Paying the Price chapter 7

Warning:: Blood and gore await ye.

Paying the Price
Chapter 7: Devil’s Blood

Derek quickly laid a layer of antibiotic gel on the man’s chest, following it with a quick and accurate cut from the scalpel.  He clamped the incision and sawed through the sternum, stepping back a bit as the ribcage swung open and revealed a greenish yellow blotch on the beating heart.  The hinges of the double doors behind him squeaked as they were pushed open.  He took only a quick glance back and saw Victor, fitted with a pair of gloves and a surgical mask, enter the room. “That’s it, Dr. Stiles.”  He joined the surgeon at the operating table and curtly nodded at the infection. “We need to keep it from infesting the inner membrane.  Take this,” he handed him a tray with a carbon membrane. “and cut a slit in the tissue.  We’re going to try and put this under the infestation to keep it from spreading.”

“How deep in his heart is it?” Derek asked as he took a pair of forceps into hand.  
“Not sure, probably on the second layer.  Whatever you do, don’t puncture it.  If you do, he’s a goner.”
“Got it.”

Derek carefully pinched a section of the tissue and pulled it up.  He sliced it quickly, placing the scalpel back on the tray and reaching for another pair of forceps.  He grabbed the membrane from the tray and pried the cut open with the other pair, sliding the patch into place.  He repeated the process on the other side of the infection, pulling the membrane from the other side and situating it.  “That should do.  Use the gel to seal it into place.”  Derek did just that and the two of them took a breath.

“I think that bought us some time.”  Victor said.  “We’ve got it contained, more or less.  You should just be able to remove it.”  

Derek carefully moved the tip of the scalpel towards the area.  It was small, which may have been a blessing had it not required such precision to move.  His other hand took control of the forceps, holding the tissue in place as he slowly began to cut away.  He narrowed his eyes, thinking of nothing but how his scalpel severed the muscle, pulling it away from its host organ, watching a drop of black tar running down the knife’s edge . . . “What the hell?!” Derek sputtered.  As quickly as he saw it, the drop was gone, either vanished into thin air or . . .

“What’s the matter?” Victor asked, but was interrupted by the screeching sensors.  Derek quickly pulled the scalpel away as the pulsating organ beat erratically.  “He’s going into ventricle fibrillation!”
“I got it!” Victor said, powering up the defibrillator.  “Three, two, one, clear!”

The initial shock put the heart back on a steady beat.  Both doctors let out a sigh.  “Dammit, this is not good.” Victor cursed.  “He must be going into shock.  Get that thing out of him, now!”  Derek nodded on pure reflex, Victor’s words somewhat deaf to him.  He felt panic start to boil in his stomach and he swallowed to keep it down.  A tremor shook his hands and he tensed them as he moved back in with the scalpel and forceps.  Did I really see that?  He trembled internally as he began excising the infected area, moving as quickly as possible.

“No matter how much you try, you cannot overcome the power of death.”

He took in a sharp breath and his body locked up.  “What’s wrong?” He heard Victor ask, cutting through the whisper in his brain.  Derek was thankful for his surgical mask, as he was certain he would see his lips quivering without it.  He pursed them and tried to suppress the irate twitching of his lungs before his breathing caught his attention.  “N. . .nothing.  It’s nothing.”  He forced his body back under his control before Victor had the chance to yell at him.  His grip on the scalpel tensed to nearly a death hold as he made another small cut.   

While that may have been enough to throw off any suspicions Victor had, it would take much more than that to fool the green eyes watching the two of them.  “Something’s not right.” Angie whispered to herself.  Her eyes narrowed as she placed a hand on the double glass, scrutinizing the surgeon she looked up to.  “Derek . . .”    

“I have given you the gift of Bliss. Indeed, you have been blessed with the gift of death itself.”

Derek flinched.  I’m not hearing this.

“Dammit!  It’s happening again!” Victor’s yell startled him and he quickly pulled his hands out of the patient.  He stepped back as Victor moved in with the defibrillator.  “Three, two, one, clear!”

The erratic screams of the heart monitor merged into a single note.  

“Accept the gifts that you have been given.”

“Cardiac arrest!  Stiles, do it!”  

Derek spread gel over the heart and began massaging it while doing everything he could to ignore the haunting voice.

“You cannot deny death or the powers within you.”

