Monster's Theory

"Oh don't be so melodramatic." The click of a lighter, echoed twice throughout the room. "It would take at least three minutes before lack of air turns your blood cold. Nah, you've got far more important things to worry about." The titan then redirected his focus towards the patient. "For instance, what you were doing to the boss's daughter before we arrived," he said referring to her ripped pyjama bottoms, then noting her frazzled hair. "Your obsession for the bitch went undisputed. But to think you'd one day follow through..."

With effort, Liam rotated his head to face the bed. He could see hints of green pupils behind thick eyelashes. Could she register anything that was going on right now? Did watching this award the satisfaction she hoped for?

Cold cuffs cut off the blood flow before a hand dug into his spiky locks and yanked him clear off the ground. His jaw grit tighter as strand after strand broke off his scalp. "I'm gonna give you one chance to answer me honestly, kid. I won't even bother with threats. What's your business here?"

In all the pain, blue eyes cracked open and regarded his oppressor. Then the mercenaries spread throughout the room. Twelve men in total glared back through visors, firearms and Swiss blades in hand, eager to play ball. The K9s too. And who could blame them? Chelsie was a mess.

A puff of smoke interrupted his vision. "Shouldn't be..." a chain of coughs cut through his speech, "...doing that here."

"Well shit. You wanna lecture me on morals? After what you just did?"

"Didn't... Violate... Chel."

"That so? Well then, on behalf of me and my men; I'm sorry we got in the way. Allow us to make it up to you." The commander shoved the boy, head first into the nearest soldier. "Take him to the shooting range," he ordered before backing away and turning to the bed. "Then strap him to a target. Preferably within the ffty metre range. Hows about we see how good our aim really is, eh?"

"Uh... sir?" the soldier balked.

"You heard me rookie. We're playing a little target practice. Earn your stripes. Make him talk."

The subordinate took a look at the boy and raised his visor. "All due respect sir, but to shoot an unarmed..."

"I'm not asking you to shoot him," he cut in. "Quite the opposite actually," A calloused finger came up to comb a strand of blonde hair out of the girls face. "It's a little interrogation game we used to play back in Afghan. A person standing in front of a shooting target would leave a visible wooden outline of about two inches. Those two inches are the target." The finger trailed down to her cheek, then her chin. "It's amazing how stubborn a myth such as faith can make a man. Or his wife. Or his children..."

The lunatic turned around and grinned at the boy, his white smile marred by one or two silver teeth. "We'll make a believer out of him yet."

**********

Act II

A blur of flashing red and blue lights. The distant sound of sirens. And the unabating chatter of panic all around. That's as far as his memory went before fading to black.

No, wait. That's a lie. There was also the screaming. Sounded a lot like his screaming. The glaring white lights. Men in white, needles and knives. Why all the knives? And why couldn't he move?

He recalled high pitch tones. The beeping and ringing. Echoes of voices. Clatter of metals. He also remembered the colour red. Lots of red, and the pain associated with it. Oh god, that pain...

Voices kept demanding he calm down. To stay strong. To hell with being strong. Did anyone have the slightest clue what he was feeling? This searing, indescribable torture? Damn those electrical shocks. Just when he thought it was over, they'd crackle through his system and start the cycle all over again. Someone make them stop. Let him sleep. And for the love of god, could someone turn that incessant thumping noise off!

**********

10 years ago

"Liam. There's someone I want you to meet."

An eight year old Liam looked up at his mother as she guided him through spotless glass doors. 'Welcome to St. Luke's' the overhead sign read. Inside, people in sky blue uniforms went on about their daily business. Some pushing patients on wheelchairs, others interacting with visiting families.

A worn but gentle hand led him towards the reception area. Past the basket full of toys and the strung up stuffed animals. Past the stag mascot and around the pack of therapy dogs. For a hospital, it was rather colourful. Lively even. The childish drawings pasted across the walls, the rainbow coloured waiting chairs...

Yet even with all these distractions, one thing stood out more than anything else. "Children..." he whispered. "They're all children..."

His mother looked down at him with tired blue eyes and smiled. "So you noticed?"

He simply nodded in response.

