Jack's preferred hang out was a bar named Duffy's, which was a favorite amongst the college crowd. Though he would have loved to have stopped by and had a drink with some friends, he didn't feel it was safe, for some reason, to do so. Instead, he made his way on foot across town and found a lesser populated hole-in-the-wall where the older crowd hung out. It was a bit early, but the place was open, so Jack wandered in, hoping that alcohol would have the same effect on this sensation in his throat as the blood he had consumed earlier.
The bartender seemed disinterested in Jack as he approached the counter in the dim light. He ordered a Bud and found a booth in the back, hopeful to have the opportunity to quench his thirst and regain his thoughts. He drank deeply, feeling the liquid slide down his throat. Though the cool drink felt refreshing against the burn, it did nothing to contain it, and he plunked the glass back down on the table, realizing that, unfortunately, he would have to find something else to keep the fire in his throat from overwhelming him. The thought of what that drink had to be was incomprehensible to him, and he held his head in his hands, wondering how in the world he was going to go on existing in this state. The idea of drinking blood should have sickened him, yet he found its pull intoxicating, a thought that both excited and disgusted him.
A noise from across the table caught his attention, and he looked up to see a slender young man sliding into the seat across from him. "I'd like to be alone," Jack said, amazed that someone would join him without asking, particularly in a practically empty bar.
"Would you now?" the uninvited guest replied, his Italian accent thick, as if he had just gotten off of a plane. "I really don't think that's true," he continued. He had short blond hair, which matched his pencil thin moustache and goatee. He seemed to be just a bit older than Jack and had an attractive, if not particularly striking, face. There was one feature that Jack noticed almost immediately, however, even in the dim light. His eyes were steel gray.
"Name's Giovani," the man said, offering him his hand. Jack took it, shaking cautiously. He couldn't help but be suspicious of any stranger who would approach him in a bar, particularly on this side of town.
"What do you want?" Jack asked, wondering if, perhaps, he had wandered into a gay bar without realizing. Looking around at the few other patrons, he didn't think that was the case, but he couldn't be sure.
"It's not what I want," Giovani replied jovially. "It's what you want and what I can help you get."
Again, Jack's suspicions grew. He paused for a moment to study this character before responding. "I'm not quite sure I know what you mean," he admitted.
Giovani chuckled. "Of course you do," he said quietly, leaning toward Jack. "That burning in the back of your throat? I know what you want, my friend. And I know how to help you get it."
Jack absently cleared his throat, not sure exactly how this man could know that information. Before he could reply, however, Giovani was speaking again. "Listen, Jack," he said, resting his elbows on the table and making a triangle with his hands, his chin resting on the tips of his fingers. "I've been sent here to help you. You can trust me."
"How do you know my name?" Jack asked, peering as deeply into those eyes as he dared.
Again, Giovani let out a small laugh. "Because, your mother told me," he replied. "She's the one who sent me."
"My mother?" Jack said, confused. "Why would Alice send you to help me?"
"Not that mother," Giovani said, reaching across the table and hitting him gently on the shoulder, as if they were old friends. "Your other mother. Holland."
* * *
Dr. Jay Arnold had been practicing medicine for almost half a century. In that time, he had seen some unusual occurrences. He had seen all types of accidents, injuries, and illnesses. He had never seen anyone present with symptoms like Jack Cook's. Likewise, over the years, he and his associates had lost a fair share of items. They had misplaced utensils, machinery, possibly even body parts. They had never, not once, lost an entire body. Until now.
As the Chief of Staff, it was ultimately up to Dr. Arnold to solve whatever problems his staff brought to him. When he had been notified earlier that day that the body of a patient, one Jack Cook, a young man whose case Dr. Arnold was familiar with, and had actually treated, was missing, he had initially thought that it had to be a simple error. While the doctors who worked in the morgue assured him they had searched everywhere for Mr. Cook and had come up empty-handed, he was certain that, if they looked harder and longer, they would find him. He had spoken personally to the parents, Steve and Alice Cook, who wanted the autopsy completed as quickly as possible so that they could begin to make funeral arrangements, explaining to them that there had been a slight mishap and that they would locate Jack very soon. That had been hours ago, and now, at half past five, Jack still had not shown up, and they were running out of time before they would be forced to give further explanation to the family.
