Tainted

by A. E. Rought

  Jason’s broken body drags me down until we’re a muddy jumble on the floor. He’s so dirty. He shouldn’t be filthy after the sacrifice he made. I wipe hair from his eyes. Using my sleeve, I wipe the bloody foam from his mouth and nose, then pull him to me.

  “I’m so sorry, Jason.” My throat burns when I breathe. “It should’ve been me. I should’ve died.”

  I lose it then, become a sobbing, bawling mess.

  The secret door swings open, bathing the tunnel in light. Emma pokes her beautiful face in and my heart breaks all over again. I reach for her with one hand, refusing to let go of Jason. She lets out a shocked little breath, then runs to me and drops down at my side. She flings her arms around us both. Emma’s so warm and clean and alive. She rocks a little, stroking my hair, my arm, my back.

  “What happened?” she asks, her voice soft and thick with tears.

  “He died to save me,” I choke on a sob, inhale a shaky breath and continue, “There’re tunnels under the building. The broken water main flooded them. The ceiling ripped loose and Jason pushed me out of the way. I couldn’t leave him down there. I couldn’t…” My sentence strangles off in another sob.

  “Let me help you,” she says. “We’ll get him out of here.”

  I nod, transferring Jason to her arms so I can use both hands to stand. She holds him like he’s still alive, cradling him, a tear falling from her eye to wash a little mud off his cheek. Somehow, little five foot five Emma struggles back to her feet with Jason still wrapped to her chest. I hook his legs up and help get him back into the lab.

  “The table I was on,” Em says, guiding, knowing somehow that I’m barely holding on to Jason’s legs, barely holding on to sanity. The ridiculous unfairness could choke me.

  We carry Jason to the table next to the Lazarus Protocol cabinet, the door still hangs open from when I grabbed the sedatives. The vials of life-reviving formula throw light back at me when I bend to put Jason on the gurney.

  A dark, selfish need springs to life in me. I could wake Jason up. We have plenty of the formula. I don’t have to let him go…

  Emma steps back, arranges his hands over his chest, and then drapes him with a blanket from the counter. Does she know he did the same for her? He helped me bring Em back to life. He covered her with a blanket to stay warm.

  “We don’t have to let him die,” I mutter, my gaze on the rack full or formula vials. “I can bring him back.”

  “Oh, Alex, no,” she says. Her lips press into a line, eyebrows tip down, and then she steps between me and Jason’s body. “Don’t do that to Jason. He’ll be in agony.”

  “But I can bring him back!” She doesn’t understand. This isn’t Bree she’s losing. I’m losing Jason. “I can bring him back, even if I can’t cure him.”

  “Cure him of what?”

  “He’s dying Em.” I pace between Emma and the cabinet of life. “He has a genetic disease that’s killing him.”

  “No, he’s already dead.”

  Emma tucks the blanket tight around Jason like it will keep me from him. She grabs my hand, forces me to look at her.

  “He died so that you could live. Don’t ruin that. Don’t take that away from him.”

  “But I hurt.” I clench a hand to a fist over my heart. The loss is ripping me apart.

  And I can stop this pain. I can be the monster my father was, stealing lives to revive me because he couldn’t stand to let me go. I cast a look at Jason’s mangled form, an inventory of needs opening in my mind: ribs, sternum, spine, lungs, heart… He could be remade – Jason could be like me. There are ways to make Jason whole again.

  One look at his filthy face and I know the last thing I want to do is ruin Jason with my need to have him in my life. He told me once never to do that to him.

  “You’re supposed to hurt,” she says. “But he doesn’t have to anymore. Let his sacrifice mean something.”

  “I don’t want to,” I say, the loss knifing under my ribs.

  “None of us do.”

  Em takes the hand I offer, cuddles to my bloody chest. My father ruined lives and saved lives in this room. He truly saved mine when he woke me with Daniel’s love for Emma. “The truth is,” I whisper, “I would be a wreck without you.”

  “Then do something to prove it.”

  I turn us away from the Lazarus cabinet. We’ll both need it in a couple days, but I won’t bind my friend to it. Emma’s fingers are cool when she tucks them in the neck of my filthy shirt. Jason’s fingers are cold when I lay my hand over his.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Even when everything inside has come undone, Emma’s arms around my chest hold me together. Time ceases to matter, although the hurt goes on and on.

