"Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change."
~ Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
__________
"Tell me, Miss Penn," Dr. Reed said. "How long have you been a vampire?"
Lucy's body went rigid. She recoiled, her lips pulling back from her teeth in a snarl. Her voice came out an angry hiss. "Do not use that word!"
Dr. Reed blinked at her, his expression unchanged. "It is what we are."
"No!"
Lucy had never before instigated a verbal dispute with a stranger, but the venom with which she now howled at Dr. Reed would have caused tremors in a lesser man.
"Vampires are mindless demons that take pleasure from murdering the living!" Lucy proclaimed, remembering with abhorrent clarity the night she had discovered their existence to be fact rather than fiction. "Vampires are the ancient abomination that took the life of my fiancé and left me as this...creature! Vampires are evil! I am not a vampire! I am Lucy! I may no longer be human, but I will burn in hell ere I surrender my humanity!"
Her body deflated, spent. Her breath came in jagged starts and stops, as though she had been submerged in water beyond the capacity of her lungs' air supply. She pressed her palms to her cheeks and glared at the papers scattered across the physician's desk. She refused to meet his eye.
Impassive, Dr. Reed continued to observe her. With slow, deliberate movements, he propped an elbow on the desktop and ran the side of his index finger back and forth across his bearded chin.
"My apologies, Miss Penn. It seems I have spoken out of turn."
His tone was earnest. Calming. Apt bedside manner once again.
"I tend to be too curious around my own kind," he avowed. "For my part, curiosity leads to bluntness. A fault I must learn to remedy. In truth, I have only been in a situation like this once, maybe twice, before. As you said, the vast majority of our species consists of a horde of growling madmen on the streets. No suitable company with which to have a conversation. In no way did I aim to imply that you are not still the person you once were. There is simply...more to you now."
Lucy's breathing had returned to its slow, methodical rhythm. Ashamed, she lifted her gaze to the doctor's face. "Forgive my outburst."
"Don't apologize." Dr. Reed waved a hand, granting her absolution. "You are sane, compassionate, and still vividly aware of your past self," he said. "It stands to reason that you would not want to be associated with those monstrosities, by title or anything else. But I implore you, consider this."
He stood and walked out from behind the desk. Crossing his arms loosely over his chest and perching on the desktop corner nearest Lucy, he continued, "Say there is a man. He has a sporadic cough and a slight fever. He still works, still tends to his family, just requires more rest than usual. Then, there is another man. He has full-blown leprosy, his skin covered in red boils and sores. He is near death, falling apart at the seams. The differences between these two men are drastic and overt, are they not?"
Lucy gave a solemn nod. "Night and day."
"Indeed," Dr. Reed remarked. He fixed her with a pointed stare. "But couldn't both men accurately be described as 'ill'?"
Lucy's eyes widened.
She felt as though the weight of a great stone slab had been lifted from her chest. She sighed an obstructed breath. Dr. Reed's analogy opened a door in her mind that she had not previously known existed.
"Vampirism is not an unequivocal damnation," she voiced slowly, a storm of thoughts billowing through her mind. "It can be thought of as a diagnosis of symptoms. And, as with any illness, the symptoms vary from patient to patient."
"Precisely," Dr. Reed concurred. "But symptoms do not make the person. Choice does. Being a vampire does not mean you are like them." He motioned out the window at the dark, shrouded streets of London.
Lucy nodded in understanding. "Accepting what I am does not mean I will lose who I was," she summarized.
"That is correct. If anything, acceptance will help you find peace. You are both: a vampire...and Lucy Penn."
Lucy dipped her chin in subtle agreement, a hint of a smile gracing her features. "I am willing to accept that."
"I'm glad," Dr. Reed said. "Does that mean you will answer my question?"
"Your—? Yes! Of course! ...Just as soon as you remind me of what it was." She gave him a bashful smile.
"How long?"
"Ah, yes. Tomorrow will mark one month," she told him, scarce able to believe it herself. "And you?"
"Twelve years."
The contextual weight of his words struck Lucy like a slap. "You have remained unchanged for more than a decade?"
"Heavens no. I've grown a beard."
"You have—? What?"
The corners of Dr. Reed's mouth lifted by a fraction. His eyes danced with a mischievous glint. He was teasing her.
It was the first time Lucy had seen him smile. His eyes shone as if lit from within, and the whole of his countenance took on a youthful radiance. She studied his face, trying to memorize each line, plane, and curve. His was a smile she did not wish to forget.
She had much to learn from him. He was like her, but older, wiser, and more experienced. He had proven he could work closely with the sick and injured, all the while keeping his appetite under enough control to refrain from having "accidents." He could teach her how to obtain a relatively normal life — perhaps with a useful vocation.
Perhaps they could be friends.
Perhaps...something more.
Lucy blushed. Realizing her girlish sentiment might make him uncomfortable, she chose not to voice her thoughts.
She watched as Dr. Reed opened his wardrobe and fished out a clean lab coat. He donned it with such poise and grace that Lucy was momentarily lost in a vision of a man twirling his dance partner in a waltz.
"Now," Dr. Reed's voice broke the spell, and Lucy blinked away her reverie. "I said I was in your debt, and I meant it, Miss Penn. Now that I have safely been returned to my right mind, please allow me the chance to repay you. Why did you come here tonight?"
Lucy let out a little gasp. Why, indeed. Sir Wilhern was sick, and she had allowed her newly acquired acquaintance to drive her to distraction. Goodness, was this the kind of daughter-in-law she would have been? Forgetful? Vacant? Thoughtless? Though her marriage to his son would never come to pass, Sir Wilhern still treated her as a daughter.
She shook her head in disappointment of her own behavior.
Reaching into the small satchel at her side, Lucy retrieved the letter Dr. Rosencrantz had written. She handed the crisp envelope to Dr. Reed, allowing him a moment to examine and open it.
"The master of our house has fallen ill," she elucidated. "I came here by instruction from his physician to procure sterile syringes and tubes for blood transfusions. He felt confident that someone herein would provide him with the equipment he requires."
Dr. Reed gawked at the letter in his hands.
"Rosencrantz?" he asked in disbelief. "The doctor who created your blood capsules is Gil Rosencrantz?"
"Yes..." Lucy said, finding his recognition curious. "Do you know him?"
"I know of him." Dr. Reed shook his head, bewildered. "There are whispered rumors that he dabbles in necromancy. Is it true?"
"I cannot say with absolute certainty, but I wouldn't find it a surprise," Lucy answered, thinking of Dr. Rosencrantz' secretive behavior and Evelyne's snide comment earlier that evening regarding 'cadavers in the cellar'. "He knows a great deal about death. And life. And what plausibly separates the two. He was the one who showed me that vampire blood could heal wounds. Would you..? Would you like to meet him?"
The expression that over took Dr. Reed's features displayed a mixture of desire and dread.
"Yes," he said. "No. That is— Perhaps. I'm conflicted. But let that go. Someone in your household is sick."
"Victor Wilhern. Yes."
"Then let us find the necessary supplies," Dr. Reed said. He tucked the letter back inside its envelope and set it on his desk. "The cellar is where I hide an emergency stock of equipment with which I could provide you. We shall go there now...as long as a visit to the morgue doesn't frighten you."
~ * ~