The heart beat resumed, but the patient’s vitals plummeted.  “Dammit!  The infection’s settling!  I’ll inject a neutralizer and you finish cutting that bastard out!”  Derek attempted to respond but sickness gripped him and restrained his body.  The fear that had boiled in his stomach turned cold.  Black liquid dripped down his fingers.  

“You have no choice.”

He hated having nightmares, but he would give anything – anything – to wake up, shivering and covered in sweat.  This could not really be happening.  It had to be another dream.  He bit his tongue hard until he tasted blood.  His mouth swelled with the putrid metallic flavor . . . but he found . . . he did not feel sick from it . . . it tasted . . . sweet.

“From this day forth, you will bathe in blood. You will indulge in the taste of death.”  

“No, no!  You’re wrong!” Derek growled, blood trickling from his lips as he spoke.  

“You will deliver this Bliss onto the world. That will be your prophecy.”

“You’re wrong!”

A star tore through his vision, blinding him as it cast its blue light and forcing him to close his eyes.  Another one slashed through his brain and left his forehead burning.  Gravity tugged at his back and he jerked his shoulders forward, pitching himself into a dizzy sway.  He felt for his center and wrapped his torso around it, teetering as his footing was regained.  Opening his eyes, he found that his surroundings were frozen, but not the grey scale that he had grown used to.  The colors were dulled by an overcast of blue but retained their given shade.  Everything around him blurred, swirling into dancing figments.  The only thing not affected was the incision he had been operating on and a pair of red eyes, piercing out from the shadows across the room.  Derek’s own eyes widened and he took a step back.

“No, this isn’t happening.”

“Don’t you ever have anything new to say?”  Derek heard his own acidic voice slither from the darkness.  His sinister doppelganger emerged slightly, the shadows trickling off his form.  

“You!” He took another step back. “You’re . . . you . .”

“You may call me Didymus, if you must.  I don’t really have a name, per se, but that has a bit of nicer ring than ‘You’, don’t you think?”  He laughed and placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head slowly.  “Well, what are you going to do now, Dr. Stiles?  Sure, you may have stopped time, but you’re only delaying the inevitable.”  

Derek took in a gulp and looked at the patient’s grim vitals.  They had locked through the activation of the Healing Touch, but that was of little comfort.  If anything, it only accented the nature of the situation.  The patient’s life force was being drained as if caught in a downward spiral and, had Derek’s powers not kicked in when they did, it would have been too late.  Mr. Kovar was just a breath away from death.

“Please . . . not again . . .” he whispered, shaken by just how close a call it had been.  

“See?  There you go again, repeating the same old tired pleas.” Didymus sighed.  “You’re getting kind of boring.”

Derek paid him no mind as he tried to quell his trembling.  It was not too late.  His patient was still alive.  He repeated that to himself, taking in several breaths, as he slowly backed into a wall.  

“Yes, your patient’s still alive.”  Didymus hissed.  “Nevermind the fact that you’re the reason he’s almost dead.”

Derek clenched his eyes shut.  He’s still alive . . . he’s still alive . . .

“Open your eyes, Derek.  His blood is all over your hands.  That’s why he’s dying. . .”

All at once, he felt the warm liquid cake both his hands.  Derek shot up rigidly, opening his eyes and starring at the sickeningly familiar sight of his blood drenched fingers.  His hands shook lightly, sprinkling fat droplets onto the floor and his scrubs.  The metallic aroma attacked him, coupled with the taste from his tongue bite, and a savage thirst twitched within him.  He felt his stomach rumbling hungrily and his injured tongue became parched, longing to lap up the blood until it was caressed by every last drop.

“Gah!”

Derek slammed the back of his head against the wall.  “No!”  He gritted his teeth and pitched his head forward, slamming it again.  Sweat washed the color from his face as he hit his head once more, leaving him heaving for breath and propped limply into the wall.  He grabbed onto the pain and disgust he felt, anchoring himself away from the horrid blood lust as a throaty laugh filled the room.  “Giving yourself a concussion won’t help.”  Didymus chuckled.  

“Shut . . . up . .” Derek gasped, gripping onto the rage he felt.  He forced his hands down to his sides, the blood trickled from them as they moved.  He could still feel a thirst for blood squirming in his belly and he shoved a tooth into his tongue.  The sharp pain jolted him and he tore himself away from the wall, opening his eyes again.  