  “We need to get you cleaned up,” she says, wiping blood from her hands off on her jeans. With a gentle touch, she peels my T-shirt away and exposes the long gash on my chest. “Where’s the antiseptic?”

  “Second cupboard to the left,” I say, and point toward the row of cabinets across the table Jason’s body occupies.

  Emma pulls the blanket up over Jason’s hands when she walks to the cupboard. “By the way,” she says, not looking at me, “Thanks for sedating me.”

  “Um…You’re welcome?”

  “No, really.” She grabs a big bottle of antiseptic and gauze pads and turns back to me. “I’d really lost it and would’ve done something bad.”

  “That appears to be a side-effect of one of Hailey’s aerosols.”

  I clench my jaws and let Em flush out both cuts Hailey gave me. “Oh my God,” she says, when I prop my foot on the chair by the wall. “That’s really gross. I can see muscles and stuff.”

  A noise comes from the hall, rhythmic splashing like someone walking in the flooded hall. I straighten my leg despite the fresh hell Emma poured into the wound, and shove her behind me. My knife and Jason’s crowbar lie feet away where he fell earlier.

  “Kid?” Paul’s voice comes into the room. “Please tell me you’re alright.”

  I hobble to the door, meeting Paul when he limps in. Paul looks like hell, like something from a zombie movie, face all mottled on one side, bloodied, left arm crooked up to his chest, fingers hanging twisted.

  “I’m in one piece,” I say, “But I don’t think I’ll be alright for a really long time.”

  Despite his injuries, and mine, despite the awkward truth lying between us, I wrap my arms around Paul and hug him. He winces, then flings his right hand around my back and squeezes.

  “I called the authorities,” he says, and pulls out of my arms. “They’ll be here soon. And Jason called Bree. She’s on her way. Where is he?”

  The expression on my face must speak volumes.

  Paul blanches, face going white, black, blue and seeping red. “Oh, Alex. I’m so sorry.”

  I sniff back moisture in my nose, grab a pack of gauze and dry the cut in my chest. The physical pain is easier to deal with. “Did you get the files I sent?” I ask to change the subject.

  “Yes.” Paul shuffles to the table, takes the antiseptic and some gauze and washes Jason’s face as he says, “Hailey created a wicked cocktail with aspects of the formula, the sedative and the cognitive control drug she and Katrina had engineered using the animals.” He grabs a towel, slides it under Jason’s hands, and cleans them too. “The results were short term, with no lingering side-effects.”

  “So,” Emma says, and tips her head when she looks at Paul. “She told me to forget and I just forgot it all?”

  “No.” He limps to the computer and logs on. “I figured out her encryption code from the pictures Alex sent me.” He pulls up a file on the computer in the lab and opens the last document. “According to her notes, the initial doses contained a chemical known to induce memory loss. The last batch she made without it but added a component meant to stimulate anger.”

  “That last batch must be the stuff she dosed me with,” I say.

  “The police brought me home because I had no memory of being at
her house,” Em says in a musing tone. “The lack of memory must not have played to her favor. So, I’m really going to be OK?” Emma’s voice breaks, and she drags in a shaky breath. “It was all her doing? I’m not losing my mind?”

  “No more blackouts,” Paul says with certainty. “The next injection will clear out everything she tainted your system with. You’re going to be fine.”

  Emma pats her chest, her face and then smiles. “I’m OK.”

  So, I didn’t create a monster when I brought her back. The true monster lies in the tunnel beneath us.

  We all flinch when a sudden noise echoes through the lab.

  “I asked my brother to take his snowmobile and get your friend Bree,” Paul says. Even bruised and bleeding, I can read the apology on his face. “The girl sounded frantic when she called the lab’s landline.”

  No wonder Paul was so intent on cleaning Jason up.

  Em wades through the ankle deep water, trying to make it to the doors. From where I stand, I see Bree toss the snowmobile helmet and tear at the zippers and Velcro fasteners on the insulated suit.

