#basically; we went to the oncologist for the cat and he said its too late for her to go through treatment | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

antiquechampagne · 5 years

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Chapter 27 - Home Again

Dahlia stood in front of the bathroom mirror, her wet hair wrapped in a towel on the top of her head. She examined her face, searching for any new red patches or bruises she might have to cover for the day. Luckily, since the autumn had cooled off a blazing Nevada summer, she could easily hide the blemishes under a light long sleeve sweater and slacks. She opened the drawer full of makeup and began to lay the foundation thickly on her sickly pale cheeks and forehead.

She had been getting up early for months now. Her mom had started noticing the change in her normally nocturnal daughter. According to her friends at the ranch, her mom thought her new early morning routine was for a new boyfriend.

Let her think that. Dahlia thought. She’s been so upbeat lately, thinking I am primping for someone. Let her be happy for a bit. She deserves it.

While staring intently at her face applying blush in the mirror, the red of the compact momentarily became a bright splash of blood on the dripping down the shower curtain. Dahlia’s breath caught in her throat and her heart raced, throwing dark spots in front of her eyes. Looking again, she realized the trick her eyes had played on her. It had almost been a year, and she still had flashes of finding Aden. She wished secretly they had ripped the damn shower out, replacing it with anything else… but her mother was right. They didn’t have the money to replace the bathroom. So she forced herself to use it, to stand where he had ended his life. She returned to the job at hand, she had to keep up appearances.

With a satisfied sigh, she finished putting the few final touches on her makeup mask. Pulling the towel down, damp dark curls fell to past her shoulders. She hoped that after today she would be lucky and keep her hair. Her mom could sniff out a wig at 40 paces, there would be no hiding the fact she was sick from her then.

The ringing phone broke through the predawn stillness. She could barely make out her mother’s voice answering it across the hall as she tossed her hair in the towel. She certainly heard the cursing more clearly after the receiver hit its cradle with a plastic crack.

“That son-of-a-BITCH!” her mother roared. “Why does he think the Wild Rose is her personal freaking punching bag?”

“What’s wrong, mom?” Dahlia asked through the closed door.

“The inspector is up at the ranch again, basically trying to break down the door trying to get in!”

“Didn’t we just have inspections like… 2 months ago?”

“We sure did. I bet Mr. House sent a few new boys down to try and dig up some dirt on us.”

“But we passed!”

“My guess is now they are just making shit up. House just can’t stand that we aren’t under his thumb and we don’t treat our people like a bunch of robots.” Her voice was right outside the door. “I know you like to take your time in here, Dahl, but could you hurry it up? I need to get down to the ranch as soon as I can.”

Dahlia finished as quickly as she could, giving herself another once over before leaving the bathroom and slipping down the claustrophobic hall to the kitchen. As she nibbled on a piece of toast, her mother finished and joined her.

“I wish you could come with me. If they sent Dennis, this might be over quick enough that we can reopen before the after lunch rush shows up.”

“Sorry mom, but this appointment can’t be rescheduled.”

“Dentist, right?” her mom asked between sips of scalding hot coffee.

“Yeah... something like that.” Dahlia hated lying to her mom, so she took the opportunity to throw her half eaten toast in the trash and wash up her plate.

“I like that sweater. Are you feeling okay? My real daughter wouldn’t be caught dead in anything brighter than a navy!” She loved to rib her about her favorite color, always blamed Dahlia’s love of black on her being born on Halloween. “But seriously, the purple brings out your eyes nicely.” Her mom popped a slice of apple in her mouth.

“Do you think you’ll be done by lunch?” she asked between bites.

“Maybe. As soon as I am done, I’ll stop by work… we can play it by ear after that.” Dahlia half smiled. She hoped she wouldn’t feel too tired to join her. “Don’t forget to stop by the Super-Duper Mart and see if they have lemons yet. I haven’t seen any for a few weeks now.”

“Are you worried that this year you won’t get your favorite birthday cake?”

“You always make me lemon cake! We can’t break the tradition! And don’t gripe on how hard it is to make and you always have to make it alone… you refuse to share the recipe, so I can’t even offer to help!”

Her mom chuckled, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “Shit!” she spat. “I got to go. Can you take care of this for me?” She handed her daughter her coffee.

Dahlia nodded as her mom gave her a peck on the cheek and sped out the door.

“Have fun at your dentist appointment!” she called as the door shut behind her.