He saw Victor, standing frozen in time next to the operating table.  It startled him.  He had forgotten that he was not the only one in the room, save for his ruthless dark twin.  Yet, the head of R&D was there all the same.  It was a rather peculiar pose that he had been locked into.  Victor’s left hand held onto one of the defibrillator paddles he had been using, while his right had traded its mate in for a syringe.  Had the situation been different, Derek may have even found the confounded look in his eyes amusing.  Despite the confusion, Victor had been standing his ground and doing what had to be done.  He reminded him of Angie; working hard by his side to save a patient.  “Angie . . .” her name was a welcome contrast of warmth, even when fluttering on such broken and scared breath.  He could not see her from his position, but she was there all the same, watching over him.  

“Angie . . .”

“Derek, you’re one of the bravest men I know. You’ll never become a monster like him.”

A soft beat from his heart embraced him internally.  Derek felt his courage return to him and through the terror and rage that stormed within, he held one solid thought in his brain.  He had to operate and save his patient.  Derek looked at his hands as the blood pooled in his palms and overflowed onto his fingers.  He growled and clenched them into fists.  “If I can remove the infestation, he should be okay.” He muttered to himself.  

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Once again casting away the taunt, Derek walked back to the operating table and let out an aggravated hiss.  His tools were covered in the deadly dark venom from before.  “This is no good. . .” He sighed, spitting out more droplets of blood in the process.  Gathering the utensils, the quickly tackled through the double doors and plunged them into the sterile sink.  His surgical mask began to soak with blood and he tore that off, as well as his drenched gloves.  He wiped his bloody mouth with his sleeve and donned a clean set of gear, returning to the sink.

To his relief, the tools were clean when he re-emerged them.  “They won’t stay that way.” A cold breath whispered on his ear.  He took a skittish step back and found himself locked with his own red tinted eyes.  “You stain everything you touch.”  Didymus murmured again.  

“Get away from me.”

His dark twin did nothing of the sort, taking a step closer and skimming his hand through the sink.  “Your hands are bloodier than I thought.”  He slowly drew up his crimson fingertips.  Derek could no longer smell the cleanliness of the water.  It had been completely consumed, leaving the sink to brim with blood and the haunting smell of it to call to him.  Didymus brought his fingers to his lips and licked them clean.  “Hm, very rich.  Care for some?”  

“I said get away from me!” Derek push kicked the doppelganger square in the chest, tackling the OR door with his shoulder and rushing back to Mr. Kovar’s side.  With clean tools, he reached in again, taking a breath to steady himself.  The dark matter was pooling up in the patient’s chest.  He quickly took the drain and suctioned it out.  “Ugh . . . this is bad.”  Upon draining the chest cavity, he saw several wounds that had been burned into the surrounding organs.  The tar had been dissolving them.

“Dammit!” Derek growled and reached for a tray of carbon membranes.  He quickly places them over the wounds and grabbed a swath, dipping it in the gel and massaging the patches into the injuries.  “Okay, good, I shouldn’t have to worry about them hemorrhaging for the moment.”  He took his scalpel and pinched at the heart tissue with his forceps.  “Gotta work fast.” he muttered, cutting the area around the infection.  He steadied his hand and narrowed his eyes, his grip on the scalpel tightening.  He continued cutting slowly as a grumble began to build in his throat.  It erupted into a roar, pulling his teeth into a snarl as he lifted the knife and stabbed it into the center of the heart.  Savagely, he tore the scalpel down the middle, ripping the organ open, his mouth watering at the blood that sputtered from within.

“No!”

Derek gasped as the sounds of his double’s sinister laughs cut through the air.  He took a step back from the operating table, breathing heavily, but finding Mr. Kovar’s heart in one piece, for the most part.  The infestation was still there, as were the small incisions he made to remove it.  “What . . . was . .?”
“Just stop fighting it, already.” Didymus said, crossing his arms.  “Embrace what you have inside.  Indulge in death’s sweet flavor.  You know you want to.”

“No . . . No . . .” Derek shook his head, trying to toss out the vision of his hand cutting the man’s heart open.  It refused to leave him.  It bled down the inside of his forehead and imprinting itself on the crevices of his mind.  He opened his eyes again to ensure himself it was not real.  The patient’s heart was still whole, but he could not shake the terror it had given him.  “This isn’t my mind . . . doing this . . I do not want to watch people die!”