  “Where is he?” she yells from the hall. “Jason, you have some explaining to do.”

  Paul staggers, hobbling around the gurney to stand by me, obstructing the view of Jason’s body. Emma holds her arms out, a feeble attempt to stop Bree from charging in.

  “Where is he?” she repeats. She looks from Emma, to me, to Paul, all of us injured and bleeding, and standing between her and the bed. Bree stops, gives a minute shake of her head, and Em moves forward, trying to wrap her best friend in a hug. “No.” Bree says. “No. You’re all fine. He’s fine, right? Alex?” Her voice scales higher, panicky, and my throat hurts in sympathy. “Jason’s OK, isn’t he?”

  I can’t lie to her. But the ache in my chest doesn’t want to voice the truth. To say it makes it true and I still want to believe he’s just sleeping. I hang my head, “I’m so sorry, Bree.”

  “No!” She shouts it this time. “Where is Jason?”

  I drag my right leg when I step to the side. Paul limps the other way. Emma reaches out, hooks Bree’s hand but the girl shakes her off. She runs the last few steps to the bed. Her gasp sounds painful and too loud.

  “Jason!” She screams, clutching at his shoulders. “Jason, wake up.” His head lolls when she shakes him, his filthy hair flops side to side. “Come on. You’re not dead. You can’t be.”

  “Bree,” Em says in a soft voice. She places a hand on Bree’s arm. “Let him be.”

  “No, don’t you tell me what to do!” Bee smacks Emma’s hand away. Tears run down Bree’s face, a sooty trail of make-up and pain. Her bottom lip quivers. “You’re not dead. Alex is not dead. Jason is. Not. Dead.”

  Wails break from her. Then Bree collapses over Jason’s body, her face buried in his neck, one hand clutching his crunched shoulder, one hand stroking his cold, still cheek. “You’re not dead,” she tells him over and over. Then she throws her head back and rails, “God, this is not fair! You don’t need him.” She collapses, one hand dragging his arm over the edge of the bed, clinging to his hand. “You don’t need him. I do.”

  Em turns to me, tears brimming on her lashes. She wants to help Bree, I can see it in her eyes, read it on every line of her face. Bree’s not ready for anyone’s comfort yet.

  “You,” Bree says, jumping to her feet, pointing at me. “This is all your fault. You called him for help.”

  “I didn’t know this would happen.” But the guilt is still tearing me up.

  “I don’t care.” She swings her accusing finger at Emma. “You revived her. You can bring him back, too, right? You got what you wanted. I still want Jason!”

  “Bree, no,” I shake my head. “It’s not a good idea.” It’s so hard to deny her what I wanted too.

  “Not a good idea?” She drops his hand to dangle lifeless from the bed, and grabs my bare shoulders. “You brought Emma back. Give him back to me.”

  “No. He’s been hurt too bad. If I revive him he’d suffer.”

  “Your father did it with you.”

  She couldn’t cut me any deeper. Even Emma gasps and moves closer in my peripheral vision, a hand hovering near.

  “I am not my father. He murdered people to get what he wanted. I won’t cause anyone pain.”

  I cup Bree’s shoulders with my hands, barely touching her. “Please, Alex,” she pleads.

  I mouth the word, “No,” and shake my head.

  The brown of Bree’s eyes drowns in her tears. “Give him back?”

  I increase the tension in my fingers, shake my head again.

  “But you can do it,” she says.

  “Just because you can,” I say, “doesn’t mean you should.” It’s a lesson I just learned.

  What’s left of Bree’s will breaks and she crumbles against my chest. I fold my arms around her, let her fall apart where she feels safe to. She reaches out, snags Emma’s shirt and drags her close. Soon, the three of us are tangled in pain, bonded in grief.

  “I just spoke to him,” Bree says, voice thick with tears, “not even an hour ago. Listen…”

  She turns a little sideways in our arms, but won’t break the connection. Bree pulls her phone from her pocket, thumbs through the system to the voice mail, then an eerie, diminished version of Jason’s voice says, “Gonna do something reckless, babe. If forever was a reality, I would’ve spent it with you. If I don’t make it back, ask Alex. He’ll explain everything. So in love it hurts…”

  “What am I going to do without him?” she whimpers.