The woman stopped and crouched down before him, wrapping both his hands in hers. Wavy brown hair swayed with her motions. She looked wary of something, despite that fake smile she'd learnt to wear so well. "It's okay sweetie. I can already tell what you're thinking, and the answer is no. You're not sick. Far from it."

"Then why are we here?"

"Well... Because there's someone else who needs your help. Another child... And in many respects, you two share a lot in common."

Liam tilted his head.

"You're a lot alike," she rephrased. "It's hard to explain. Come on. I'll show you."

The reception area was a polished circular counter. Behind it sat an arsenal of nurses, answering calls and pushing paperwork. At least that's what he assumed. He wasn't exactly tall enough to confirm that last bit. An attendant leaned over the stone and passed her greetings. He dashed behind his mother, damn near ripping her skirt off.

For some unknown reason, that invoked a collective squeal from the women. These hannibals looked ready to eat him raw.

"He's a little shy," his human shield told them, while trying to pry his claws off the cloth. "I spoke with Doctor Harrison an hour or two ago. I'm not sure if he..."

"It's alright ma'am. We got the memo," one of them cut in. Copper hair. Brown eyes. Freckles. Relatively young. Around his mother's age if he had to guess. "Miss E. Hopkins is it?" she asked.

"Oh god no. Eleanor will do. I'll never get used to the formality."

"Eleanor it is," came the reply. "You can find him in the terminal ward. Just follow the blue dotted line on the floor," she advised.

And that they did. But in that short space of time, his mother's hand did not stop trembling. Her pretty youthful features looked distant, scared, cold even. Just like her palm. She glanced his way only to realise he was staring up at her the entire trip. Children aren't stupid. They can tell when something's off. They just don't have the colloquial skill set to query the problem. But even if he did, Eleanor was simply too adult to take his attempt at consolation seriously. Still... that didn't imply he hadn't caught on.

Her fingers squeezed lightly with her faltering smile. Then he watched her eyes start to water. Followed by the trembling of her bottom lip. Traits associated with worry... or guilt. And then out of nowhere, she did something she hadn't done in years. She picked him clean off the ground and hugged him tightly to her petite frame.

She met no resistance, no questions, and was allowed the privilege of carrying him the rest of the way. Her affection was returned by two arms, wrapping around her neck, hugging her back. It's at moments like these, one registers what amazing things can come out of a few drunken nights with a man you barely even know. How some mistakes can be the best thing to ever occur.

"Should I come back later?"

Eleanor swore under her breath. Reluctantly, size two feet touched linoleum a second later and moved out of the way.

"So you're Yeoman's' protégé I'll assume," the man said, stopping two feet in front of her. A sealed flat file was held in hand. "For someone he speaks highly of, you're awfully late. Please tell me that this won't be a habit with you."

Definitely a doctor if Liam had ever seen one. The white lab coat said it all. Not to mention that thingamajig hanging around his neck. You know, the one used to check one's heartbeat.

"I didn't mean to be," she apologised, "It was rush hour and with traffic being how it is..."

"That's your excuse?" he interrupted, brushing past and continuing down the corridor with one hand in a pocket. "Try telling that to your deceased subject when you arrive thirty minutes too late for a procedure."

"With respect sir, but if I ever have to give such an excuse, then the facility will first have to apologise for lack of decentralisation."

He spared her a glance over the shoulder and raised a brow. "'With respect' she says." Overhead speakers announced that visiting hours were drawing to a close. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we. Ever since your case assignment hit stage four a few weeks back, she's been spending her days in critical care. That's where we're heading."

He pulled out the file from under his armpit and handed it to her without so much as glancing her way. "Take a look. Tell me if you find any anomalies."

Liam followed in silence, not really paying the adults too much mind. His mother browsed through this page and that. Then pulled out a paper and cross referenced it with the very first page. "How old is this child exactly?"

"Seven years, nine months. Not too far behind your boy actually."

"And yet her drug dosage could easily compete with that of an adult. Specifically, for Trisenox and Vesanoid."

