Chapter 10 (Adam Novus Chronicles - Book 1)

As he promised, Marcus made an appointment for me with the doctor that treated supernaturals. He came into my room early in the morning, and I had just gone to bed a few hours before. What? I don’t need to sleep much and do you have any idea how addicting some sites are on this new and improved Internet? (By the way, I am not talking about funny cat videos.)

“Oh, for heaven sakes,” he murmured, then quickly crossed the room to open the window.

“What?” I asked, faking ignorance.

He looked at me accusingly, “This room desperately needs to air out. The help is already looking at me accusingly. Don’t you have any idea how sensitive our olfactory sense is?”

OK, I may have used a few more tissue boxes than could be explained by a runny nose. Not that I have had even an inkling of a cold ever since the jungle. But it has been a long… long time. Besides, every human has its essential needs. Admittedly, the air in the room was a bit funky; I should have asked one of the maids for an air freshener.

“I need to get laid,” I replied, getting out of the bed.

“You can say that again,” Marcus breathed out.

I grabbed a quick shower, and let the hot water cleanse all undesirable scents that apparently everybody in this house could smell. OK, it was a bit embarrassing.

“Come on, hurry up. This is not a kind of a doctor’s appointment you want to be late for.”

Marcus’s voice broke me out of my aquatic meditation, so I dried myself with a towel, put on a nice set of clothes and we were soon on our way.

I never liked going to hospitals; all the pain, misery, and suffering was bad enough when I was my old self, I could only imagine how it would feel now when I was in possession of this… what I started calling—an emphatic sense. It is as good of a name as any; being able to feel the emotions of others is the best way to describe it. I did not come up with it myself, I Googled my symptoms and read a bunch of weird ESP articles on the subject.

Taking all that into account, it was a good thing that Marcus did not take me to a regular hospital where I would have probably freaked the hell out. The doctor in question had a private practice, which made sense. I do not see vampires going into an ER as a good scenario, with all those tantalizing blood scents. (Not to mention that they would most likely look at any arterial blood gusher as you would a chocolate fountain.)

Thank God for small miracles—and rich doctors. He was doing well for himself, as his practice was right in the middle of 5th Avenue, across Central Park.

A subtly luxurious waiting room on the ground floor of the building was where Marcus led me to, and then we were told that the Doctor would be right with us, by a very professional-looking receptionist. (A lady in her sixties that had an attitude, ‘you do what you are told, or else…)

We sat in comfortable chairs and I looked at my companion. Marcus appeared to be notably sleep-deprived; after three months in the jungle with him, it was easy for me to see the subtle signs.

“Rough night?” I asked quietly.

He let out a long sigh. “You have no idea, the woman is insatiable, I think I twisted my back,” he whispered with that ‘life is so hard’ facial expression.

“Oh, poor little vampire, I feel your pain. You need to tell that wife of yours that she should be more gentle with you,” I smirked.

He did not verbally respond, but he did show me his middle finger; discreetly, so the receptionist couldn’t see it.

We would have continued the banter if an old man in a white physician lab coat did not come into the room. There was something ethereal about his whole being, and he moved gracefully, as a trained ballet dancer would. Oh, yeah, and if I trusted what my eyes and senses were telling me—he was not human.

“Marcus, how have you been?” He asked, shaking hands with my friend and then turned in my direction. “You must be Mr. Novus, my new patient. I am Doctor Rogiel,” the Doctor said with a pleasant smile.

Frankly, I stared, wanting to rub my eyes to make sure they weren’t playing tricks on me. I read the books and saw the movies, but seeing one in person was quite a shock. The Doc looked like an elf, and I mean of the Tolkien variety, not Santa's little helper. Tall with long silver-white hair… and the ears. He had a pair of narrow, pointy ears with a few diamond studs in them, and he managed to pull it off without looking like a fairy (yeah, I said it). The other explanation was that he was a Vulcan, as in Spock’s cousin, but I seriously doubt it.

All in all, this dude came across as Legolas’s great-grandfather, but still holding onto his youthful vigor.

We shook hands; I could sense a deep curiosity radiating from him, and no ill intent.