“Oh really?”

Icy breath pricked the back of his neck.  “No one made you imagine what you just saw and, whether you like to admit it or not, you felt a twinge of ecstasy at that, didn’t you?”  Gritting his teeth, Derek spun around, but his doppelganger was nowhere to be found.  He quickly scanned the room and found himself alone, save for Victor.  

No, there was one other person.

He looked around again to be sure that Didymus was gone for the moment.  Hopefully forever . . .

There was no sign of him.  Derek looked up to the observation deck.  Through the blue that filtered his vision, he was just barely able to make her out.  Something about her eyes seemed to penetrate straight through, locking with his.  Her bandaged hand was pressed against the glass and her hair framed her angelically.  He felt a bit of color return to him as he drank in her suspended form.  “Keep working . . . you can do this . .” he whispered.  His hands still shook as he returned to the operating table.  He focused on Angie, holding her outline in his mind just as he did the star shapes.  It helped, and he felt a little less like vomiting and passing out.   

Derek looked down at the scalpel and forceps he was holding, cursing silently when he found them drizzled with the dark liquid.  A frigid bite in his hands stung him as he could feel his skin bleeding out again.  The gloves did little; the tar seeped right through them.  Placing the tools back on the tray, he grabbed a large amount of gauze and wadded it up in both hands.  He quickly wiped his tools clean and returned to the incision, draining the little of the venom there was before it did any damage.

Fortunately, he had gotten to draining just in time.  It was removed just before it began to eat away at the organs, but keeping the cavity clear of it was proving to be a futile attempt.  Just as constantly as he drained the venom, his hands continued to secrete it, giving him an impossibly small window of time to excise the infection.  “I’ve gotta move faster!” he muttered.  He finished draining, but could see the tar begin to slide down his tools again.  

Derek closed his eyes, taking a shallow breath as he envisioned Angie in his mind.  All the gore and horrors he had witnessed that day were there as well, replaying darkly before him, but they were dulled next to her.  She radiated in the foreground, casting the shadows that had been haunting him away.  “I can do this . . . I know I can . . .” he murmured.  She nodded, her face stoic and serious as it always was when they were in surgery, but her eyes never changed.  No matter what emotion they held, they always looked onto him and believed in him.  He took a breath, carving another star shape in his mind.  

Derek let out a short cry when his legs almost gave out.  He tensed his whole body and forced himself to stay together, fighting the sensation of his strength bleeding from him.  He took a moment to retain a struggled standing position and felt himself recover his balance.  He opened his eyes.  The tar was still coming, but slower this time and he grasped this chance to catch up.  He injected the stabilizer then grabbed the forceps and scalpel.

A red glow descended upon him and its weightless caress chilled his skin.  “How long do you think you can keep this up?” Didymus said.  Derek hissed quietly as he glanced up.  Sure enough, his evil twin stood on the opposite side of the table.  His glare was intense, the red glow from his eyes illuminating sharply against the blue.  “As long as I need to.” Derek muttered and he returned to his task.  He made quick, small cuts as he was unable to still his shaking fingers.  

He pushed himself further as the venom began to pool up.  He was just about half way done, but as his knife became more difficult to keep under control and nearly punctured the infestation, he knew he would have to abort.  He drew out his scalpel and closed his eyes, letting the third star run from his mental grip but held onto the first two.  He managed to balance himself through his swaying and was as steady on his feet as he could be once the room settled.

Derek quickly drained the area and pulled out his hands before another drop could fall from his fingers.  He glared at the infection, squeezing the wadded gauze in his hands.  The liquid trickled from the dampened bandages and he let them slip from his fingers, hearing them join their drippings with a sickening squish.  He grabbed his tools and ran back to the other room, knowing well the sink would still be thick with blood.  

The smell was quick to call to him and caressed his face seductively.  Derek crinkled his nose and bit his lip as he plunged his hand in and pulled out the stopper, letting the murky red water drain out.  Withdrawing his hand, which was caked past his elbow, he lunged at the faucet and ran his entire arm under the water before the thirst nibbling at his tongue could attack.

“You’re just wasting your energy.”

