Searching For Something (PG-13) (Dr. Feelgood 2)

[francis]

Disclaimer: They are not mine, I just play with the characters. On the other hand, there isn't even a name mentioned here, but it's a missing scene from Dr. Feelgood.

POV: Dr. Pollock after his turning.


Still running. Like when I needed to clear my thoughts at college. There were shitloads of facts to learn, and sometimes I couldn’t take any more, just slipped into my jogging shoes and ran. Of course, back then I always knew where I would run, having my private little course stacked out, and I was in control.
Tonight it felt like the legs ran me, like the street ran me, like I was a panicked deer almost run over staggering through the wood without reason. I shook my head to clear it, but there was only the pulsing beat of my hunger. Needed to eat or I would die. Anger flooded me. I briefly thought that if I would encounter a late night stroller with a Happy Meal I would totally attack him and rip the bag open.

Then I noticed the bright neon signs of a store that was open 24/7. Oh, thank you. I would just buy something to eat. How did I look? The dishevelled shirt was smoothened for appearances sake, and I braced myself to go in. The music was too loud, the light was too stark, colors were definitely off, and I could smell the clerk at the counter, a lanky guy with curly hair. He was engrossed in his magazine and didn’t even look up. I made a bee-line for the back where the food was. I tried not to break into a run. I could already smell the buns, the potato chips, the pre-packed sandwiches. They smelled a little odd, like too much mayonnaise and spices, but my mouth watered.

I tore open one of those turkey sandwiches and stuffed it into my mouth. I would just show the price tag later and pay up. But I almost choked. There was this acrid smell of the conservants, but no taste at all. And the bread was so dry that I was unable to chew and swallow, so I spit it out. Maybe it had gone bad. Well, good for me to find the batch. I took another one, this had cheese on it. But it was just the same, disgusting smell and horrible texture, and no taste at all. I was so hungry I was about to cry, and there I was, a half chewed sandwich in hand and unable to eat it. Without further delay, I tossed the bread and went over to the chips. I knelt down, ripped a package open and stuffed my face, but it didn’t taste right, and I couldn’t swallow. I needed to drink something to make it go down. In a frantic haze I searched the stacks for a can of soda, but even the thought of drinking something like that made me nauseous and I couldn’t stomach it. I tried another mouthful of chips, growling with hunger, but it was to no avail. I retched.

By then the clerk had heard me and slowly crept around the corner, a baseball bat in hand. He surely thought I was a looter, sitting in the mess I had made of the packages. „Hey, what are you doin’? You have to pay for those.“
I turned around and snarled low in my throat. Did he really expect me to pay for this junk? There was nothing in it that was worth the price. „I’m not paying for anything.“ I spat, enraged. Standing up, my voice hoarse with thirst, I added: „Something’s wrong with your food!“ I got really angry now. I grabbed his arm to make sure he couldn’t hit me with the bat. „It doesn’t have any taste.“

He shook me off, my fingernails had hurt him. I wondered briefly how that could happen. He lifted the bat, trying to intimidate me. „You’re crazy!“ he bellowed, but I was distracted. The wound on his arm smelt like heaven. The blood oozing out made my teeth ache, my mouth water. I had only eyes for his arm, as I could smell the veins, could suddenly hear his heartbeat and see the pulse in his upraised wrist.

The man took a step backwards, then another one. „You stay away from me!You get back. I mean it.“ Suddenly I felt something shift in my gums, and a tickling in my eyes, and then I saw his warm body more distinctive than before, and the heady smell of his blood reached me. I hissed, mouth open, and then I attacked him. Easily I threw him down and sank my teeth into his neck. They were going in easily. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but I needed to get to this fountain of red, rich liquid. I moaned with delight when I drank it down. A shame to waste it. I tried to get the parts that ran out, quickly draining every drop I could get out of him. It was heavenly, delicious. It tasted like nothing I had ever eaten, better than Tiramisu, better than sunday lunch roast. It warmed me, it invigorated me, and my anguish diminished, my need to run calmed down and I was able to close my eyes for a moment and just revel in the feeling of being full and safe.

