Read Online The Book of Apex: Volume 1 of Apex Magazine by Jason Sizemore - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jason Sizemore
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seemed quiet.
“Hello?”
“I’m in the back, come on
through.”
I slipped out of my overcoat
and dropped it over the arm of the rickety old chair that served as Isabella’s
telephone seat, then made my way through to the rear of the house, passing
through the dining room on my way to the kitchen. There was a lingering odor,
like scented-candles that had long since burned themselves out to leave a
cloying, opium-like quality to the air.
Isabella was standing in the
kitchen doorway, her lab coat draped around her shoulders, her hair tied back
severely from her face. She looked up as I came into the room and smiled at me
coyly. I moved to step forward and embrace her. Laughing, she turned about deftly
on her heel and disappeared through the side door into the other room.
Her voice trailed behind her.
“I’ve been working in the lab. Come on in.”
“I thought you had a present
for me?”
“I do!”
“Well what...”
“Patience...”
I stepped into the laboratory,
my nose bristling at the stench of formaldehyde and bleach. Isabella had her
back to me, fiddling with something in a refrigeration unit on the back wall. I
admit I’d found it odd that someone so clearly talented, with such a demanding
specialization, would work from home, but times continued to change and, with
technology developing as it was, she’d been able to set up an entire cottage
industry here in the northeast of England. Her little laboratory was an
extension to her house, a small side room off the kitchen with gleaming
clinical surfaces and banks of daunting computer equipment, their screens
flickering in the stark glare of the overhead lights.
I fidgeted uncomfortably and
glanced out of the window. Two tiny birds danced around each other on the lawn,
fighting over a worm they had managed to extract from the flowerbed. I glanced
back at Isabella.
“Isabella, can’t you just
explain...?”
“In a minute!”
I waited.
A few moments later she turned
around to face me, smiling like she was about to reveal a secret, and
ceremoniously placed a package on the table before me. I looked into her eyes,
seeing myself reflected in their glassy surface, noticed how her lips were
slightly parted, how the soft skin around her eyes seemed so smooth, so even,
so perfect. I looked down at my present, already full of trepidation over what
it might be.
It was a large plastic sachet
filled with a dark red, gelatinous substance. Condensation beaded on its
surface like rainwater on tarpaulin. Isabella rubbed her hands together nervously.
I pulled a face.
“There.”
“This is it?”
“Your present, yes.”
“But what...?” I didn’t know
what to say, what it was supposed to represent.
“A pint of your blood.”
“ My blood! ” I started,
and then stuttered something incoherent. Isabella was smiling expectantly. I
must have seemed confused. She pulled out a chair from behind one of her
workbenches and guided me to sit down. I looked up at her, speechless.
“Remember when you cut
yourself? Well, you know what it is that I do.”
I shook my head. “Yes...but why?”
“It’s not just a replica of
your blood. It’s been adapted, tinkered with...improved, I suppose. I’ve bonded
the platelets with tiny nanomachines. They
ride on the red blood cells, hitching a piggyback through your system. When the
adrenaline in your bloodstream reaches a certain level they become active,
triggering the pleasure receptors in your brain to generate a natural high.
It’s particularly effective during sex. Packets of this stuff fetch thousands
of pounds on the black market. Yours even more so. O-Negative is fairly rare.”
She looked at me pointedly. “All we need to do is give you a small
transfusion...”
I glanced back from Isabella’s
smiling face to the package on the table, then back again, incredulous. I felt
violated, disgusted. Abruptly, I pushed myself up from the table, sending the
chair skidding across the floor, and struggled past
“Hello?”
“I’m in the back, come on
through.”
I slipped out of my overcoat
and dropped it over the arm of the rickety old chair that served as Isabella’s
telephone seat, then made my way through to the rear of the house, passing
through the dining room on my way to the kitchen. There was a lingering odor,
like scented-candles that had long since burned themselves out to leave a
cloying, opium-like quality to the air.
Isabella was standing in the
kitchen doorway, her lab coat draped around her shoulders, her hair tied back
severely from her face. She looked up as I came into the room and smiled at me
coyly. I moved to step forward and embrace her. Laughing, she turned about deftly
on her heel and disappeared through the side door into the other room.
Her voice trailed behind her.
“I’ve been working in the lab. Come on in.”
“I thought you had a present
for me?”
“I do!”
“Well what...”
“Patience...”
I stepped into the laboratory,
my nose bristling at the stench of formaldehyde and bleach. Isabella had her
back to me, fiddling with something in a refrigeration unit on the back wall. I
admit I’d found it odd that someone so clearly talented, with such a demanding
specialization, would work from home, but times continued to change and, with
technology developing as it was, she’d been able to set up an entire cottage
industry here in the northeast of England. Her little laboratory was an
extension to her house, a small side room off the kitchen with gleaming
clinical surfaces and banks of daunting computer equipment, their screens
flickering in the stark glare of the overhead lights.
I fidgeted uncomfortably and
glanced out of the window. Two tiny birds danced around each other on the lawn,
fighting over a worm they had managed to extract from the flowerbed. I glanced
back at Isabella.
“Isabella, can’t you just
explain...?”
“In a minute!”
I waited.
A few moments later she turned
around to face me, smiling like she was about to reveal a secret, and
ceremoniously placed a package on the table before me. I looked into her eyes,
seeing myself reflected in their glassy surface, noticed how her lips were
slightly parted, how the soft skin around her eyes seemed so smooth, so even,
so perfect. I looked down at my present, already full of trepidation over what
it might be.
It was a large plastic sachet
filled with a dark red, gelatinous substance. Condensation beaded on its
surface like rainwater on tarpaulin. Isabella rubbed her hands together nervously.
I pulled a face.
“There.”
“This is it?”
“Your present, yes.”
“But what...?” I didn’t know
what to say, what it was supposed to represent.
“A pint of your blood.”
“ My blood! ” I started,
and then stuttered something incoherent. Isabella was smiling expectantly. I
must have seemed confused. She pulled out a chair from behind one of her
workbenches and guided me to sit down. I looked up at her, speechless.
“Remember when you cut
yourself? Well, you know what it is that I do.”
I shook my head. “Yes...but why?”
“It’s not just a replica of
your blood. It’s been adapted, tinkered with...improved, I suppose. I’ve bonded
the platelets with tiny nanomachines. They
ride on the red blood cells, hitching a piggyback through your system. When the
adrenaline in your bloodstream reaches a certain level they become active,
triggering the pleasure receptors in your brain to generate a natural high.
It’s particularly effective during sex. Packets of this stuff fetch thousands
of pounds on the black market. Yours even more so. O-Negative is fairly rare.”
She looked at me pointedly. “All we need to do is give you a small
transfusion...”
I glanced back from Isabella’s
smiling face to the package on the table, then back again, incredulous. I felt
violated, disgusted. Abruptly, I pushed myself up from the table, sending the
chair skidding across the floor, and struggled past
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