[Short Story] - Doctor

I heard the doors to the cellar open and the guard watching over me immediately bolted up from his chair and saluted toward them.

He never entered the basement, only stopped between the doors and called for me. “Ready to work your magic, doctor?” He spoke with a very thick Russian accent. He disappeared from between the door before I could reply.

The guard unlocked the door to my cell, mumbled something in Russian that I couldn’t understand, even though he always said the same thing, and escorted me up the stairs to the door.

The house was littered with golden and silver ornaments, the most prized paintings, and sculptures of all shapes and sizes, all of which I could hardly even look at because my eyes had still been used to the dark from the cellar. If I were to judge, I would say it was too much, but it was exactly the reason it was all there. It was a status symbol, a way to let everyone know of his worth without having to say a single word.

As per usual, I was instructed to put on a white coat and go down the corridor into the living room. He was already waiting for me with, accompanied by two guards and a business partner.

He didn’t turn his head to look at me, but instead waited until I have made my way in front of him. “I have just been injected with a lethal virus. Can you take it away?” The syringe was still on the table, empty of its content. I knew exactly what he had done. He had done it several times before.

I took a deep breath and sighed. Not because of what he had asked me to do, but because I knew what followed it.

177 years ago my mother died during labor. The doctors told her it was either her or me, and she chose to push through and save my life at the cost of hers.

The sacrifice did not go unnoticed, though.

Her act was seen by the Gods and they have decided to honor the deed by granting me the power to cure any living creature of any disease, and the power to heal any wound, no matter how great, but at the cost of a price. I had to take it upon myself. I had also been granted the power to pass on any illness or pain that I had to a blood relative of mine, but not a random stranger.

I discovered my powers two years after my first son was born. My wife had terminal stage cancer and by the time we found out she had been told she had less than two weeks left to live. I prayed to all that was holy to help us, but day after day nothing had happened to improve her health, until one day I sat down beside her on the death bed, held her hand in mine, and envisioned myself taking the disease from her and planting it into me instead.

As if by a miracle of some sort, she instantaneously got well–not only better–and we both thought our worst nightmare was over.

Only it wasn’t.

I could feel the tumors growing inside me, and worse yet, I could feel that I could pass all that pain onto my son. Whenever we touched, I could feel the cancer wanting to slowly seep from me to him, if only I’d let it.

I was combating that idea as hard as I could, but after just two days I couldn’t take it any longer. My situation got even worse than it was with my wife, and with the speed of the cancer’s growth I likely only had a day or a couple hours left.

I had to make a decision. It was either me or my son.

I figured he was too young to have truly been aware of his life, and that I could have another child had I wanted. Not only that. I was also aware of my power. I knew I could take away any illness I wanted to as long as I can infect a blood relative of mine with it shortly after. I didn’t want to think about it that way, but it was a surefire way to make money. A way to live a life I’ve always wanted to live without having to actually work. All I needed do was bend my morals a little.

I tried my best to counter that idea with the love for my son and the feeling of righteousness, but when the time came to make a decision, I chose myself.

My son’s death two days later devastated both of us. So much so, my wife didn’t want to have any more children. No matter how much I tried persuading her, she wouldn’t want to hear about it.

With my only son dead and my wife not wanting another, I had no other choice but to leave her and spawn an army of my descendants that would serve merely as vessels when I needed to dispose of a disease.

Within three years I had 32 children and have made quite a name for myself amongst the wealthier people. I have healed them of all their illnesses and soon realized I could make their biological clocks tick slower. I could keep them, and myself, alive for as long as I wanted, as long as I kept sacrificing the wellbeing of my own descendants. It was hard at first, but with time and an abundance of power and money my morals got twisted enough for me to look at my children as if they were random strangers from the street that I had no emotional attachment to.

Over the years I have made millions of dollars and have lived the life I could only ever envy myself for. I have had several wives, employees to take care of everything instead of me, and the best view of the ocean one could ask for. All I needed to do in return was have as much fun as I could, keep my children safe in the basement and always make more, and heal an old fart every now and again of an illness or two.

I was living in paradise until one day, exactly 70 years ago, Vladimir Fedorov, the most notorious name in all of Russia, and leader of all its organized crime, decided he didn’t want his competition to be able to survive through his murderous attempts and live forever. He had somehow found out where I lived and had me kidnapped and brought to his house.

He locked me in a prison cell in his basement and, knowing the way I worked, had me milked for sperm on a daily basis, to then impregnate women with my semen. My children, whose sole purpose was to serve as sacrificial lambs were locked up in a separate cellar.

By having control over me and my powers, all his competition died on their own, and all he needed to worry about was employing new men and keeping them in line. For that reason, he has lately come to the idea of demonstrating his immortality in front of his future business partners. He injected himself with a murderous virus I was to then take away in front of the audience. That way he ensured respect in front of the individual, and also made sure everybody knew he wasn’t leaving anywhere soon.

I sat down on the chair in front of Vladimir and he extended his hand toward me. I looked at the man sat next to him and could easily tell he was American and as much horror-stricken as he was in awe. It wasn’t every day one gets to see a man willingly inject himself with poison, and claim he can survive it.

“Let us wait for the virus to kick in. That way you see it work.” Vladimir proposed. He wanted the American to see him in bad shape, spitting blood if possible, and then being healed in a heartbeat.

The servants brought them both a glass of vodka, and treated me to a glass of water while we waited. They went on to speak about weapons, drugs, and other illicit business, but I couldn’t be bothered with listening to any of that. I had my own thoughts to focus on. After all, I had a mission that day, and I couldn’t risk being discovered.

It didn’t take long for the virus to kick in. Vladimir started coughing badly and began bleeding from his nose. I knew he had injected himself with an even more potent mixture than last time.

On his command I grabbed him by the hand and closed my eyes to be able to focus. I needed a while to find the virus and make the transition, but as always, it was all over very fast. In mere ten seconds I let go of his hand and he was back to his former lively self.

The American guest was both petrified and amazed by what he had witnessed. I could tell he was more than willing to do anything Vladimir would have asked of him.

“Go, doctor. Your services are no longer required.” He waved his hand to the guard who then escorted me to the other cellar where they held all my children.

The door to that cellar was only two doors away from mine and for the first time since I lost my first son, I crossed myself before entering. The basement was flooded with children, at least fifty of them, and locked into several separate cells with six guards watching over them.

The victim was chosen already and strapped into a seat. It was always the oldest of my children, this time one of my daughters, no older than four years old.

I could feel a lump forming in my throat and my eyes wanting to water as I approached her, but I had to keep it to myself, otherwise the entire plan would’ve gone south.

I sat down opposed to her and grabbed her by the hand. I never looked them right in the eyes when I condemned them to certain death, but that time I did. I gazed into her deep blue eyes and tried to tell her I was sorry just by looking at her.

Because I couldn’t actually spin the biological clock the other way, I could only make it stop at a point in time, I had to take the years of life away from my children in order to keep myself alive.

That time, however, instead of passing the virus to her, I had given her all the time I had left to live myself, and collapsed on spot. Dead.

But only killing myself wouldn’t make enough of a difference. Vladimir wasn’t an old man. He would’ve lived for at least another forty years without me had I not given him a present that day. What Vladimir didn’t know was that I could take a disease away only partially if I wanted to, and not necessarily all of it.

Given the severity of the virus, I’d assume he had about a day left to live, at best.