Breath Taker
By Melissa Abrehamsen
Rachel’s mind tensed in a way that both scared and shocked her. Still, she stood motionless in the oblong room, wondering if he would approach her, half expecting him to, half longing for it. He shuffled his feet across the floor in his quiet manner, and his unease burrowed an ache through her stomach.
Was Mark, like the others, afraid of her? Did he fear she would steal his breath the way she had Lt. Dickens’? Perhaps. The oxygen mask fitted over his face confirmed that much. Her gaze shifted, eyeing her peers through the thick protective glass as they stood watching. She didn’t miss how their bodies flexed in ready-to-pounce-mode inside their white lab suits.
She absently wondered how they would feel if they knew she could circumvent Mark’s mask.
This corner of the space station, cold and lit with a purple light, had become her home in the last week. They had built this capsule-sized room with one intent: to quarantine aliens.
She was anything but.
She peered at Mark again, wary, willing. She knew what was coming. It was inevitable.
Apprehension pulsed between them.
His eyes, hazel and imploring, searched her. She quirked an eyebrow. Why didn’t he sedate her like he had after she had escaped and dashed across Mars? Didn’t he understand that she only wanted to spare them? Slowly, he lifted the mask from his face and let it drop with a thud.
Voices erupted from the intercom above and yet Mark ignored their warnings, keeping his gaze fixed.
A single breath floated between them, moistening the air, her skin, her hair. Intoxicating. Her awareness shouldn’t be this crisp, this hot, this painful. Is this what compassion felt like? Not stealing what she craved, disconnecting from her nature?
For so long Rachel had only known drive, passion and success, qualities that had ensured her present status as an astronaut. Not that it did her any good at this moment.
She reached up and brushed dark hair from his smooth forehead. The skin around his eyes crinkled and dropped to her mouth as she bit her lip.
One intake of breath would end this. Just a taste. She kept her tongue still, as motionless as the rest of her, and leaned forward.
He gasped, jerking back, his fear apparent.
“Get it done and get out, Mark!” someone yelled over the intercom.
She moaned, withdrawing from this man who, from beyond the glass, had gained first her intrigue then affection. The moment tainted, she headed for the curved wall, her languid movements soft beneath the pale white shift. The frigid air in the room now contradicted her searing hurt.
She glanced away from her reflection on the rounded mirrored wall, not wanting to see her wild blonde hair against her alabaster skin, or her green eyes—once vibrant—sallow and aching.
“Will you all stop looking at me like that?” Mark said to the others behind the glass. “It’s not like that mask was going to prevent anything.”
“She’ll kill you!” someone shouted.
“Do we have to remind you?” someone else said.
They didn’t have to remind her. She remembered vividly. It haunted her thoughts more than Mark’s promise. Aware of Mark standing rigidly behind her, she slid down the wall, her hand trembling against her mouth. She thought back to last week when she had emerged from the shell:
The faint tingling finally eased as she sat across the metal table from Lt. Dickens. Her insides felt weightless, buoyant. She was the first astronaut to successfully undergo the molecular change necessary to live on Mars without water, food and oxygen.
Lt. Dickens smiled at her, his dimples shallow against his lean cheeks. She pursed her lips, examining his dubious gaze, considering the unreadable depths within his blue eyes. Something told her he had lied.
Finally, she gave him an unsure smile as she slung one leg over the other.
“It’s been thirty days, Rachel.” Lt. Dickens drummed his fingers on the table. “And you don’t look half bad. Doctor Taylor said you passed all of your diagnostics.”
Rachel nodded, a small frown forming on her lips. She had waited a long time to ask him one question. A question that had nagged at her right before she had gone into the shell. She moved her lips, only slightly frustrated that she could no longer speak without breathing. Transporting her thoughts wasn’t coming as naturally as they had promised.
But she could do it.
“Listen, I heard something that disturbs me,” Rachel transmitted into his mind, folding her hands on the table before leaning over them.
Dickens blinked as if uncomfortable with hearing her thoughts, and blew out a breath. “What did you hear?”
“That there were others, unfortunate people who didn’t survive the change. That they paved the way for me.” Rachel lowered her lashes, not wanting to imagine this was true and then peered at him again.
He cleared his throat and shifted in the chair, squeaking the metal legs against the floor. She swallowed, not liking the discomfort on his face.
“Understand, Rachel, that you are valuable. We couldn’t do what we’ve done for you without making sure it would work. Imagine if we hadn’t? You could be dead, or paralyzed, or—”
She slapped her palm down, her words rolling across the table. “What happened to what you told me before, huh? That only animals had been tested at Kennedy Space Center. I was fine with the risk. But people? I just—”
“Stop with the self-righteous mumbo-jumbo and look at what you’re capable of now,” Lt. Dickens said, rising from the chair.
She rounded the table, and suddenly faint, she gripped his forearm for balance. Lt. Dickens steadied her and bent toward her face, his eyes concerned.
