"FADE TO BLACK" by Camilla ´Motone´ Whitney

FADE TO BLACK

            The light overhead throbbed almost imperceptibly, but to Thomas’ enhanced state of weariness, the throb pounded into his eyes, magnifying the headache at the back of his head and forcing it to branch out and relocate between his eyes as well.  The only sounds in the house were water running through the pipes, the occasional creak of the house trying to trick him into thinking someone else was there, and the sound of his jagged breathing. 

            He closed his eyes halfway, then blinked them blearily open.  A thick sweat had formed along his brow and upper lip.  He fought his exhaustion with every dry inhalation of musty air, pain raging through his side as he breathed in, pain dimming to match the throb of the lights as he breathed out.

            He tried to wade through the fog in his mind.  What was it?  What had happened that now he was alone in this house, the bandage wrapped around his stripped torso soaked in blood, waiting for… for something, but he couldn’t remember what.  There were soldiers—well, he thought they were soldiers, they had weapons. 

Now it seemed the whole house was pulsing along with the beat in the light and his side.  But he had to remember.  There was a reason he was here, how what was it?  The soldiers—perhaps they had given him this wound, with their weapons.  But… wouldn’t those wounds be cleaner?  Not unless—he squeezed his eyes shut, a sudden image enveloping his mind.  A small hole pierced, then suddenly blood and flesh scattered through the air as his side ripped apart.  Exploding bullets.

            But why had they shot him?  He was just an innocent civilian.  Wasn’t he?  He had been running, through the forest.  It was this morning, or some morning, at any rate.  He remembered because the sun was very bright, but it wasn’t hot yet.  He had been running—no, chasing.  Chasing something.  Chasing her!  But why would she run?

            Maybe she wasn’t running.  Maybe… maybe she was being taken away.  By the cops!  Yes, he remembered now.  The soldiers, or whatever they were, were taking her away.  He ran after them, so they shot him.  But why would they do that?  Why would they take her away?

            Thomas gasped for breath through his parched lips, breathing in the dust from the ancient house.  He coughed weakly, too weakly to dislodge the particles.  Come on, Thomas, think! he thought to himself.  They had to have had a reason for taking her away!  Why did they do it?

            As some electrical appliance somewhere in the house kicked in, the lights flickered.  Come on, Thomas…  His eyes roved blurrily around the room, searching for an answer.  He found it on his right triceps.  What at first appeared to be a black smudge turned out to be a number when his vision cleared—a serial number, by the looks of it.

            Yes, that was it!  His serial number… of course!  When he had escaped with Ilsa, they didn’t care, thinking them too weak and unprepared to survive in the real world.  But they had.  They had survived, and had lived to tell the world, to found an organization to try to stop them, to stop the testing and human experiments.  That was right.  Then they had found out about the agency, and come after them…  He ran with Ilsa through the woods, headed to the underground.  But they caught her… and shot him… And he had survived long enough to get back to this house… And now it was his turn to wait…

            He leaned back against the side of the bed.  He hadn’t had the strength to hoist himself onto the bed, so he had laid next to it, staining the dust on the floor with his blood, which oozed through the bandage he had made from his shirt.  He closed his eyes, not caring when he heard the front door open, and only noting with vague interest that the ki-lank sound of walking belonged to woman’s shoes.  It felt a little better to have his eyes closed, and now that he had figured it out, he didn’t feel so bad about getting some sleep.

            “Thomas!”  It was her.  He opened his eyes, and there she was, standing in the doorway, looking more beautiful than he could remember.  Her hair was a golden waterfall past her face, her lips, rubies, beautifully accented against her gray blouse and skirt, and hose torn from the run.

            “Thomas, darling!  You’re hurt!  Oh, thank goodness I’ve found you!”  She ran to him and cradled his head in her arms.  “Do you think it’s bad, Thomas?  Will you get better?”

            “Ilsa,” he choked, his voice bloody and raspy, “how did you escape?”

            Ilsa froze, and even in his delirious state he could tell what that meant.

            “You… You told them?

            “I had to, darling.” Ilsa crooned.  “It was the only way they’d let me see you.  They’re taking me back to the institution.”

            “Taking… you back?”

            “Yes, they said there was more testing to do.  But we’re together now, that’s all that matters.”  Her foolish, innocent eyes looked lovingly into his.

            “Ilsa…” He was choking on blood and dust, and his vision was fading to and from a spotty darkness.  “I can’t let them violate your body like that…” He knew that her memory would be erased, and they would start all over on her, test after heinous test… No one deserved such life, if it could even be called life.

            “But darling, don’t you understand?  It’s not my body, it’s theirs, and so is yours.”

            “They don’t care…” he gasped.  Maybe the Institution was right.  Maybe they were too immature and unprepared.  Maybe they really weren’t ready to face the real world…

            FADE TO BLACK