“Yes, pleased to meet you… excuse me... are you…?” I think I actually stuttered. It may be impolite to be so forward just after meeting a bona fide elf, but as he was planning to be very familiar with my body in the near future, I felt I had a right to know with what kind of creature I was dealing with… it’s only natural. By my side, Marcus was snickering; he could have at least hinted what species the doctor was.

He exhaled with resignation, as if he already had to answer that question a million times.

“An elf? Yes, I am. Young man, it has been close to a century since I agreed to tell Tolkien a few of my people’s tales, and I am still not sure if it was a good idea. If I knew what would become of it…”

What the hell do you say to that? Growing up, The Lord of the Rings was one of my favorite books. I used to run through the woods pretending I was one of his people, even made a wooden longbow and arrows. And now I was… facing the real thing and he just told me that some of those tales had a historical background.

His name was Dr. Rogiel Aossi, of course, that was not the entirety of his name, rather a small part he used for practical purposes. For the life of me, I could not repeat the elven one he offered. It was long and a few parts needed to be sung. Who knew the elves are prone to giving long and convoluted names to their offspring? Ah yes, Tolkien apparently did—straight from the horse's mouth, as the saying goes. Thankfully, the old elf told me he was perfectly comfortable with people calling him Doc, thank God.

He was as old as dirt, and like all these long-lived folks, skillfully evaded to say just how old exactly. I have a feeling that the etiquette with them is quite similar to the one used on older women; you do not ask how many winters they have seen, if you know what’s good for you. Anyway, he came to Earth because there were no more challenges for him back home, and he was fascinated with human medicine.

By a few things he mentioned, I had the impression that his kind looked at Earth as a place where no self-respecting elf would ever go; Doc was reportedly eccentric even by their standards, caring for the lesser species. He also alluded that the Elves can create portals from their end, but don’t. In fact, they closed them all down and sealed the entrances, to bar the riff-raff from coming through. (Riff-raff, in this case being—everyone else but them.)

As I understood, the entire race was about elf supremacy, so Tolkien had completely invented the entire Aragorn-Arwen love story since no self-respecting elf would ever be attracted to a human, no more than a human would contemplate being romantically involved with a gorilla. Although, I won’t deny the fact that there are all sorts of freaks out there, so I wouldn’t say it was impossible—but highly improbable.

Marcus told me afterward that Doc was one of the best doctors in the entire supernatural world, and that all sorts of creatures were coming from all over the world just to see him; I could only guess what his fees were.

There was nothing strange about the examination that followed, but it sure was extensive. He poked and prodded my body, took samples of urine and blood for the DNA testing. Also, a small scrap of skin, hair, nails, and biopsy of my tissue… the works.

When I said the Doc was loaded—I meant it. He had his own MRA and MRI machines and took detailed scans of my insides, and even I knew those were insanely expensive. Hell, he took an old-fashioned X-ray of my entire skeleton, to be thorough. Then he made me tell him, in excruciating detail, what happened to me, and what was now different compared to how I once was.

That was essentially it, but it still took several hours to finish it all. He promised to call me when the results were in. Little anticlimactic if I was any judge, but not unexpected. Okay, I’ll admit that in the back of my mind I was hoping that he would pull out some elven magic thingamajig and tell me everything I wanted to know, but that was wishful thinking.

We returned to Marcus's house and he left me by my lonesome while he went to take care of some clan business.

***

An incident happened around that time, which started me on a downslope into the depths of depression and all-out self-destructive behavior. It was inevitable, I guess. The fact I was holding it together was mostly caused by having something to do all this time, trying to survive for one. Despite what some people think, having nothing to do becomes tedious after a while, in spite of all the distractions Internet can provide. There is a reason why they say that an idle mind is a devil's playground.

It all began with a girl, as things usually do. Marcus noticed that I had begun moping around the house in the following days, and decided we should go out, visit a few bars, and have some fun.

It was great at first, loud music, people dancing and women, oh God… so many young hot women everywhere. I was long overdue for the feeling of a woman in my arms. Watching porn and cold showers can only do so much, but it is no substitute for the real thing. I was becoming chronically horny and was starting to consider if I should make a pass at the few maids in the clan house, even though they were avoiding me like a plague.

