Wolf, in League [Wolf 3]

Chapter 1: Mostly He Missed It-3

We’re offering you more knowledge than you ever knew was available. All you have to do is help us.”

Volos had been so smug. So completely confident with what he was saying. So careless. Like he hadn’t been trying to tell Matthew that the world as Matthew knew it was a lie.

Yet even there, with his forehead warming the glass beneath it and his nostrils huffing air into condensation butterflies, after he’d had to run out of the room like a child, he didn’t really believe any of it. For that he’d have to see it. He’d have to know it, sample it, study it, and even then Matthew wasn’t sure he’d draw the conclusion of what they were trying to tell him. Viruses, disorders, mutations: yes. Men who turned into wolves…men with fur—

“Ridiculous,” he hissed. It was definitely a joke. A prank on the new guy before they accepted him into their flock. That’s all it was. Volos and Dyball had been convincing, but of course they were. They were both senior members of the executive staff and had years of experience at making people believe what they wanted them to. They were joshing him and that was okay. He’d play their games. Sure he would. That was the whole point, probably—to see how he’d handle something so extraordinary. To see if he could be trusted, and make sure he really did have an open mind.

And okay, yes, he’d panicked and made a dash for the restroom to put his head back together, but that was all right too. It would make them think he was taking their words at face value and that he was giving them full consideration. So what now? How far would they take it? He could only wait and see, of course. Maybe the moment he walked out of the restroom they’d start laughing. They’d clap him on the back and they could all share in the joke. He could even make a sheepish comment about how excited he’d been starting to get over the idea of it all. If not, he’d play along until they did crack.

Sure. He could do that.

He took a breath. He let it out. He pushed away from the mirror and then used his sleeve to scrub off the marks he’d left. He stepped back, turned toward the door, and yanked it open.

“Welcome back, Doctor,” Volos said.

Neither man had moved from where they’d been when Matthew had stepped away. And neither man was laughing.

“Everything all right?”

He gave them a couple of seconds before he replied; plenty of time to toss aside the ruse and get to business. When they didn’t, Matthew nodded. All righty then. Professional, but skeptical. He couldn’t let himself look like too much of a fool. “Perfect. I’d like to see your files, please. Everything you have on these…what was it, O’Connells? Their associates too, of course. Medical, dental, psychological assessments. Anything and everything you have.”

“First.” Dyball, who’d remained pretty much silent up until that point held up a finger. “You’ll forgive me if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe that the kind doctor here believes a word of what we’ve said so far. I think we would be best served by introducing him to his partner.”

“Partner?” Panic resurfaced in Matthew’s voice and he had to swallow it down. “Do you have an investigator? Has he—”

“We have something,” Dyball said, his smile widening in his round, rather plain face. Sitting beside Volos only made him appear shorter, squatter, and more unimpressive than he might have in another setting. “Gavin Strauss. He was…is…a senior researcher here at the facility as well. At the executive level these days, though, of course. He’s agree to play the part of your…” He snapped his fingers and looked at Volos. “What’s the term they’re using these days? Partner? Significant other—”

“Do you mean husband?” Matthew interrupted.

“Husband is a good a word as any,” Volos said. He smiled, but the corner of his lip was flipped in a grimace that was a little too close to disgust for Matthew’s liking.

“Why do I need someone to play my husband?”

He didn’t get an answer right away. Instead, Dyball and Volos stood and motioned him toward the door that led out of the boardroom.

“All things in time, Doctor,” Volos said. He waited for Matthew to walk past him and dropped a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “All things in time.”

* * * *

Matthew wasn’t surprised that he was led to an area of the GDBCG that he’d never been to before. There were, after all, many areas like that in existence. What did surprise him was the lighting in that particular area. Where white lighting was necessary, over desk and research areas, that lighting was low and specific (surprisingly similar to how Matthew himself preferred to work). In most of the area, however—corridors, waiting areas, even inside the one restroom he’d seen by way of peripheral vision when the door was opened to let in a hurrying, very focused older gentleman in a lab coat—the overhead lighting was red. Emergency red. The kind that shone from “EXIT” signs and out of warning beacons. It was creepy as all get-go.

“Gavin Strauss is the head of this wing,” Dyball explained when he saw Matthew eyeing the lights warily. “He is extremely photophobic and somewhat leucistic. You’ll understand more after you meet him.”

The corridor was more ominous than cold, so when Matthew found himself shivering, he forced his body to quit. These two men had obviously done a good job in setting up their little Blödsinn and he decided to take that as a compliment. At least they’d gone to the effort of attempting a bit of intrigue, rather than resorting to interns draped in sheets and shaking chains while bemoaning Christmases past. Or was that Christmas future?

Matthew shook his head to dispel the thought and was startled when his sleeve was caught.

“In here, Doctor.”

The office he was led into was small but lavishly decorated. Dark wood gleamed under the red lights, thick carpeting softened their footsteps, and expensive frames glittered orange and topaz around a dozen different awards and accomplishments, all with the appropriate seals and signatures to validate them. There were no windows in the office, and only one muted desk lamp offered any ‘natural’ lighting to the room, albeit in a yellow haze. It was enough light for Matthew to register the eyes of the man behind the desk though, and the man could have been Godzilla for all Matthew would have noticed after that.