Dr. Adam Doss, Chief Medical Examiner, met Dr. Arnold outside of the morgue. "Anything?" Arnold asked, hopeful despite the defeated look on his colleague's face.
"No," Dr. Doss replied. "We've looked everywhere, Dr. Arnold. It's as if he just. . . got up and walked away."
Dr. Arnold looked at the slightly younger man sternly. "Well, Dr. Doss, I'm quite certain that, that is not what happened," he replied, pushing open the door to the morgue. He had determined that, if his staff was unable to locate the body by themselves, he would have to come and look for Mr. Cook himself.
Stepping into the dimly lit room, the smell of recent death wafted into Dr. Arnold's lungs, along with other morbid, yet familiar scents, such as formaldehyde and blood. He surveyed the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary, and saw nothing. He approached the body nearest the door, certain that his staff had already checked these bodies to make sure that none of them were Jack Cook, yet hopeful that his staff was truly just incompetent, and he would be able to locate the corpse in plain sight.
"There's something else," Dr. Doss said, hesitantly, as he followed Dr. Arnold across the room.
Dr. Arnold pulled the first sheet back, revealing a recently deceased cancer patient, Mrs. Fitzhugh. She certainly wasn't Mr. Cook. "What's that?" he asked, crossing the room to the next body. Before he could pull the sheet back, Dr. Doss put his hand on top of Dr. Arnold's, holding the sheet in place.
"This is the body of Mr. Clark Wester," he began, “the car accident victim who was brought in late yesterday evening.”
"Yes, I'm familiar," Dr. Arnold replied. "I still want to see for myself," he insisted, assuming that Dr. Doss simply didn't want him to waste his time checking a body he had already examined.
"Of course, sir," Dr. Doss agreed without removing his hand. "However, something unusual has happened with Mr. Wester's body as well."
Dr. Arnold could plainly see that Mr. Wester was not missing, so he was truly puzzled. "Remove your hand, Dr. Doss," he ordered sternly. Dr. Doss did as he was instructed, and Dr. Arnold pulled the sheet back revealing the pale white face of Clark Wester, the gaping hole in his chest just as Dr. Arnold had remembered, with only one slight addition of some sort of strange marking on his skin above his heart, and apparently, the reduction of every drop of blood from his entire body. "What in God's name?" Dr. Arnold proclaimed, unable to believe his very eyes.
Dr. Doss swallowed hard beside him. "I have no explanation," he began. "When we placed the body here, it was just like any other car wreck victim. When we started searching for Mr. Cook this morning, we discovered this. Not a drop of blood left in his body."
Dr. Arnold wasn't sure exactly what had occurred in his hospital that day, but he knew one thing; as few people as possible needed to know about this. "Who else has seen this?" he asked, pulling the sheet back over Mr. Wester.
Dr. Doss seemed to consider before answering. "Dr. Martin was helping with the search, as was Nurse Shaw and the custodian, Juan. He may have seen, though I'm not sure. I asked him to check the slide drawers, so it's possible that he didn't see."
"Make sure that no one else sees this body. Talk to Dr. Martin and Nurse Shaw, and make sure they know no one else finds out about this either. See what Juan knows, and if you need to, tell him that you found the cause of Mr. Wester's pale state, and it was a medical condition. Meanwhile, we need to come up with an excuse as to why we no longer have the body of Jack Cook," Arnold explained, now thoroughly convinced that Cook was no longer in the hospital.
"Are you sure there's nowhere we haven't looked?" Dr. Doss asked, thinking perhaps there was a possibility that they might still find Cook.
Dr. Arnold had seen enough to know that they would not be finding Cook in the hospital, not now, anyway, and hopefully, never again. "No, he's not here," Arnold confirmed. "We'll have to do some convincing with Mr. Wester's family. Perhaps, we can suggest a cremation. If they come to examine the body, we'll have to do our best to make sure they do not look too closely. As for the disappearance of Mr. Cook, I have no idea how we are going to handle that, but we'll have to think of something."