  Em strokes her hair, talks softly, trying to reassure her. I bite my bottom lip and hold her like I know my best friend would want me to. Jason was there for me through everything with Em. A look with a thousand thoughts and one shared pain passes between me and Em. Holding my gaze, she rests her head against Bree’s. Emma knows Bree’s loss. I know a shadow of her pain.

  Together, the three of us will make it through this.

  A week later, the majority of the White River community are packed into Bree’s church for Jason’s funeral. I sit up front, my crutches on the floor in front of me, Bree on one side, Emma on the other, depending on me to hold them together. Taking care of the girls gives me purpose, and also gets me out of the house and away from my gran’s attempts at forcing me into a happier state of being.

  I don’t want anything happy right now. I think Bree and Emma would agree with my need to nurse my wounds and wallow in the hurt for a while. The pain keeps the memories of Jason sharp and clear.

  Jason’s parents didn’t dress him in something stupid. They bought the costume he wore in his last starring role with Bree, dressed him in that, and left his hair spikey-messy. Paul and I insisted on paying for his casket and all funeral expenses. The casket’s shiny black, with shooting stars molded into all the hardware. Jason would probably tell me it didn’t suck.

  What sucks is being without him.

  After a tear-jerker of a eulogy, everyone moves downstairs to the common room to “share a luncheon and their memories of Jason,” according to the pastor’s invitation. I follow a bunch of people I’d never seen before down the aisle, and watch the girls disappear over the edge of the stairwell. Not ready for a final goodbye, I stall, then turn and park my butt in the last row of the sanctuary.

  Now I sit, arms crossed and leaning on the pew in front of me. This is one of the last moments I’ll be able to be in the same room as Jason. Even if he isn’t really here.

  A soft tap-tap comes from Paul’s cane as he limps into the sanctuary. Hailey really did a number on him: she fractured his skull, broke his hand and his foot with the same lamp. And he isn’t blessed with our regenerative formula.

  “Hey, kid,” he says. Bruises still lump up the side of his face. He looks like something more than just a genius lab geek. Paul points to the bench beside me, a silent request to join me.

  I pat the seat. His foot brace creaks when he eases his body down. His dark hair falls forward in a lo
ose wave before he shoves it back. Paul tilts forward like me.

  “So,” he says, and hooks the handle of his cane on the seat back. “How’s Bree holding up? Did she take the news of Jason’s health OK?”

  “About as well as she can, considering.” I lean back and look up into the rafters. A few weeks ago all four of us sat in here. Now Jason’s body lies in the coffin at the head of the church, and the girls are most likely sitting in a corner, sipping punch and hating having to talk to people. “First she was mad that he didn’t tell her he was sick. Then she was sad. Then she was mad at me for not telling her. Then she was sad again.”

  “Sad will be the norm for a while, poor girl.” His age shows in his wrinkles when Paul nods. The weight of his hand on my shoulder is comforting. “Just because there was some kind of reason doesn’t make the loss hurt any less.”

  “Exactly.” I shift my focus back to Jason’s casket. “At least she has Em. Emma’s suffered that kind of loss before.”

  Days later, I can understand what Jason did and why. He wasn’t murdered like Em’s first boyfriend Daniel. Jason met death on his own terms, rather than facing a life of illness watching death creep up on him. I wasn’t given that choice. And I didn’t give it to Emma. Now we’re both stuck in a cycle of highs and lows, fire and fade.

  “Any word on Hailey?” I ask. I have asked every day since the police told us they didn’t find her body in the tunnels.

  “No.” Paul takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. He squints at the lenses before putting them back on. “The tunnels lead to the sewer, which has an overflow spillway into the river. With a flood like that, her body could be anywhere. I’ve recovered every file she stole and locked her out of all Ascension accounts. There’s been no news, no movement, nothing.”

  It doesn’t make it any better. I didn’t create a monster in Emma, but my father made one in Hailey, and until her body is found, I will always be wary of the next phone ring, or text message.

  “But,” he says, and pulls a folded document from his suit coat. “I have some news. Two things, actually. All the paperwork came through and you’ve been approved to rework your father’s property.”