Dahlia slowly puttered around the kitchen. She debated on catching a quick nap before calling a cab, but decided against it. She couldn’t risk oversleeping. Not today.

She grabbed the hospital’s preadmission paperwork hidden in her desk drawer. She had filled it out a week ago, but she went over everything again. As she waited on the couch for the cab to arrive, her nerves started to get to her. She leafed through the pamphlets and things her oncologist had given her. Medical terms made about as much sense to her as astral physics, but she had grown familiar with a few terms. Her fingers traced the title of the bright blue letters on the top pamphlet, full of fake smiling faces and bright obnoxious colors.

SO YOU HAVE LEUKEMIA!

“Fuck this.” She threw the pile on the coffee table, spilling them sloppily onto the floor. It took a moment to compose herself enough to get down on her knees to gather them all back up.

Right then she heard the cab honk from outside. “Seriously…” she grumbled. By the second honk she was out the front door.

“Las Vegas Cancer Center, please.” She gave the address to the driver. Even though they hit a bit of the morning commute traffic, she was nearly a half an hour early to her appointment.

The waiting room was comfortable enough. Dahlia counted herself lucky the office staff had not had a chance turned on the television yet. She was sick of all the news coverage. It was exhausting to keep up with it all; she simple did not have the brain capacity to try.

She tried to distract herself by reading an old magazine, but found her mind wandering to her last visit. Her doctor had informed her about an experimental treatment. They were sure was perfect fit to fix her malfunctioning blood cells. Dahlia had a hard time keeping up with all of it, but she knew it involved injecting radioactive…something… directly into her bone marrow. Was it supposed to kill the cells… or was it boost them? She couldn’t remember. She did remember the doctor telling her she would be sedated for the procedure and she might feel tired and nauseous afterwards.

Welcome to my life! That’s how I feel all the time! She chided to herself.

She couldn’t believe it was only six months ago that she had collapsed on stage during rehearsal. Luckily, her mother wasn’t there that night. Her friends had rushed her to the hospital where she was poked and prodded, then unceremoniously sent home. It wasn’t until a week or so later that she got the results in the mail, that stupid pamphlet with the smiling idiots on the front, and a referral to an oncologist. The rest was a whirlwind of test and doctors, all while trying to hide her deteriorating health from her mom. At least it would be all over soon… at least she hoped so.

“Dahlia Mansfield?” a man in a lab coat called. He introduced himself as Dr. Patterson, an assistant to her doctor, Dr. Zheng. She followed him back to an exam room. He took her paperwork and asked her the same questions over again, as if she was taking some kind of medical memory test. He then left her in the room to change into a hospital gown.

Nudity was nothing new to Dahlia. She had grown up around all kinds, given she spent so much time with her mom as she worked to keep the Wild Rose Ranch operating smoothly. She even partook in a bit of the burlesque aspects of performing once she was old enough, but sitting nearly naked wrapped in only a paper thin wrap on the cold examining table was disconcerting.

Dr. Patterson returned with a wheel chair.

“Is that really necessary?” Dahlia asked.

“It’s hospital policy. Plus it is a bit of a walk to the procedure room.” As she sat down, her gown opened slightly, exposing her cleavage as the man looked down to adjust something with the foot rests. “You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

“I don’t think so.”

As he pushed her through the seemingly never ending corridors, he kept probing her with questions. Dahlia was in no mood to converse, so she kept her answers short and terse. Finally they arrived at the procedure room. Dahlia got up from the wheelchair, being careful to keep the gown in place. Something about her pose jogged the man’s memory.

“Now I remember!” He blurted. “That cat house off the strip… the Wild... something. I’m sure I saw you dance there!” He seemed a bit too eager. “What was your name?”

Dahlia just stood, arms crossed, and glowered at him until it finally dawned on him that asking a nearly naked woman at the hospital for an experimental medical procedure probably wasn’t the best time to ask if she took her clothes off for money.

“The doctor should be here in a few minutes.” He said sheepishly as he left the room. From the other side of the door, Dahlia could hear him finally remember her stage name. Champagne.

It was nearly another half an hour before the door opened again. Dr. Zheng greeted her with a firm handshake. As she sat listening to Dr. Zheng explain the procedure with her authoritative voice droning on, the scent of roses distracted Dahlia. Dr. Zheng’s perfume triggered a buried memory of sitting on her grandmother’s lap and listening to music. She found herself lost in the remembrance of it.

“Are you ready to proceed?”

Dahlia snapped her attention back to the woman sitting in front of her. “Yes.”