"That was my call," Harrison admitted as they stopped by the elevators. A gloved finger called for the next one. "You may find this unusual, but this is her third relapse," he explained while they waited. "And every time the disease resurfaced, it came back with a stronger resistance to the former medication used. It came back more aggressive. More... Intelligent." A ding echoed before silver doors slid apart. An aged janitor pushed his cart outside, nodding them his greetings.

The doctor's gloved hand then gestured them inside while the other held the lift. "I doubt I need to explain this to someone training in your field Miss Hopkins; But her current treatment plan... it's really meant for someone in their first relapse. Not so much the third," he finished, pressing for the sixth floor.

Eleanor quickly ran through the numbers as they started their ascent. "So you're telling me; that for every relapse after the first, you just kept upping the initial quantity. All in hopes to achieve the same effect?" she started, trying to think past that ever distracting tune. "I don't get it. If the illness was so adaptable, why not simply attempt a different treatment procedure?"

"I should be insulted you feel the need to ask." Harrison sighed, grabbing the file from her clutches. He turned a few pages and threw it back at her. "What you're looking at there is a list of all administered medication, their time frame, plus their side effects." A second chime rang just as the doors gave way.

Eleanor buried herself in their findings as they walked along the corridors. The atmosphere was a little different on this floor. A perfumed scent wafted through the air, drowning out the bleach. The nurses were unhurried and they moved with a serene purposefulness from room to room on their rounds.

A stark contrast to the chaos on her mind.

"This doesn't make sense," she remarked, shaking her head. "Paralysis? Seizures? Cardiotoxicity?"

But Mr. Grumpy was already five paces ahead, hands back in their pockets. Eleanor dragged Liam along, fighting to keep up. "Could you slow down a bit? I'd really like to know how one can be this severely allergic to so many drugs. I mean I'd understand one or two but... Even cytarabine?"

"Take a wild guess, why don't you?" Harrison suggested as he took them around a bend.

"Could you be any less helpful?"

"It's textbook, Hopkins. She's anthracycline intolerant. Any treatment from that drug group will shred her. The symptoms will tell you that right off the bat."

"Symptoms?! Symp-... The hell Harrison, how did it even get that far to begin with? Didn't you consult with the labs first before administering the treatment? Hell, even a blood test would've told you something!"

"I beg to differ," he calmly returned. "Pathology came back clean. Problems only started days after the actual induction." They stood aside as a group of nurses rushed past with a loaded bed in tow. "The truth is; plasma is not a viable substitute for marrow. It won't always reflect an accurate diagnosis, if any at all."

Fair enough, she thought. The anthracycline group of drugs were the go-to treatment for someone in her condition. So should one cancel out those options; that would leave even him with very little to work with. Even more so once you factor in her age. An eight year old's body just wouldn't be eligible for the more aggressive plans.

"I trust that you eventually got around to performing a more thorough diagnosis then?" she enquired.

"If by more thorough you mean cutting bone open and removing substance, then no. We opted to work with the data already at hand."

A disapproving look donned her pretty features. Not that the doctor cared. No, he just sighed as they came to a stop before a wall of glass. A barrier between them and the ICU.

"In truth, I dare say in all my years, I've never come across a more inconvenient combination of host and disease," remarked Harrison. "And to think of the small fortune her parents already coughed out on all this. Imagine the uses it could have been put to."

In that moment, Liam saw his mother wear an expression he seldom saw "You're worried about the money?" she asked shutting the file.

The doctor spared her a glance from the corner of his eye. "Am I? Not really. If they have a bank to throw at a lost cause then by all means, who am I to tell them otherwise? They pay my salary after all. I just think it's a waste."

Eleanor growled. "The only waste here..." she started, jerking his shoulder back and pushing the file into his chest, "... are the amounts of antibiotics and painkillers you keep pumping down her IV!" she spat. "Now you can tell her parents whatever you like. But you and I both know that their little girl is locked up in ICU because of the blatant overdosing of first phase chemo drugs, and not the actual disease!"

"Oh don't lecture me rookie," he shot back. "Up until now, all you've known are simulations and lab rats. You wouldn't understand," he added, removing his spectacles and staring her dead in the eyes. "You haven't seen how terminal illness works yet. The spread, the consecutive shutdown of organ after organ. You haven't seen the deterioration nor the successive pain these children go through. All you know are the numbers."

