Cruel World(146)

He had been in his late forties, and handsome. Even with the cold pallor of death, his features were lean and defined, his cheeks covered in sparse stubble as well as his strong jaw. He wore a blue, button-up shirt, the tie at the throat loosened and trailing down where it disappeared into the osseous fibers. Over the shirt was a white lab coat, the breast unmarked by a nametag or threaded embossing. Quinn studied the man for a time, examining how the bone melded with his clothing, and he assumed the flesh beneath.

“Who are you?” Quinn whispered.

The man’s arm whipped out, and a cold hand grasped his wrist.

Quinn couldn’t stifle the yell that leapt from his throat as he jerked away, breaking the icy hold. He stumbled back, bumping into Alice who grabbed his shoulders, steadying him.

The man’s arm hung in the air, suspended there as if it had always been. His body convulsed, and he stiffened, his head tipping back on his neck until he looked at them with hazy eyes.

“Holy shit, he’s alive,” Alice said. Quinn stepped forward and cautiously approached the partially cocooned man.

“Can you hear me?” Quinn asked. The man gazed around the room, eyes half-lidded, lips blue and parted. He began to shiver. Gradually the tremors ceased, and he swallowed, looking down at his free hand before bringing his gaze up to Quinn’s.

“You,” he said, voice like sandpaper on glass. The way he said the word turned a spigot of cold water on in Quinn’s bloodstream. “You’re here.”

The skin on Quinn’s neck prickled, scalp cinching tight. The man licked his dead lips and took a deep breath before offering a weak smile.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Quinn.”

The strength went out of Quinn’s legs, and he slumped to the floor in an area where there was no bone. Then Alice and Ty were beside him, their hands on his shaking arms. Denver whined and licked his ear.

“H-how do you know my name?” Quinn said, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar.

The man blinked, swaying in his encasement of bone.

“You were the only thing your father ever talked about.”

“How did you know my father?” Quinn said, raising his voice.

“Quiet,” the man whispered, “You’ll wake him.”

“Wake who?”

“Rodney. He’s sleeping, but he’ll be awake soon.”

Quinn glanced around the operating room looking for a figure concealed in the thin shadows or beneath a table in the adjoining lab. He flinched as the man’s fingers grazed his face, and he pulled away from the frigid touch.

“I’m sorry, but after all this time, seeing you in person…” The man’s voice faded, and he coughed, a low wheezing sound with almost no force to it. It was like listening to wind hiss through the leaves of a tree.

“Who are you?” Quinn repeated. He tried to compose himself, to steady his bearings, all the while seeing that the man’s eyes were nearly colorless, the iris a sickly shade of gray matching the sky outside.

“My name is Alex Gregory, and I was a friend of your father’s.”

“What did he have to do with this?”

“We were best friends in college,” Gregory said, his voice gaining some strength, but still he spoke in hushed tones. “He called me two years ago and offered to set up a lab to advance my work. The amount of money he was offering, I couldn’t say no.”

Quinn looked around the room, a burning lump filling his throat.

“So this was just another investment of his, another place to make a profit?”

“No, you misunderstand, Quinn.”

“I think I understand very well. I’m guessing he caught wind of some government program through his connections and saw dollar signs. He commissioned you to undertake the genetics side of it, and somewhere along the line, it went horribly wrong. Am I close?” He’d slowly gained his feet during the tirade, the anger and adrenaline cocktail pumping through his veins like a drug, heightening the indignity, the outrage. Everyone dead, only suffering for those who were left, and why?

“No, you’re not,” Gregory said, beginning to tremble again. “This was not a government project. Genset was privately funded solely by your father.”

“Why would he try to make monsters out of people?” Quinn said. “What purpose would it serve?”

“The abominations that were created in the aftermath were not the goal; they were an outcome of a mistake.” Gregory sagged, his neck slackening so that he stared at the floor, breathing hard.