The Things We Bury - Part 1: In Anticipation of the End of the World [Completed]

Chapter 5: The Monster That You Are (Part 4 of 7)

The girl sat cross-legged on the carpet.  A large book was laid out on the floor in front of her.  Her head hung over it, supported by her hands.  Small, pink fingers twisted through fine strands of lusterless hair. 

She was looking sickly.  Ever since the full moon, her golden hair had turned to hay, dull and brittle.  Her skin was a waxy tallow.  On the rare occasion she looked up, her eyes were haunted and sleepless, underscored by dark circles that gave the sockets a sunken quality.

How long could the girl survive in solitary captivity?  How long would it be before she succumbed to madness or just gave up and stopped eating? 

And what were those changes doing to her? 

Each time they took ahold of her, they ripped her apart and put her back together again.  How long could her body go through that before her heart failed?  Before her brain hemorrhaged?  Before her bones and muscles lacked the strength to reassemble themselves, and there was nothing left but a hideous, hybrid corpse?

Realistically, how long did she have to live anyway?

The Observation Center door opened with a whoosh of air released from the hydraulic lock.

From behind him, Tray Cullen heard a surprised voice mutter, "Oh."

He looked over to see a black skirt billow with a sudden turn, and go back out the door.

"Emily, wait."  The door was already closing behind her.  He dashed for it and slipped through the narrowing gap. 

She walked a fast clip without turning around and Tray had to jog to catch up.  He stopped her just before she passed through the plastic sheet that formed the first barrier leading to the cleanroom lab.  If she had decided to turn right instead of left, she would have taken them back to the wolf room.  The memory of the last time they were there fell on his conscience with a dull thud, and Tray couldn't help but wince, even before Emily slapped away the hand that held her back by the crook of her elbow.  

"Please," he implored, as she started walking away again.  "I need to talk to you."

"Well, I don't want to talk to you." 

"I'm sorry, okay?  I screwed up."  He wasn't sure what held her there while he apologized.  Perhaps it was the sheer force of will he was exerting.  Tray faced the hostility of her glare, while she waited for a good explanation.  Her arms were folded and pressed tightly against her chest, accenting the breasts coddled in her white sateen shirt.  Her bottom lip was puckered from a frown, and he couldn't help but be a little turned on by the effect.

"I didn't think it was going to be like that.  I thought—"  What had he been thinking exactly?  That it would be easy?  That they would stroll in collect a few samples, take a selfie with the beast, then go grab a latte?  No.  He had wanted her there because he knew it was going to be hard, and he didn't want to have to do it alone.  "Okay, I don't know what I thought.  Can you just give me two minutes to explain?  I want to make it up to you."

Tray began to falter under her gaze.  It was as though she could see straight into him, directly to the corruption at his core.  Like she could see that slimy hobgoblin that roamed the inner reaches of his soul, blackening every good intention he ever had.  Not that there had ever been many of those. 

He found himself longing for her good opinion, in the same way he had always strived for Whitney's.

He had gone into nursing because he desired to show his big sister how much he wanted to help people.  More than anything, Tray wished for her to see him as a good person.  He wanted that more than he ever cared about doing anything for anyone else.  Although somewhere in the maze of self-deceptions he called his consciousness, he did believe he had altruistic motives.  At least, for a little while, he did.