Page 31 of The Unraveling

With a haughty twist of his lips, Dr. Watson takes the beaker full of mixed blood and taps the side with one finger, his tone condescending like he’s lecturing a class of imbeciles rather than Victor. “Do you know what caused the mad cow epidemic, Victor? Cows were fed recycled cattle. Cows devouring cows. What about the spread of kuru among the Fore people, where families ate their own dead for generations?”

Victor gapes at him incredulously. “I fail to see how prions are⁠—”

“They were caused by self-templating biological structures being recycled inside the same species until the system collapsed,” he interrupts. “All it took was one malformed protein to carry instructions, reinforcing them with each body it passed through. But prions specifically are not the point here.”

Victor scoffs and shakes his head.

Dr. Watson tuts before saying, “You poured your corrupted blood into Bradley, turned him with your venom, and it festered in his veins. Now you’ve poisoned yourself—and your poor wife—by feeding on the result. That’s how amplification works. That’s why Bradley’s blood shows no sign of independent instability, and why it doesn’t alter the structure of mine. This disease came to fruition within you.”

I grit my teeth and choke out, “And yet I suffer equally!”

Dr. Watson barely spares me a glance before spitting his rebuttal at Victor, who motions to me as if to say, see? “I believe the fact she’s your fledgling—your wife, whom I would bet you continue to feed on—and has been sharing your dietary habits for three decades is quite significant.”

Dr. Smith opens his mouth to speak, but my words already fill the tense air. “You bring up blood sharing between mates as if it’s mechanically different from feeding on vampires. They are both drinking immortal blood!”

Julian’s eyes finally settle on me, annoyance—and a swift twinge of panic—writhing in his eyes. “Blood sharing doesn’t cause this because it isn’t templating. As far as we know, it’s merely a transient exchange between independently established immortal systems. No venom. No developmental imprint or influence. No recursion⁠—”

“Oh, this is nothing but conjecture!” Victor groans.

“It’s a hypothesis, and a damn good one at that!” Dr. Julian retorts. “Mad cow. Kuru. Pick your analogy, Dr. Todd, but don’t think immortality makes you immune to biological consequences. We are still flesh, not gods!”

“There’s far more than science can explain running through our blood,” Victor says. “Why can we defy gravity by floating up into the air at will? Climb a wall like a spider? And where are those supernatural abilities located in the body? In the brain? Where can one find hypnotism? Telekinesis? Why can I feel the pain and emotions below my own from the human patients I give my blood to? Why is there a metaphysical connection? You can name an ability, but you cannot currently explain it with science.”

Julian shakes his head in bewilderment. “You are so blinded by the painful truth that you would correlate your suffering to that? You’re not a very good doctor if you can’t try to fathom for one second that this issue is isolated to you⁠—”

Deep exhaustion fills Victor’s eyes, and he leans his head on his arm over the desk. “Cure me then, boy genius. If your Harvard education taught you everything, then prove it wasn’t a waste. I’m clearly a mere dunce. A cannibal. If Bradley’s blood isn’t poisoned—and it’s just my unnatural, cannibal body reacting—then prove it.”

Dr. Watson’s laugh is flat. “Drink this? You think I should?”

Victor shrugs. “Why not? You’re not a new, corrupted subspecies of vampire, right? You’ll be fine.”

I merely shake my head to myself, even though it makes the room twirl and I feel like I’m falling. My stomach lurches, so I grip Daisy and manage to keep the blood down.

“Don’t drink it,” Dr. Smith says in disbelief, like he can’t fathom having to tell him.

Yet Dr. Watson stares at the ‌glistening beaker. “If I do and prove myself right? You must know the evidence so far is in my favor.”

“Then fucking drink it and prove me wrong,” Victor snarls as he closes his eyes, hand curling into a fist by his head.

I rub my eyes, silver stars floating at the edges of my vision. “Dr. Smith, since you’ve catalogued our symptoms, will you make calls now to see if anyone else might know someone who can help us?”

If the men are going to do nothing but bicker, then someone else must suggest the next course of action, right?

Dr. Smith angles toward me with parted lips, until the motion of Julian bringing the beaker toward his own has him scrambling in his direction.

“Julian!” Dr. Smith roars. “You were smart enough to get through Harvard, so don’t be fucking stupid now.”

Dr. Smith makes a grab for the beaker, but Dr. Julian sidesteps his darting hand and downs it.

Throwing his hands up, Dr. Smith huffs and shakes his head. “Brilliant. You might have just put yourself on the same list as Dr. Jesse Lazear.”

Dr. Watson slowly lowers his hand as he stares at Dr. Smith. A creeping dread shadows his features. His shallow breaths gust past his parted, bloodstained lips.

Victor’s eyes fly wide and lock on Dr. Watson. “Julian, please tell me you did not believe I was serious.”

Julian’s distant, unblinking eyes slowly adopt a glossy sheen as he looks at the beaker in his hand and then at Bradley’s body behind him. There’s an unspoken plea in his eyes when his gaze drifts between Dr. Smith and Victor. “Well . . .”

Heavy silence pervades through the room as Dr. Watson stands with an eerie stillness, one so crushing that my lungs strain with each breath and my heartbeat surges louder in my ears.