The Cure - Act 2
“This is it,” Hobbs said with some hesitancy. “I had to specially manufacture the parts and assemble it from millennia old drawings... but this is it.”
It was hideous. Even Pearce, who generally took a liking to things that reminded him of his days of sadism had to admit that this was a cruel looking creature.
As far as torture tables went, this one was fairly straightforward: A wooden table incised with several channels which funneled blood to a drain in the center. There were leather bindings for the hands and feet and head and a wooden block upon which to rest the back of the skull.
One of the two oddities about this table was the brace which was hinged at one side and could be brought down across the mid section. The brace was wrought iron, giving it some weight and slightly off center of it was a ten inch long silver spike, whose tip, when brought down, fit into the end of one of the incised channels.
The other oddity was the headrest. With a forehead strap and block upon which to rest the head, it was unclear at first where the other two silver spikes were designed to go. It took some imagination, but Hobbs showed them with vague gestures and delicate language that they stuck in through the back of the neck, crossed behind the throat, missing the major veins and arteries, and protruded under the chin.
Niki swallowed. Hell of a price to pay for being an ass. Her words came back to haunt her. “Three days on this thing?” she croaked, trying to ignore Pearce’s morbid interest as he ran his hand over the surface, gently stroking the silver stomach-spike.
“At least three days,” Hobbs confirmed. “It really depends on how virulent the infection is.”
“How exactly does torture cure a viral infection?” Niki said with the grimace still plain on her face. She did not look forward to introducing this ancient machine to the man tied up in the other room.
Hobbs looked almost hurt. “It’s not like I want to hurt him. I didn’t design this thing, I only built it.”
“I understand that,” Niki said sympathetically. “I’m just a little curious why torture was decided to be the best method of curing a viral infection.”
The barkeep sighed. He’d already gone above and beyond his duty as host in getting involved in this whole thing... But Diego wouldn’t appreciate it if one of his employees let a plague loose on the city and ruined business.
“It’s fairly simple,” Hobbs sighed. “The only thing keeping the immune system from fighting this disease as it would normally is the magic of the Macedonian holy men. The virus, protected by the magic can infiltrate the blood and brain as far as it likes without resistance. The Greeks discovered that the particular magic was similar to the demonic invulnerability whose only weakness was silver. This was the method they devised for filtering the blood at critical points past raw silver, cleansing it of the virus.”
Niki frowned as Pearce listened intently, his hand resting appreciatively on the headrest. “Couldn’t we just inject —someone— with a liquid silver solution?” the Slayer asked. “Forego the bleeding to death in agony?”
Hobbs shrugged. “Except the silver doesn’t kill the virus. And the virus in it’s non-magical form happens to be fairly lethal. With no immunity to it, considering few people have ever been infected and survived, without bleeding the virus out, there’s no chance of survival.”
“But,” Niki gestured to the table helplessly. “It’s so... crude!”
“It’s nearly two and a half thousand years old,” Pearce argued with something closer to awe in his voice. “Give it the respect it deserves.”
Niki sighed resentfully. “Fine.”
“Is this it?” Pearce was holding open the ancient-looking volume which had been resting on the table’s surface. The vampire gazed at the hand sketches and words scrawled in the margins. Flipping forward he was amazed to find details about the Nosphorus itself, with illustrations of the different stages of ugliness.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Hobbs nodded. “You wouldn’t believe the trouble I went to to get that.”
Logan continued to twist his wrists in the cord that held them behind his back. Whoever had kidnaped him had left him in some dark room with almost no room to breathe. He’d woken up on his side with his skull throbbing. He’d given up shouting but continued to wrench his hands back and forth in the hopes of either loosening the cord or severing his troublesome hands.
With a click, the door in the utter darkness unlocked and a crack of blinding light tore across the floor. Logan grimaced and squinted into the light at the silhouette who had come for him.
“Wakey, wakey,” the almost taunting voice said. “Do you know where you are?”
Logan blinked for a moment in total confusion. “Pearce?” he demanded. “Get me the hell out of here!”
The silhouette sighed. “Can’t do that, chum, you’d go off infecting every Tom, Dick and Toothy from here to... somewhere else.”
“Infecting?” Logan’s panic was rising. What the fuck was going on? To slow his rapidly beating heart, he took a breath and assumed a calm, rational tone. “What are you talking about?” he asked politely.
“The Plague,” Pearce said cooly. “We know you’re infected. Your behavior fits perfectly. We’re here to cure you.”
“My behavior...” the man frowned. “This is ridiculous!” He struggled against his bonds some more. “I’m not infected with anything – Pearce, untie me.”
“Nope,” the vampire shook his head. “Three days and you’ll be as good as new.”
“You’re shitting me,” Logan spat, his anger on par with his panic. “Let me talk to Niki!” Pearce didn’t seem to move. “Let me talk to her now, you son of a bitch!”
The silhouette stepped back and another form entered the room. By her walk and outline, it was clearly Niki Valtaine. “It’s true Logan,” she said quietly. “You’re infected. It must have happened sometime during the last battle.” Logan was shaking his head vigorously. “You wouldn’t remember it,” Niki said soothingly. “And you don’t remember anything you do when you’re not yourself.”
“I’m not infected,” Logan argued reasonably. “I haven’t had any blackouts. I think I’m being very rational right now. I think you should recheck your sources, because I’m telling you right now that I’m not infected and...” he thought quickly, anything but rational, “and... I refuse treatment of any kind.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Pearce said calmly. “He has a right to be terrified. But we can’t afford to think he’s not infected.”
Niki only nodded.
Logan’s heart began to pound as the crack of light began to shrink. “I’m not sick,” he said rationally, his breathing quickening. “I’m not sick,” he repeated louder as the two stepped out and the door began to close. “Pearce you piece of shit—I’m not sick!” He struggled desperately at his bonds. “I’m not sick! Let me out!” With a click the door locked again.
Locked again in total darkness, Logan was on the verge of hyperventilating. This was some kind of nightmare. Not only was his former girlfriend going to subject him to some kind of twisted ‘cure,’ they had kept him from his family for God knows how long... How long would it take to reverse all his hard work these last weeks? How long before Rachel gave up on him?
As the hot, pent up fury built in him, Logan ground his teeth together, feeling suddenly less helpless than he ever had. “You’re dead,” he swore, summoning the dark magic from deep inside him. "Fucking dead."
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