Adapt (I)

SCARLET

When I find myself in a fight or flight situation, something happens to my body, just as it did the first time Boe and I hunted together. A switch flips in my brain and my thoughts careen on autopilot. This has never failed me. A mixture of instinct and training combine to make me deadly.

Nothing about this situation says threatening, however. Logan isn’t coming at me, eyes ablaze. He isn’t holding Caron is a manner that constitutes violence. And there is no one else in the immediate vicinity.

No, imminent danger is not triggering this. Every drop of blood - staining Caron’s clothes, hair, skin and floor - is.

My dagger is in my hand, and then it is buried in Logan’s shoulder. He cries out. I withdraw the dagger and punch it into the flesh of his arm, forcing him to drop Caron.

She hits the floor, and the sound wakes me from autopilot. Tears run down my cheeks. I push Logan away, so that I can help Caron.

“No, no, no. Caron, open your eyes.” I whimper. This can’t be happening. No way. Caron is off limits.

She doesn’t answer me, but I can see the rise and fall of her chest.

“I fed her my blood. She will heal. Just make sure she doesn’t die in the next month or two.”

“You what?” I am furious now, glaring at Logan who is leaning heavily against the living room wall. He is holding the cut in his arm together, wincing at the pain.

“You are welcome.” He dead pans.

“Get out of her house!”

“You wouldn’t rather finish me off while I am wounded?”

Tears ribbon down my cheeks. I don’t think I could kill anyone right now. I am too worried about Caron.

“Just get out, Logan.”

He painfully straightens and staggers toward me. He stands over me, as I check Caron’s pulse and listen for her breath.

“Scarlet, my blood will heal her, but it is addictive. It’s like a drug. And if she dies before it gets out of her system...”

“She’ll what? What will happen to her?!”

He remains silent, deliberating what he should say. “Just don’t let her die.” He finally says and begins for the door.

“Wait, who did this if you didn’t?”

“I am taking care of them. You won’t have to deal with them again.”

“But...” but he is gone.

I have never had to deal with other people’s wounds, just my own. With Caron’s unconscious body in front of me it takes me a moment to straighten my thoughts enough to examine her condition.

Most of her wounds are not serious; she has a shallow gash on her arm, a split in her brow and some swelling around her neck. What’s worrying me is her ripped jeans and all of the struggle marks. As I come to my senses, I realize that her pulse is slowly getting stronger as time is passing. I reach for a cushion from her parent’s couch and prop it under her head. I run down the hall and get a towel out of the linen closet and a bowl from the kitchen and fill it with lukewarm water. I bring the water and the towel to Caron and I kneel down beside her to begin washing her wounds. I start with her face, gently dabbing. As I do this, my mind takes stock. The fragments of information I have do not explain clearly what happened here, but there are a few things I can be sure of. Caron has been assaulted, and it has something to do with the recent attacks on teenage girls in town late. And Logan is intimately involved in it.

Slowly Caron’s eyes start to open. Her glaze is far away, and winces at the pain. I brush back the hair and stoke her cheek, hoping that my presence will help in her. She starts to whimper, and I realize that normal people have to go to hospital. I grab Caron’s home phone and dial emergency. When I hang up, I just hold her hand and keep washing her wounds, whispering that she will be okay until the ambulance arrives.