She was young, blond, hot, and willing; all human, maybe twenty-five years old, and with a body to die for.

We met in a popular club that Marcus owned (FYI, he owned many places—old vampires are filthy rich). Deafening music and strobe lights, I felt attracted to her the moment I saw her. The way she moved on the dance floor, touching her body while seductively dancing… oh, brother.

With confidence brought about by an overwhelming need, I approached her and she didn’t brush me off. (Yep, sometimes that’s all it takes.) We chatted for a bit; it’s criminally easy to pick up girls when you know what they are feeling… sue me.

Anyway, a few drinks, insightful compliments and suggestions, a couple of dances (that were PG18), and half an hour later we were getting naked in a nearby no-tell motel that charged by the hour. OK, not the classiest move, but we were both pretty horny.

Seeing her without any clothes was a deeply religious moment for me; if pious people feel this way when they are on their knees, worshiping their deity, then I get the appeal.

Everything about her was great; her lips moist and soft, skin fresh, pliant, and salty… I was in heaven. This was it, after a legendary dry spell (if you count that comatose decade), I was finally going to get my ashes hauled, and it was about freaking time.

The interesting thing about sex is that you tend to lose yourself, your inhibitions and control take a backseat, and instincts get behind the wheel. Usually, it is a good thing, but with me—not so much.

We were going at it hot and heavy when I noticed that she was turning ghostly pale, and then I felt it… that pull, her energy infusing my soul.

I panicked and jumped out of the bed as if it was on fire. Those feelings of excitement and arousal went away in a moment, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread. She just lay there, unmoving; I touched her jugular with trembling fingers, and a wave of relief washed over me—she still had a pulse, a weak one, but it was there.

I grabbed my phone and called Marcus, explaining the situation as best as I could in my frenzied state. The motel was very close to his club, so five minutes later, he showed up with two paramedics in tow. It seems many vampires came to his clubs with their human juice boxes (consensually, I should point out, since that is allowed), so they have medical staff on the premises if their party gets a little too rowdy (or is it bloody?). They immediately started working on her, checking her vital signs, and advising that she should be promptly taken to a hospital.

Two hours later, I was in the waiting room listening to some tired doctor as he explained her condition. They don’t regularly speak to someone who is not a family member, but as I said, Marcus has connections.

She would be fine, but they will need to keep her overnight. As the Doctor tried to explain to me, her body was in a state of profound exhaustion; it was at the limits of what it could endure and still function. He used the analogy of an unprepared person running the Marathon and collapsing after the finish line.

Nevertheless, I know the real reason for her condition—I drained her. When it happened before, I had a knife in someone’s chest, feeling the pull through that connection. All things considered, we were connected… although, in a more biblical sense, but it seems that did the trick. I could have screwed her to death—literally. If I did not stop when I did, she would have been as dead as those two vamps in the Amazon, or that idiot Damien at Marcus’s welcoming party.

All I could feel inside me was the rage; I wanted to be my old self, to get rid of this damned curse that was making a mockery of my life. That night I got blind drunk, like never before in my life. It took some doing as my resistance to alcohol has become crazy high. I needed five bottles of vodka to put me down, and things progressed downward from there. I cured the hangover that followed with the hair of the dog and continued at getting myself plastered again.

***

The only thing that stands clear from that dark period in my life was another visit to Dr. Aossi, a few weeks after my almost soul-draining copulation episode.

He called me on my phone and told me to come to his office early the next day; luckily, he caught me when I was in-between drinking binges. I managed to sober up for the meeting, hoping that he had some magic pill that would make me into a real boy again.

I didn't want to drag Marcus with me; I’m sure he had better things to do than to babysit my sorry ass. I grabbed a cab and went to 5th Avenue.