Matthew was struck speechless, spellbound, as he held the man’s gaze: eyes so light that the irises looked white, what little Matthew could see of them; pupils so large that if he’d not been gazing so intently it would have appeared that the man’s eyes were nothing but black circles; red sclera. Matthew’s hand dropped to his penlight, not waiting for Matthew to consciously direct it. The penlight would be a poor excuse for an ophthalmoscope but it would most certainly do. He snapped it on, he drew it up—

Both of the man’s hands flew up to cover his eyes, and Dyball and Volos shouted as one. “No!”

“Do you not listen at all?” Volos snapped.

Of course…if he got too close, if he looked too carefully, he’d see they were contacts. Clever boys. Matthew narrowed his eyes, his lips thinned. He flicked off the light.

“Or are you just so green that you don’t understand the term ‘photophobic’, Doctor?”

“I…” The reply died on Matthew’s lips. Of course he knew what it was. He’d never seen light sensitivity do that to a set of eyes, though. Sure, there were a hundred other possibilities—keratitis, subconjunctival hemorrhage, corneal ulcers, glaucoma—but for a second there, he’d let his interest make him forget the most important thing. This was all a bunch of horse pucky. Not Ebola.

“Doctor Dietrich, please meet Doctor Strauss,” Dyball said. He eyed Matthew with obvious disapproval. “And do try not to appear so alarmed, Dietrich. It’s an extremely gauche reaction on your part, considering your choice of study. Gavin’s ocular abnormalities are a condition of his virus. It affects not only his eyes, but also his skin. Sunlight can be deadly if he’s exposed for any great length of time. For obvious reasons, fluorescent lighting is banned in this area of the facility. The colored lighting helps reduce irritation and we’ve found that red seems to be the easiest on him, although turning down the regular lighting works almost as well. We’d prefer not to take any unnecessary chances, however, so we stick with the red. We’re researching the possibility that the red hue in the sclera is a natural defense against other lighting. Providing the eyes with their own filter, in a manner of speaking.”

“Virus?” Matthew whispered. Damned he might be, foolish he definitely was, but the interest was back regardless. He stepped closer to the desk. “This is viral?”

“Photochromic lenses help, and polarized ones if sunlight will be unavoidable, but it’s best to completely eliminate it. While lenses may help the eyes, it does nothing for the skin. And even through clothing…well, let’s just say we don’t want to fry our dear Doctor Strauss like a strip of bacon.”

“Is he contagious?” Matthew asked, more fascinated than concerned.

“In a matter of speaking, yes.” Volos stepped forward and extended his hand to Gavin. “Strauss.”

Gavin nodded, offered a limp handshake, and then turned his attention back to Matthew. “Welcome, husband.”

Matthew ignored the comment and also the smirk that came with it. He even ignored the voice that rose in his head to say he’d seen that expression before. Not too darn long ago, in fact. In a reflection. “You were saying?”

Volos slipped into a chair and crossed his legs. “The virus is only contagious with a direct transfer of blood from the host body into the blood of the victim.”

“I see,” Matthew said. He didn’t. Why only blood? What about saliva? Semen? “Did he come to you infected or did it happen after he started working here? Do you know who…what…did it?”

Volos smiled. It was an expression that was completely patronizing. “We did, Doctor.”

Matthew turned away from Gavin—it was oddly hard to break eye-contact—and stared at Volos. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It was a consensual experiment,” Volos explained. “And we’ve garnered a great deal of research material from doing so. It’s going quite well.”

“But why?” Matthew frowned. The echo of his oath momentarily rang through his ears: ‘Above all, I must not play God.’

“Consensual or not, I’m sure the ethics board would have a few things to say about—”

Volos’s smile escalated to a chuckle. “There is no ethics board that has any say on what happens here at the GDBCG. We are completely sanctioned to do what we must, however we need to do it.”

A feeling of unease crept into Matthew’s guts. “And your own sense of morality? Does it not question the ethical failure of turning a whole man into a…” His tongue stuttered, unsure of the correct word. “A sick one? Was he, in fact, whole when you began this procedure?” He stared at Gavin. “Were you?”

Volos’s voice was clipped and sharp when he replied for both of them. “Some things must be done in order to advance science.”

“So too believed the Nazis,” Matthew said. “Their advancements to medicine didn’t stop us from incarcerating them for their crimes against humanity.”

Dyball looked at him, horrified. “On the contrary, Doctor Dietrich. Their advances in medicine and science not only prevented many of them from being tried, but granted some of them positions within our own country’s scientific hierarchy. Sanctioned completely by our government officials, nonetheless. Regardless, that is hardly an appropriate comparison!”

Matthew’s frown tightened. “My apologies, sir. When I said ‘we’ I meant humanity in general. And the Germans have, in fact, done a wonderful job punishing some of the monsters of that war. I guess our government isn’t quite so righteous.”

Volos began to rise. “Gentleman, we are wasting time on semantics—”

Gavin stood, beating Volos to it, and extended his hand across the desk toward Matthew. It was harder than it should have been for Matthew to accept it, and when Matthew did, Gavin kept it locked in his own while he spoke. “I think it’s a fair comparison, actually. It is, however, hardly the way to endear one’s self to one’s new husband. Doctor, I’m thrilled you agreed to join us on this venture. Please be assured that I have not really been made sick, so to speak. There is a side to this affliction that goes above and beyond light sensitivity and the unfortunate effect of not being to stand outside in the sun.”

He tilted his head and offered Matthew a small, sensual smile that was all lip, no teeth. “Unless you mean sick in the mind. And then, by God, you’ve hit the nail right on the head, you have. How about you, Matthew?”