"I also know ethic. You should try it sometime!" The boy took a step back from his mother as she continued. "These kids are dying Harrison. But you couldn't be arsed to make an effort. Simply because you deem it more beneficial to do nothing at all!"

"You're one to talk. How is that any different from what you do?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know exactly what I mean." A menacing edge snuck into his words. "The Yeomans neural solutions group. When was the last time you and your people took on an assignment whose success wasn't assured?"

Eleanor gave him a disbelieving look. "You think I'm here on their behalf?"

"No, you're here for yourself. Like every other intern to show face, you intend on proving yourself by performing some impossible miracle that permanently solidifies your future in the surgical services industry. But what happens to that other ninety-nine percent that comes to you instead?"

Liam placed both hands on the glass and peered through. Colourful duvets covered each bed. Each unit had freshly picked flowers beside it. Each unit also shared a water dispenser with its nearest neighbour. Ironically very few were populated. And just one caught his attention.

"What's your point?" he heard his mother ask.

Two steps later and the doc was towering above her once again. "The only reason you can talk ill of me is because people like you," emphasised by a jab to her shoulder, "have never had the misfortune of working on a case likely to fail. Now if you deem that untrue, then I dare you to walk into that room and randomly pick any child as your next task."

Tempers flared as the two stared each other down. Moments of silence lingered while they did so. As if insulted by his own immaturity, the doctor broke eye contact first. Inside the ICU, a nurse traverse from bed to bed, gathering updates on the children's condition.

Then something else caught his attention. A very familiar looking boy standing by a bed, chatting with its occupant. "Hey rookie. You see what I see?"

The mother took one look before spinning around in panic, checking for her charge just to ensure her vision wasn't playing tricks. She could have sworn Liam's hand was in hers just a second ago. When the hell did he get in there?

**********

Act III

Way too early for visiting hours, Alice thought. The guest area should have been dead empty. Yet there he was again. Same seat as always. Same defeated posture. The intern stepped past rows of vacant chairs, crossing the spacious lobby and headed for her station.

"What's his deal anyway?" She queried while checking in for her morning shift. A hand dumped her bag beside her monitor prior to turning the device on. "This is his third day in a row isn't it?"

The current receptionist looked up from her newspaper and regarded the man from behind the counter. Mid to late forties if one had to guess. Tall, largely built, handsome in an aging way. A few graying hairs buried themselves in that thick bushy beard. Not much else could be seen underneath that trademark cap.

"He has a son here," the supervisor replied. "Got gunned down by some trigger happy mercenaries a few days back."

"Woah."

"Yeah. It gets worse though. The official police statement pretty much throws the boy under the bus," the lady continued. "Claims he was trying to rape a fellow classmate in her own room. PD even sent their own officers to play watchdog upstairs outside his room."

Alice distractedly pulled her iPhone from the handbag before tossing the luggage inside a shelf. "But did he? What does the patient have to say about all this?"

"Nothing," came the reply. "Last I heard, the kid has yet to come to. In fact, he shouldn't be up for another three days."

"Then why so doubtful, Greta?" asked the nurse. "Sounds to me like you don't have a good reason not to believe them."

"A shotgun Al?"

"Maybe he was trying to flee?"

"Bullshit. This is supposed to be a well-trained security firm. Not your skittish local run off the mill cop. The kid is eighteen for fucks sake."

Alice frowned at her supervisor. She opted not to argue and instead, simply proceeded to the coffee maker. In her opinion - and that of the law; eighteen is a bonafide adult. And two; all rapists should be treated as such, regardless of age. Who was he to earn the sympathy card solely on a youth factor?

"Still," The girl continued, ordering her cappuccino. "That doesn't explain why security allows that guy," she nodded towards the waiting area, "in at this time. Visiting hours start at eight-thirty."

Her SO sighed and fell back into her chair. "How do I put this..." Alice looked on curiously. It wasn't often that Greta had a loss of words. "The child in question; He was flown in by a big helicopter that bore the Hamilton insignia on it."