That is another thing, cabs had become expensive, and this SOB that was driving it took the long route to get me there. I had to use pantomime at one point because my driver did not understand a word of English. He kept loudly repeating “Yes Boss!” to every suggestion I gave him and then continued to drive the long route. All the while, loud ethnic music was blasting out of the speakers, making my teeth ache. When I closed my eyes, I could have sworn I was back in Bangladesh. I had a data retrieval mission there a few years back, (plus a decade). That did not bring back any happy memories. One of the biggest scars I used to have was earned on that mission; when things went south and I had to extract myself out of the country—wounded. The clown in the driver’s seat was lucky I am such a forgiving and gentle soul; I was very close to making a shish kebab out of him.

The businesslike receptionist welcomed me once again, but this time let me go through without any waiting, pointing me towards his office.

“Adam, after my long career in medical science, I thought that there was nothing that would surprise me—well—you did. If I were not the one who took all your samples myself, I would suspect that the results I got back were some sort of a hoax or a practical joke. They are unlike anything I have ever seen, and from these results, I can only surmise that you had become some sort of a chimera. This is the most exciting case I have had in decades.”

The doc said shortly after I got into his office. I was sitting in the thick leather chair opposite his desk, and he looked at me as a coin collector would some rare piece of stamped metal he didn’t know existed until now, or as if I was a shiny new puzzle for him to solve. My file, which was in front of him, looked a lot like one of those Russian classics, a thousand-page description on the futility of life.

His feelings, the way he was talking and gesticulating with his hands, told me that Doc was very excited. That did not mean I understood what he was talking about. I knew chimera was a hybrid creature from Greek mythology and vaguely remembered that it also meant something in medical terms… that was about it.

“Doc, I’m glad for your enthusiasm, but can you explain to me in plain English; what the hell is wrong with me?” I asked, wanting to cut to the chase.

For a moment, he looked lost for words but then collected himself. “OK, let me first explain your results. That will give you a more comprehensive picture of what we are dealing with,” he said, opening the file.

“Let’s begin with your blood work. It has changed greatly from basic human blood; somehow, it is much more alive, potent. Your immune system underwent a complete transformation; I would go so far as to say that it is now almost predatory. It will not allow anything unfamiliar to encroach on its territory, so no known infections and diseases can take hold. It will violently attack anything that is not beneficial to your system. I did a few experiments to confirm that theory. From human HIV to some exotic viruses that affect only supernaturals, it simply annihilates everything. Even the virus that is responsible for vampirism cannot infect you, and that says a lot.”

“What are you telling me Doc? That I have become some sort of… health mutant?” I tried to be flippant.

He smiled. “In a very convoluted way—yes. Still, don’t go running around in a latex suit and a cape. That’s just… wrong.”

“Can I… infect others… like vampires do?” I asked, afraid that this affliction of mine was contagious.

“Oh no, far from it.” The doc hurriedly replied. “Any substantial amount of your blood in another organism would be a certain death sentence. It would attack another host before the very cells self-destructed, and death would be quite swift and exceptionally painful. Your immune system is irreversibly tied to your very DNA.”

At least that took a small amount of worry from my mind; I would hate to give this curse to someone else. At the same time, I do not see myself volunteering for the Red Cross blood drive any time soon.

Doc looked at my file again and continued. “The regeneration rate of your cells is unprecedented and far greater than that of vampires. In my experience, their species have an extremely high rate of regeneration, and yours supersedes theirs by an order of magnitude. Consequently, that will ensure that time will have no effect on you; like them, you have become immortal. Of course, that is conditional on your body not sustaining too grave of an injury. Most people fail to realize that being immortal and unkillable are two completely separate things. Be that as it may, killing you will not be easy. From the scans, I can see that there was a significant change in your bone composition, to break one would take an immense force. New fibers are now part of your muscle structure, capable of exerting far greater tensile strength. There are more technical things I can tell you about, but my conclusion is that your body was reworked on a genetic level, making changes in every system, improving it, optimizing it to a high degree. It is quite fascinating.”

Great, I have become an oddity that even supernatural medicine cannot explain, just the kind of news to make your day all shiny and bubbly.

“That leads me to that chimera comparison I made earlier. Chimerism can occur by organ transplantation, giving one individual tissue that developed from a different genome. For example, transplantation of bone marrow often determines the recipient's ensuing blood type. The origin of the word is from the mythological chimera that was an amalgam of several species, and in a similar manner, your DNA has genetic markers from a multitude of species. From vampires to Weres, and quite surprisingly for myself, there are even elf markers I found. Not to mention some that I have no idea what creatures they came from.

