This is the original novel I have every intention of writing. I’m trying really hard. Constructive criticism is encouraged.

If you have any comments, e-mail me.

maxpilote@gmail.com  or thedarkenedrealm@yahoo.com

 

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Chapter One:
Under Her Skin

November 25, 2085 at 9:40 AM
…Our Lady of Mercy Memorial Hospital

“In other news, the country continues to mourn as the gas explosion that shook the capital and its surrounding suburbs claimed three more victims this morning. The death toll is expected to rise from its current total of 59 as the injured continue to die from a variety of medical problems ranging from infections to severe burns.

“A memorial service is being planned for the victims of this tragic accident. A date and time will be announced later.

“Next up on your news at noon: your local area forecast with met–”

Dr. Thomas Gray sighed heavily before he shut down the car. The news broadcast ended abruptly as power was cut off from the radio, leaving the doctor alone in silence. He leaned back in the driver’s seat and lost himself in bitter contemplation.

When other people felt sadness as they thought of the so-called accident, he felt contempt and anger. Three long weeks had already passed and the police didn’t even suspect foul play. Tragic accident? Thomas scoffed at the thought. This entire event was clear evidence as to how deep the enemy had entrenched himself in the systems running the country. It was a damn shame the average citizen was blind.

He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. Reporters always made things sound like they came straight out of a textbook. There was no way he could view this tragedy as a “developing story” like the media was doing. If only he could view everything as objectively as some journalists were able to do. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much.

The doctor stepped out of the warm car into the brisk cold that was so characteristic of autumn. In a futile attempt to shield himself from the imposing presence of a dying fall, he wrapped the long brown coat tighter around his body. His feet began to bring him towards his salvation from the dropping temperatures, which came in the form of a great white building that dwarfed the ones around it.

Instead of the heavy security inspired by a world filled with death and paranoia, there was simply an old man of rather large proportions sitting unarmed in a tattered security uniform a few feet to the left the entrance. The god awful squeal and grinding of the automatic doors as they opened was enough to raise the bodies in the morgue beneath the building, but not enough to wake the inept security officer sitting just a few feet away from them.

Everything looked like it needed to be washed—even the nurses and the rest of the staff. Thomas fidgeted as he waited for the nurse to finish her phone call. He almost rested his hands on the counter, but jerked them away when he realized just how dirty the surface was that he was about to touch. When the visitor’s pass was thrust at him in an impatient manner, he examined it thoroughly. It was grimy and disgusting, decorated by several mysterious stains of various texture, size, and color.

Dr. Gray opted to leave it behind. Judging by the lack of security in the building, he didn’t think anyone would mind. He walked down a long hallway, past several empty hospital rooms, and through a pair of ominous metal doors.

The intensive care ward looked like something out of a typical horror movie. Blood and other diverse body fluids stained a white-tiled floor. Trays of discarded bandages and dirty tools cluttered the hallway beside a few gurneys covered with blood stained sheets. The collective hum of different life support machines combined with the moans of poorly sedated patients created a haunting melody that matched perfectly with the ambiance formed by this unique combination of objects.

He kept his eyes focused on the empty space in front of him, forcing himself to keep a professional composure. All the hospitals he had ever worked in were dedicated to patient care and comfort. It seemed that this hospital didn’t much give a damn whether these people lived or died. As a man who had dedicated himself to helping people and saving lives, it was hard to walk through that hall way and not give a damn.

While it looked like they didn’t care, he had the distinct impression that they were actually just waiting for the patients to die. It meant less work for them, even if they didn’t do very much to begin with.

Dr. Thomas Gray walked to the end of the hallway to stand beside a stoic, middle-aged woman. She looked to be in her late-20s, but streaks of gray were already showing up in her auburn hair. The two stared into a dark room for a long time before either of them spoke.

“It’s nice to see you again, Dr. Gray,” remarked the woman, as if noticing him for the first time.

“Good morning, Dr. Brennan,” he greeted in return.

Her reflection in the clouded glass of the window showed a woman whose waking hours were filled with worry and regret. Dark brown eyes showed a profound affliction, and it was not without reason. If anyone other than the victims had any right to feel distraught over the recent accident, it was Lillith Brennan. She composed herself surprisingly well, however, for a woman who suffered so much loss.

“I hope you found your trip pleasant,” said Lillith. “I do apologize for making you cross town on such a short notice, but this is a dire matter concerning the future of the Regrowth project.”

“Did something happen to the final candidate?”

“He died,” replied the female doctor. “The final modifications were too much.” There was a deep sadness in her voice as she spoke. “We were so close, but it seems Satan has seen fit to take this small victory from us.”

“Satan or God?” asked Thomas. There was a slight frown on his face. “I think we’re doomed to fail because of what we’re trying to accomplish. God gives and takes as He please, and—“

“I’ll start attending church on Sundays if I want to a sermon,” said the woman in a curt tone.

He gave up and decided to continue with the previous topic of conversation. “What of the future of the project?”

“Ah, yes, that is precisely what I have wanted to discuss with you before we discuss it with the rest of the members.”

Lillith Brennan stepped closer to the glass, brushing a few strands of her hair from her face. She located the intercom on the left of the large window and activated it. “Nurse, please turn the lights on and wake our patient.”

Several minutes passed before the lights came on in the room. The isolation chamber was considerably cleaner than the rest of the hospital. It may have actually passed as a sterile environment. There was a bed positioned perpendicular to the window in the middle of the room.

Thomas let out a small gasp. A child lay in the bed, no older than five years old. Her entire left arm was missing as was her right leg from the knee down. White bandages covered so much of her body, leaving little of her pale skin visible. Only her face seemed untouched, save for the patch of her right eye.

“She’s a spitting image of her mother,” he whispered in astonishment. From her dark green eyes to her brilliant red hair, this child looked just like the Aithne Thisboti he remember from so many years ago.

The aging woman beside him remained silent for several minutes, as if allowing him to adjust to the situation. His surprised expression faded to a more resolute one before she spoke.

“She’s the last chance for this project to succeed,” said Lillith solemnly. “If she dies, the project will die with her. We don’t have the resources to try again.”

“But we’ve never chosen a candidate so badly injured before,” argued Thomas. There was something wrong with using one of his dearest friend’s children as a guinea pig. “She’ll never last through the procedures.”

“She’s a survivor, Thomas.” He thought for a moment he could see tears in her eyes. “I’m not sure what it is, but she’s driven by some purpose. She won’t allow herself to die.

“Besides,” she continued, “Aithne and Frayne would want it this way. They would want their little girl to have a chance at a normal life.”

That statement was a lie. She would never have a normal life if the project was successful. Every morning she woke up would be another reminder of what she had lost, of what the project had turned her into.

Thomas felt a pang of guilt, but decided not to argue with his colleague.

“Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin! For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me,” said the doctor before he walked away.

Lillith let out a sigh of despair. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions, right?”