Derek struck out at the voice that whispered in his ear.  His fury was turned against him as Didymus grabbed his fist and twisted his arm around, kicking his ankles out from under him in the process.  A grunt was purged from Derek’s chest as it was dug roughly into the sink’s edge.  The pressure against his ribs increased as Didymus leaned into him, grabbing his left wrist and forcing his palm an inch from his face.

“Do you see this?” Derek saw dark crimson swirling with the black tar on his hand.  “This is your doing.  Don’t you get it, Stiles?  From the day you were born, you were cursed with the powers you doctors call the Healing Touch.”  Didymus let out a deep, rattled chuckled.  “Healing Touch . . . that’s a laugh.  Our master has blessed you, given you a path to redemption.  Now, your powers can lead the world to salvation and one day, you will return to Adam.”

“You’re insane . . .!” Derek twitched, trying to gain footing.

“We’re not insane.  We’re simply restoring the natural order . .”
          
A sickening crack cut Didymus off as Derek gave him a reverse head butt.  He slipped for a moment, once his doppelganger’s weight was no longer supporting him, but he pulled himself back up with his feet securely planted to the floor.  He could hear Didymus cuss behind him and stumble around dazed from the blow.  He put his hands under the running water, willing it to clean them off as quickly as possible.  He grabbed his tray and cleaned his tools off as well, trading in his stained gloves for a new pair and rushing back to the OR.

Situated at the patient’s side again, he picked up his scalpel . . . . and froze.  The determination melted from his eyes and his rigid form relaxed.  Fixing his gaze on the incision, he slowly set the knife back on the tray.

Derek stared at the heart, his face expressionless.  Suddenly, his hand lashed out and squeezed into the organ.  His finger tips sizzled away the arteries and veins that held it into place and he brutally ripped it out.  A fountain of blood shot from the now dead man’s chest.  Derek took a breath and let it rain down upon him before removing his surgical mask.  He licked the corner of his mouth, salivating slightly, as he bit down into the heart.  Blood spurted over his face and he tore into the muscle, indulging as he chewed.

A curtain of white flashed before his eyes and he took a step back.

An inhuman cry sputtered from Derek’s throat as he felt his body crash against the wall.  His mask was back on and there was no heart tissue in his mouth, but as he looked at his recently clean hands, he saw them drenched.  Ghosts and echoes of laughter swelled the room and he was crushed underneath them.  His hands flew to his head, his teeth and eyes clenching shut as he tried to keep the voices out.  Blood soaked his hair, joining the venom that seeped from his hands.  The smell, that he had once found bitter, was becoming more enticing.  

“Why can’t I wake up?” he whimpered.  The voices were closing in on him and the blood dripped onto his shoulders.  “This isn’t happening!  I’m dreaming!  I’m dreaming!”

“Yes, Dr. Stiles, this is all just another bad dream.” Didymus appeared before him, glaring down with his glowing red eyes.  “Any second now, you’ll open your eyes and the sun will be shining, birds will be chirping and a brand new day will be standing before you.”

He leaned in, his cold breath spraying on his face.  “You just keep telling yourself that.  You really are a broken record, you know that?”

Derek slid down the wall and Didymus crouched to meet his eyes.  “Adam wants you.” He whispered.  “You’re so close.  Why do you resist?  Things wouldn’t be so painful for you if you’d just come to him.”

“Never!”

Didymus drew in closer, his face a mere inch away.  Yet, the closer he got, the softer his expression became.  Derek swallowed uneasily as he looked directly into his eyes, which had turned still and lifeless.  “You won’t come?” He blinked slowly.  “Then, I’ll have to come get you myself.”  

“Wha?” Derek was cut off by his own gasp.  Didymus’s fingers brushed his cheek gently.  They were cold . . . dead.  The red glow from his eyes darkened, bleeding out past his eye lids and masking him.  His hair turned dry and grew until it fluttered well beyond his waist.  His skin turned sallow and rotten.  “Adam . . . no . . .”

The man, the monster, he feared more than anything tenderly pulled his surgical mask off and stroked his temples.  “You belong to me, Derek Stiles.”

The frigid, ghastly whisper slithered through his brain.  Derek could not move.  Horror paralyzed him.  A terrible screech filled the air, shaking him to his core.  The sound scarred him, promising to haunt him until his death.

He was only vaguely aware that the sound was coming from him.