But then I opened my eyes again, and the colors were back to normal. A man was lying in his blood, his neck torn open. There was no way any doctor could fix this. His heart already stopped, I could’t hear it anymore. Why could I hear his heartbeat before? I didn’t care.

What to do? I did steal food, and I killed a man. Well, he attacked me with the bat, I was just defending myself. And there was his blood, something was wrong with it. It was so good.
I ran out again, before the police found the clerk. I was tired suddenly. Had to get home before I fell asleep. Needed to get home, be safe. I ran back to where I left my car somewhere near the accident site.

When I was back at the place where I woke up earlier, I looked around warily. There was a black pickup truck, the kind of truck that the police used for their CSI specialists. Did they search for clues regarding the accident? Should I have come out and told them I was fine? But I just had attacked a clerk in a shop. I decided to keep myself hidden.

I could see a young woman in black leather gear, hair in a braid, stern expression. She walked towards the dumpster where I laid earlier. She sniffed the air. I pulled back closer to the trees I was hiding behind.
I could scent her. She smelled familiar, like a distant cousin you meet for the first time at a family reunion. But the one in the car smelled dangerous, determined and unforgiving, old somehow. I didn’t dare to go there.

The younger woman got back into the car, and they left. I had the sudden impulse to run after them, to lay my hand on the door handle, to ask for advice. Curiously just at that moment I remembered sitting on my grandma’s lap, inhaling her old woman scent, her singing me to sleep. I missed her. I wanted her back.
Why did two woman in leather awaken those feelings in me? It was as if I belonged to them. I was homesick somehow. I wanted to go home. I wanted to crawl somewhere and be safe. I was too hot, and my mind was woozy. Maybe I was coming down with the flu.

Going home meant driving. I searched for my car, but it was gone. So they already towed it. Damn. This trip would take hours. What a crappy night. But I still had lots of warm liquid inside and felt okay. Running home would be easy. I remembered the way. My legs would run on their own, my arms just flailing around, as if I had forgotten how to jog. Running, I turned off my thoughts and just tried to feel the rhythm. It would soon be dawn.

[Penina Spinka]

He already knows he must avoid dawn. It seems like there is more to come? This is a difficult story to read, knowing what has to happen. If only the Cleaners had helped him, but he escaped their notice. This isn't the one I thought I read. I see now there's another chapter to Twists of Fate, so I'm moving on.

[francis]

Thank you, Penina. There's a part 3, it's called Fight for your Life.

[mitzie]

Just had to re-read this one too! I love the way you write Dr. Pollock's thoughts, it is so real to me! Wow and excellent story...

mitzie

[allegrita]

Oh, Francis--this is great. I know that with an hour show you have to pick and choose your scenes, but this one would have done a lot to explain what was happening to poor Dr. Pollack. He's so confused... all he wants is for things to be as they were. But he has no sire to help him figure it out. He has to do that on his own, and no wonder he's mad. The world has turned on its head and nothing works correctly. Nothing works but his newly found teeth.

This is just great!

[francis]

Nothing works but his newly found teeth.

Thank you, Allegrita. I like this line in your comment, it fits. It's a fine line to tread between his still working brain and the instincts that overwhelm him. If only he had a sire. Poor guy.

[wpgrace]

Wow you are doing an incredible job walking him thru the realization, step by step. If the show writers had done any of this, even a fraction, and done it even slightly as well as you are, we would've actually CARED about this guy! I am so impressed!

[francis]

Oh, Grace, I'm blushing. Thank you so much for this compliment.
Actually, if the actor had been any good, we might have felt something for his character good writing or not. He didn't have a lot of lines, but he overacted all the time.

[jen]

You do a wonderful job of getting into the head of a man in the throes of a soul shaking transition. The Jeffrey Polluck he was is still there, still largely in control as he tries to interact with the world in the way he remembers.

He is as much a victim as the people he kills.