediately, the same writing that he had signed our contracts with, but I couldn't help but want to believe it was someone else who had written these things down. Someone else who had done this to me.

My breath caught in my throat and I set the bags back where they came from, folding the paper neatly over top once more. I shut the drawer and sat on the cold linoleum, waiting for Jonah to explain.

He sat down too, his back against the drawers that I now noticed were lined up under the whole of the counter space. How many bags of blood were there? How many were mine and how many belonged to strangers?

“You sell blood,” I said. “You've been selling
my
blood.”

Jonah swallowed hard and I saw him clench his jaw. “Yes.”

I stared at the shiny floor beneath my boots. There was melted snow on the tips, but it just looked like water droplets now. “This is why I'm here?” I asked. “Not for you, but for some weirdo on the internet who's going to pay you for my blood?”

Jonah took a deep breath. “I need to explain.”

I crossed my arms uncomfortably. “Explain.”

Jonah removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, buttoning the dark grey material above his elbows. “I originally intended for you to only be my donor,” he said softly. “But after the first draw, I couldn't do it.”

I swallowed and waited for him to go on.

“It didn't...taste right.”

I wasn't sure why, but I was slightly offended at the words.

“It took me a little while to figure out the reason.”

My mind flashed to the bag of my blood in the drawer.
Fear. Dying
. “I can guess,” I whispered.

Jonah smiled without happiness. He reached out to grab my hand and I let him. “I like you, Casey.” When I looked up at him his eyes were burning into mine. “I like you very much.”

“But you don't need me.”

He smiled again, the same way. “I wouldn't say that,” he said. “I wouldn't say that at all.”

***

We board our plane; Jonah had spared no expense in that. We sit in first class with the comfy seats that recline all the way back, our own television screen in front of us. There aren’t many people on the plane this late at night, and we timed it so we’d land just as it got dark at our destinations as well. I don't care about any of it as I fasten my seatbelt.

He places a hand on my knee and gently squeezes. “Won't be long now,” he says.

I nod. Not long at all.

We’re quiet as the flight attendants go over the safety procedure, passing out cocktails and small packets of food. The plane takes off with minimal turbulence and we’re flying through the air before we know it.

I lean my head on Jonah's shoulder, knowing that there’s only a few hours standing between us being together and apart.

“When you get home,” he says, “you should call your bank to tell them you'll be receiving a large sum of money. So they don't think it's suspicious.”

I nod.

“Give them my number if you have any trouble.”

I nod again.

I know if I speak I’ll cry, so I keep my mouth shut. Stroking my hair, Jonah squeezes my knee again and then kisses my forehead. “Everything is going to be fine,” he whispers. “I'll see you so soon you won't even know I was gone.”

Grasping his hand on top of my leg, I know I squeeze too hard, like I can hold everything together that way. “I don't know what to tell my parents,” I blurt out in a strangled whisper.

If I’m cutting off his circulation, he doesn't make any indication of it. “Just be honest,” he murmurs.

I gulp. There’s too much to tell and not enough time to process the fact that I’m the one who has to say these things. “I don't think I can do it.” I have to whisper because my voice is choked off.

Jonah kisses my forehead again. “You can, Casey.”

I don't believe him.

“I'm not going to pretend I know what it's like,” he says. “But in the short amount of time I've known you, you've shown me just how strong you are. You may not realize it, and you may think you have no purpose, but trust me, you do. To some people, you are everything.”

At those words, a single tear slips through and I swipe it away before Jonah sees it. He brings my face closer to his and kisses me like we’re alone, back at his house and not on a plane in front of people.

“You have to believe that,” he whispers against my lips. “Okay?”

I nod against him. I want to thank him for those words, but I don't.

***

I stood on shaking legs and Jonah had to help steady me. “Sit down,” he said quietly, like he would break me if he used his normal voice.

Jonah brought me to the couch and he wheeled his chair over so we were across from each other. We were quiet for a while, then Jonah cleared his throat.

“I need you to know that originally, I asked you to be my personal donor.”

He looked into my eyes, searching for my reaction. I tried to keep my face blank.

“But I have clients who...like your type of blood. They like the taste of fear, of...” he seemed to be struggling for the words.

“Death,” I finished for him.

He didn't nod, but he didn't shake his head either.

“So you send my blood to them?” I asked. “You drink another person’s blood while you send mine to someone else?”

Jonah folded his hands and stared at them in his lap. “I also sent it to a testing facility.”

“Testing facility.” The words sounded strange and I didn't know what they meant.

“Yes,” he said. “To see if you were a match.”

I blinked a few times. “A match.”

He swiveled in his chair to a drawer. When he opened it, I saw that it was a filing cabinet. Jonah took a manila folder out from inside and handed it to me. I opened it with shaking hands. I didn't understand what it was I was looking at, but the name at the top of the paper helped clarify things: Myra Black.

“Your daughter,” I said. My mind began clicking pieces together, one by one. “You weren't looking for a match for yourself at all,” I said, “Were you?”

When I looked up at him, he was staring at me. “No.”

“You were looking for one for Myra. For her lungs.”

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, one time.

I took a deep breath. “You...” I hated the way that tears filled my eyes, how I felt like I had been betrayed and I wasn't even sure where the feeling came from. “You never wanted just
me
.”