The doctor guided her to what looked like a recliner with extra-long arm and foot rests, covered with paper. Dahlia sat.

“The technicians will be in momentarily to get the IV started and prep for the procedure.”

Soon a handful of nurses appeared, pushing carts covered with blue cloths. One pushed her cart up on Dahlia’s left side.

“I’m going to start your IV. Are you squeamish around needles?” Dahlia shook her head no. “Okay, that’s good. Would you like me to turn on the TV for you or open the blinds? The view is pretty nice from up here. You can see the Strip quite well on this side of the building.”

“Both, please.” Dahlia wasn’t sure what would make her more relaxed, she felt like a tightly wound spring. The nurse soon returned. She put a large tight fitting restraint over her arm that held her upper arm tightly against the chair and then, through one of the many holes strategically placed along the length, cleaned her arm with something astringent that made her nose wrinkle.

“These help guide the machine and keep the whole system in alignment. They are modeled after power armor frames”

Dahlia nodded even though that fact didn’t really make her feel any more at ease.

“Take a deep breath for me, please.” She felt a quick pinch near elbow and the needle was set in her skin. “In a few minutes you may start to feel a bit loopy. That’s the sedative.” She moved down and secured her leg to the chair with a restraint sleeve. Another nurse on her right strapped down her left arm and leg. For a moment, Dahlia could feel the rush of adrenaline course through her body as the fact she could not move hit her, but as soon as it hit, she felt the rush of the sedatives rise to meet it. She immediately calmed down.

The nurse to her left put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’ll take good care of you, don’t worry. We will be right on the other side of the wall. Just call if you need anything.” They left.

About five dizzy minutes later, Dahlia heard the door behind her open again. A giant tank was wheeled in next to her along with other strange looking contraptions she could not name. What really held her attention, or what was left of it, was the people wearing spacemen getups.

One of them must have noticed Dahlia staring and turned to her. “This is the radiation cocktail.” They patted the tank. “You’re getting a fresh batch made up this morning.” The voice sounded like the nurse from earlier spoken through a metal pipe. “Next we are going to line everything up. It might take a little bit.”

“Take all the time you need.” Dahlia didn’t have the slightest care about how long anything took… or that they were maneuvering what looked to be giant hypodermic needles up with her arms and legs. Under the constraints of the chair, mixed with the chemical cocktail swimming through her blood, her limbs felt heavy and dead. The talking heads on the TV droned on, but the colors on their shirts floated this way and that pleasantly enough.

A heavily gloved hand patted Dahlia on the shoulder.

“We’re going to leave now. This next part might be a bit uncomfortable. Don’t worry, we’ll be watching, remember?”

Dahlia thought she nodded, but wasn’t really sure. The door shut and locked behind her. She watched the smiling faces bounce across the television screen.

A crackling speaker interrupted the toothy parade. “We’re going to start advancing the needles. You may feel some discomfort. Please try to keep still.” That was going to be easy. Dahlia didn’t feel like moving at all.

One by one, the needles plunged into her skin, digging deep. Eventually they hit the bones, but kept boring through. Pressure was all Dahlia felt, which was easily enough ignored. The dancing heads were more entertaining than the needles anyway. A light started blinking on the canister. Dahlia watched with detached curiosity as the glowing green liquid snaked along the tangle of tubes, eventually filling the needles. Now her limbs felt warm, almost throbbing. She started to feel prickly discomfort dance through her brain, some part of her body rebelling against the drugs. The constraints now started to feel confining, the room turning claustrophobic.

“How are you feeling?” hissed the speaker behind her.

“Not that good. I think I need to get up.”

“Hold on, one second. We’ll help you calm down.”

Nearly instantaneously, another wave of chemicals washed into her bloodstream remotely. A pleasant fog enveloped Dahlia’s mind, pushing any notion of pain or anxiety far away. She went back to those pleasant bobbing smiles, every other sense was pushed far into the background of her consciousness.

She was barely registered when the air raid claxons started to blaze somewhere down the hall. Some part of her remembered the sound meant something important, but it didn’t seem that significant at the moment. Screams and shouts floated lazily to hear ears, but they were too far away to illicit any meaningful response. Colorful flames streaking across the sky drew her attention away from the TV. She gazed with little attachment to the world as missiles from downtown arced up to greet the incoming warheads. The explosions reminded Dahlia of the Fourth of July… but didn’t the fireworks normally go off when it was dark outside? They really should have waited until night time. The shockwaves buffeted the building, shaking the windows in their frames.