“Taking all this into consideration, it doesn’t look natural. Although, nature has a few tricks up her sleeve and can create amazing creations. Just look at the vampires and Weres, they may be extreme examples but valid nonetheless. On the other hand, your DNA results are confusing; there is nothing to compare them to. It is not like any DNA I ever tested, and that brings me to the conclusion that there was an intelligent design behind your transformation. It is too organized and… elegant if I dare say, for it to be coincidental.”

So there it was, the confirmation that this was done to me, no radioactive spiders involved. I felt as if I was someone’s guinea pig, a product of some sort of experiment. Except for the black freaky knife that magically appears when I needed to kill, and that phenomenon didn’t make any sense whatsoever. If I remember correctly, Arthur C. Clarke said that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. So… there was a possibility that little green men played with my body for the last decade… okay, that sounds far-fetched even to me.

“Who… who could have done it? Who made me into this… what the hell am I?”

Doc shook his head. “I don’t know, and there is no one I know or heard of that could achieve this level of genetic manipulation. Human genetic engineering has made giant leaps in recent times, but it is still in its infancy. What has been done to you is centuries in advance of what is currently possible.”

“Can… can I be cured?” I had to ask. But in my bones—I knew the answer.

Doc looked at me with pity in his eyes. “No, Adam… as things stand right now, it is simply not possible. Besides, what you have… what you are, is not a disease, so there is nothing to cure. You are what you’ve become and there is no going back. You have been remade into something new, something unique… and you have to accept that.”

Doc gave me a few minutes to process; a whole month wouldn’t be enough. Seeing that I wasn’t asking any questions, he continued.

“Finally, the reason why you need to kill, and even there I can only draw some parallels. Several species follow a monthly cycle, werewolves must turn every full moon, and vampires must take supplemental blood to live. Your change placed you somewhere in-between those two species. Vampirism is a fairly well-known condition, but the reason that they need blood is more magical in nature.

“Blood carries within itself a vitality, life force if you will. It is that thing the vampire’s body needs, or it will enter a state of suspension. Your need is similar but follows the moon cycle—similar to Weres. Once a month you need a vast infusion of that energy to power all the changes done to your body, or you will start consuming your own, with unpredictable results. You thought you were consuming souls, and that is not true; it is an additional life force your body needs. As you discovered, that pull is instinctual and cannot be denied. The life force is present in all living things, animals, humans, and supernaturals. But as you no doubt discovered, those latter groups have a much, much higher levels of it.”

Great, at least I was not a Soul leech, although the reality was only a bit less damning than that. I needed people’s life force to live, the thing that no one sane would give up willingly.

In my mind, the image of the girl from the club flashed, exactly as she looked after I almost had my way with her, and it was not pretty. Just a minute before that, she was an epitome of health and vitality, as any girl in her 20’s should be. After I did what I am evidently destined to do on a genetic level, she looked awful. Pale pasty skin with black circles around her eyes, shallow breath, and slowed heartbeat; exuding a sense of profound lifelessness.

Doc must have read something in my expression because he hastily said. “The young girl made a complete recovery; I checked her results with the hospital. However, if you had let all your control go…” I wondered for a second how he knew what I was thinking about, but then dismissed it as irrelevant; he was an elf after all, and who knows what gifts their evolution endowed them with.

“Anyway, Adam, these are a few of more important things I’ve managed to discover about you. It will take a long time to fully understand all that’s been done to you, and you will be the best judge of those discoveries. You are a healthy young man and have a long life before you, don’t waste it.” he said and closed my file.

We talked a little more about some minor stuff, but I got the gist of it — I have become a freak of nature, a monster who needs to kill others to survive, a leech, a parasite. Condemned by my very nature to take the lives of others, for the rest of my ungodly existence.

I thanked Doc and saw myself out, feeling like a week-old piece of shit. My destination was the closest bar and all the alcohol they had, which promised oblivion.

Once I started drinking… I didn’t stop.