A rippling in her chest startled her. It burned and convulsed. His breath on her face, inside her nostrils, slinking down her throat felt like instant fire. Fire that she needed. Her mind flexed, she drew in a breath. Frosted breath curled from his mouth and nose like ghostly fingers and his eyes widened in panic.
A shriek sounded between them as his breath coiled over her lips and streamed down her throat in cool waves. Her lungs expanded, cold inside her chest. Lt. Dickens dropped to his knees. Stunned, she peered down at him. His flesh shone purple beneath the harsh lights. Gelatinous gray liquid oozed from his nostrils and mouth, pouring onto the tile around her feet.
Rachel pushed away the memory, distancing herself from the horror.
Yet the truth would never allow that.
That’s why she had attempted escape. That’s why she marveled at Mark’s bravery. That’s why she felt afraid.
Her fingers roughly traced her lips.
She could kill again.
Over her shoulder, she glanced at Mark who stood still in the purple glow as if he were in a cage with a tigress instead of a famous astronaut. He took a cautious step toward her.
“Just do it and leave,” she mind-spoke, afraid her voice would crack even within her mind.
“I…I believe you can—” Mark began.
“What? Tolerate your breath without stealing it? Without turning you into a puddle at my feet? No, I can’t guarantee that, Mark, so just get it over with and go.” She curved her arms around her knees.
“There has to be a way,” Mark said, his voice light yet determined. “I promised I would make this right. I’m the one who spoiled your processing.”
She bit her lip, hating the remorse she heard in his voice. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure that it had been Mark’s fault. Yes, he had intervened when her processing had been at a critical stage, but he had thought she was dying. How could she blame him for saving her? Even if he had undeniably ruined her? She shook her head.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about why this failed,” she transmitted, her head resting against her knees. “Everything it means to be human…to act human, to experience being human, was stripped from me. And yet I still crave the basic…human essence. Breath. Without it, I don’t feel…whole.”
Mark blinked, transfixed. In another moment, he sat on the floor facing her. She eyed the syringe poking out from his shirt pocket.
“What did you just say?” he asked, his eyebrows pulled low.
“Breath. I crave it. I crave being human,” she mind-spoke.
“Like from the beginning?” he asked.
She shrugged, not understanding what answer he expected from her.
“One breath filled man’s lungs and creation…,” Mark said, letting his words trail off with his thoughts.
Confused, she shook her head.
“Rachel.” His breath poured over her face, weakening her.
“Back away,” her mind pushed toward him, her meaning clear.
Startled, Mark sat back and nodded, his expression solemn. Like with Lt. Dickens, if she could taste his breath, she could inhale it. Mark touched her knee and she thought she detected more than apprehension between them. Something more like loss. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of loss with him.
“You know why I’m here?” he asked.
She nodded. “You have to sedate me before I go back inside the shell.”
He swallowed and glanced at the window where his superiors waited. She followed his gaze and transmitted, “No matter how long you put me in there, I won’t survive here. I need breath…or I feel like I will disconnect.” She tilted her head back. No tears sprang to her eyes. Tears were no longer possible for her.
Mark cupped her jaw and spoke so only she could hear. “I wonder if your soul is tied to breath, and without it, you can’t survive in this body. If what we’ve done to you isn’t murder anyway.”
“There are always going to be risks with something like this. I knew that going in, Mark. I did. I don’t blame anyone.” She fingered her gown’s hem. “Couldn’t wait to be the first in my field to attain a goal this large, you know?”
He nodded. “Still doesn’t make it better though,” Mark said, withdrawing the syringe.
Rolling up her sleeve, she scooted forward and extended her arm.
“No, I can’t,” Mark whispered as his fingers curled around her delicate wrist. Warmth traveled up her arm and she gasped. Such a natural reaction. And deadly. The intake of breath drew his breath over her lips and tongue. The taste, sweet and musky and delicious, spread across her consciousness. Hot need coursed through her and she widened her mouth. Mark, wild-eyed, cupped his hand over his mouth and nose. Still, his frosty breath snaked through his fingers in thin tendrils and absorbed into her. Her thoughts screamed through her need, piercing the moment with an alarm she couldn’t ignore.
Stop! Stop! Stop!
Immense pleasure overwhelmed her, clogged her throat. She felt alive. Hungry for him, for his essence. Her chest rose and fell. Every nerve tingled, awakened, yearned for more.
She could feel him fight for his breath, and buckled under his stark lust for survival.
Again, the alarm she couldn’t ignore.
The alarm that drove her to relinquish his breath. She jerked the syringe from him. She held her breath, his breath, and felt weightless. The needle sank deep into her arm, letting sweet oblivion colour her senses black.
The words, ‘If what we’ve done to you isn’t murder anyway’ floated after her. Anyway.
A soft shudder.
Then death.