Patient 42
Chapter 3
– Storm’s Interruption
*BOOM.*
The shelter shook. Dust rained from the ceiling. Vesper gasped, curling tighter in Jack’s arms.
He adjusted her position. “You’re overheating. I need to lower your temp.”
“Too late,” she rasped. “It’s not about temperature anymore.”
Jack stood, tearing open the ancient emergency box. “Ice packs, saline, anything—come on—”
“No ice,” she murmured. “Only you.”
He froze. “Vesper, listen to me. This isn’t real. It’s chemical. I won’t touch you like that.”
Her eyes snapped open. “I’m not asking for sex.”
Jack blinked.
“I’m asking for contact,” she said, voice shaking. “I need grounding. Skin. Pressure. Not pleasure.”
“…You’re sure?”
She nodded, sweat dripping from her jaw. “Please, Jack. Just… hold me down.”
He hesitated. Then slowly knelt, wrapping his arms around her from behind. Her back arched against his chest, muscles twitching.
She flinched as thunder cracked overhead. “Noise hurts. Light hurts. Everything hurts.”
“I’ve got you.”
Her hands gripped his forearms. “Why are you being kind?”
“Because I’d want someone to do the same for me.”
She exhaled shakily. “Nobody ever did.”
Minutes passed like hours. Her breath rasped. Her skin steamed.
“Jack.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s getting worse.”
He adjusted her hospital gown, revealing deep red streaks along her spine. “What the hell did they pump into you?”
“Modified estrogen analogs, oxytocin inducers, neural stimulants. Designed for behavioral conditioning.”
He stared. “You were supposed to—what? Obey?”
“Submit,” she whispered. “On command. But I fought it.”
“Is that what’s happening now?”
“No. This is backlash. Like a system crash. No safeties.”
She trembled violently, tears breaking loose. “I’m losing control.”
He touched her cheek. “Vesper.”
Her eyes were wild. “You need to restrain me.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
“You might have to.”
The floor groaned as wind slammed the steel door above.
Then came the smell—something sharp, electric, hormonal. Jack’s throat tightened.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “What is that?”
“Pheromones. Weaponized.” She looked at him through fever-glazed eyes. “I warned you.”
Jack stood, backing away. “You’re… broadcasting?”
“Yes.”
“Then I need to step outside.”
“Storm’ll kill you.”
He cursed, pacing. “You didn’t do this on purpose.”
“I know.”
“But I’m still affected. That’s the problem.”
“Then don’t touch me,” she said, curling into the bench. “Let me die.”
“Not happening.”
He stripped off his jacket and covered her. “We’ll ride it out.”
She shook her head. “You’ll lose your job for this.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’ll hate yourself.”
“I already do.”
A pause. “You didn’t cheat on your fiancée.”
Jack turned slowly. “How do you—”
“You haven’t said her name once.”
“That’s not proof.”
“You carry guilt like a badge. But not that kind of guilt.”
He sat beside her. “What’s your story, Vesper?”
She stared at the ceiling. “I used to believe in science. In saving lives. Then I watched money decide who got saved.”
“And you volunteered for this?”
“I volunteered for the research. Not the cage.”
Another silence.
Jack spoke low. “You said they used you. But you also knew the schematics. The protocols. The names.”
“Information is survival.”
He turned. “And what exactly do you want to survive for?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said softly. “But right now, it’s you.”
He looked at her—really looked—and saw a woman trying to hold her mind together molecule by molecule.
A flicker of thunder turned into a deafening crack.
Vesper cried out and gripped his wrist. “Don’t let go.”
“I won’t.”
“Even if I beg.”
“I said I won’t.”
She buried her face in his chest, skin blazing, pulse racing.
Then, almost inaudible: “If I touch you—will you hate me?”
“No,” he whispered. “But I might hate myself.”
The air between them tightened like wire. The storm roared.
And still, he didn’t let go.
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