An Apple A Day (Wattys2019)

Chapter 8 - Deduction of the Day

Third Person

Miles cowers underneath the desk, huddling in the corner and pulling himself as tight as possible. He squeezes his eyes shut so tightly he fears the veins will pop and blood will stream from between his eyelids. He thinks of his body, of how it used to be. Smooth and young, small and thin but sturdy. Now he feels so weak, disfigured and disgusting. Scars run all cross his bruised, spindly legs and stitched up gashes stretching grotesquely across his torso, the results of Doc's invasive 'experiments'. His ribcage protrudes  and each little vertebrae bumps out from under his shirt. He looks like Doc now.

It's not just that. There have been changes in the months he's lived with Doc. Hair sprouting from previously smooth places, his limbs extending and growing at a faster rate than his body itself. When he screams, his voice sounds like it doesn't belong to him. Doc has been so happy since this started happening. Excited and intrigued by every little change, surveying the results happily through his microscope.

His mind is spinning with so many confusing possibilities. As soon as he hears he door open he lashes out, smashing his fist through the barred window. Of course the bars don't move, but his bloody hand pulls back with shards of glass imbedded through the skin.

Doc stands at the door, eyes shining with guilty tears. "My experiment... your hand... it's cut, let me help get the glass-" Miles grips a shard tightly, ripping it from his wound and brandishing it like a knife, swinging it around like a demented lunatic. He doesn't seems to notice how it slices through his own skin, embedding deeper and deeper into his palm the tighter he grips. "-out. Miles... put that down,"

"One m-more step and I'll kill you!" His teeth grit, eyes bulging wildly from his skull. "Don't come any closer!"

"Shit..." Doc hisses, staring around the room. "We have neighbours! Keep your voice down Miles," he inches closer, walking forward so slowly Miles almost doesn't notice.

Doc hones his skills of stealth learned in boyhood, light treads only on he softest patches of ground. He's memorised which floorboards creak and which do not. Stay quiet. Move slowly. Never hesitate: it makes you look guilty.

"I s-said stop!"

"It's okay...I'm going to help you, Miles," Keep saying its name. It'll comfort the experiment. Remember the value of this experiment. Don't kill it. "Just stay still,"

"I'm just..." there's almost as many tears as blood now. "What the hell is happening to me?!"

"What do you mean?" Doc asks, stopping in his tracks. He's genuinely confused as well. "What's wrong? I can help, I'll do anything you need me to,"

"Wh-Why do I sound like this... why do I look like this?! I never used to look like this!"

He's close enough now. Just close enough to lunge for Miles, ripping the glass from his hand, cutting himself in the process so their blood mixes evenly. He throws it into the hallway as Miles struggles in his grasp, before doing the unexpected. He pulls the child tightly into a hug. A long, oppressive one that crushes his chest and makes it hard to breathe. Doc's hugs are warm and soothing, Not like his mother's but just as good in a different way. Acting as the part of him he's been missing all his life.

They hug for a long time, until both their legs go numb and they must sit adjacent on the bed. Doc drinks heavily from a neglected bottle of Jack Daniels and he makes Miles a strawberry milkshake. "I forgot, you've never had anyone to explain this to you," he hiccups, before giggling to himself. "This is so great! Oh you'll be so handsome Miles,"

"What is it?" He child asks, still concerned. More about his own actions today than his body. Never before has he felt something so intense. Not even on Doc's operating table. He was finally in control, just artificially, just for the briefest moment, he had leverage over Doc. He loved it so much. That control. That infinite omnipotence, bending the will of creatures physically stronger than himself was euphoric. "What's happening to me Doc?"

With each question, he seems to grow dumber. Now back to being the bumbling subject, used for amusement.

"It's puberty, Miles. It's... a difficult time. I'll have to change the way I experiment on you. We'll both adjust. You'll get older and bigger... you'll be just like me. I hope,"

"You hope?"

"I've never had a subject for more than three years," Doc doesn't know why he's saying this. He trusts Miles so much more now. The child had a chance to kill him and didn't take it. He hesitated, and cried. Was more frightened than angry. He wonders how far he can push these interesting feelings of attachment. "Most just get so boring after a while. So whiny with their damn shouting all the time!"

Doc gulps down a few mouthfuls of the Amber liquid, flashing fire igniting in his throat like a stricken match. He throws the now empty bottle in a fit of anger, watching it spin across the floor and thankfully not smash, clinking and rolling away from the wall. "We'll need to fix that window," is his deduction of the day.

"Doc?"

"Yes?"

"Who...?" Miles concentrates heavily on one spot on the floor. "Who are you?"

"I'm not sure anymore..." he admits confidently, almost laughing at the incredulity of everything. "Ever since I was a child, nobody called me by my name. They'd come up with some vulgar adjective. Elias' favourite was 'psycho',"

"Elias?"

Doc's eyes flutter closed, immersed in a deep peace. "That's enough questions," with difficulty he pushes himself up, staggering out the room. He forgets to lock the door, maybe subconsciously on purpose. The child doesn't even notice and if he did, probably wouldn't take advantage. Never betray the trust of his dearest doctor.