“Niiicce.” Slurred Dahlia. After a while, the only sounds were the klaxons, still shrilly screaming away, but nothing else reached her ears. Even the TV had gone dark. She floated for a while, enjoying the warmness coursing through her until she drifted off to dreamless sleep.

Hours later, Dahlia woke, pain leeching through the crumbling wall defending her senses. Everything was silent, the room only lit by the open windows and a few emergency lights. Her arms and legs ached, and if she tried to move them, they tugged painfully on the metal forced through her flesh. Her stomach turned and roiled.

“Hello?” she called. “I’m feeling pretty rough.”

Silence.

“Could you turn up the drugs?”

Nothing. The only sound was the whisper of the machine slowly and methodically pushing poison into her bones. She called repeatedly, never receiving an answer. Looking out the windows to the distant city below, alight with dozens of roaring fires and smoldering craters, her half-crystalized memories triggered a terrible realization. No one was coming to release her. She was trapped with a bird’s eye view of the end of the world.

“No…no…no…” Dahlia stammered as the recognition of the magnitude of what was happening took hold in her brain, breaking every attempt at thought or rationalization. Her body shook uncontrollably, locked painfully in place.

Hour after hour ticked away as she had no choice but to watch the buildings burn, occasionally punctuated by some distant explosion as a tank of something finally gave way. She felt her body growing weaker as the irradiated slurry spread through her system. Her thoughts turned to her mother. Was she even still alive? Was she alone, or with someone who would help her? Did she make it to the grocery store?

Dahlia looked at the tank set up next to her, glowing lightly in the darkened room. From what she could see, the tank looked to be about two thirds gone. She tried futilely to reach the tank, to touch the buttons that might stop or turn of the machine, but her bonds held her firmly in place.

Waves of pain passed over her, racking her muscles. She started to become delirious, thinking she heard phantom footsteps or voices behind her. She tore at her constraints, drawing fresh blood from the needles. She lost control of her bodily functions. She may have felt embarrassed once, but now there was no one around to shame her.

So this is what it is like to die from radiation poisoning. Dahlia thought before losing consciences again.

Only she didn’t die. She woke up again, this time ravenously hungry and thirsty. She took some solace that the tank was now empty and the needles had been programmed to retract. It was a small kindness to her exhausted body. It was hours until she passed out again.

Days passed, and this cycle replayed itself over and over, Dahlia growing ever more hungry and thirsty until they seemed to bleed together into one mass of needy pain which accompanied the agony of the radiation destroying her from the inside out. When she would wake during the night, she found the sheer darkness of the city disturbing. Las Vegas had been a city of light for nearly as long as it had existed. Nightfall should have brought the glow of countless neon bulbs blazing, but nearly nothing blinked to life in the dark nights. The city was dead.

Dahlia had lost track of time, everything rolled into one march of pain, hunger, and dreamless sleep. One evening as she watched the clouds streaked color from the setting sun, the emergency signal light blinked out, followed by every light she could see around her in the room going black. Suddenly, the constraints that had held her down for so long popped open.

Dahlia froze. The change frightened her, so she waited and held her breath, but nothing happened. Her body screamed at her as she tried to move, her muscled flaccid, full of burning acid. She attempted to rise, but only succeeded in spilling her body grotesquely on the floor. Painfully, slowly, she inched her way to the door. It took an enormous amount of concentration and energy to pull herself up and try the handle. It opened easily at her touch.

Then it dawned on her… the emergency generators had failed. There before her was an endless pitch-black hallway. She wanted to run down it, finally escape this hell, but she soon fell back into unconsciousness. The exertion was too much.

Dahlia woke again, sprawled on the floor. This time the sun was up, throwing slanted patches of warm light across her and into the empty hall. Calling on energy she wasn’t sure she had, she staggered down the hallway. She found an open office with a water cooler. She greedily drank the last few dregs. She found a single stick of gum in a desk drawer. Greedily she stuck it in her mouth before continuing down the hall. At the end, she found the stairwell and headed cautiously down in the dark. Putrid smells wafted through doorways as she passed abandoned floors. Her mind created horrific scenes of the patients left to die in their beds, now puddles of person-shaped ooze.

She vaguely remembered that the cafeteria was on the first floor, so she soldiered on until she found a door that she thought might connect. With nothing to guide her, she headed towards any noise or light she could detect. This led her to the main atrium, the once grand entry way to the center. Its tall wall of windows facing the street shattered, bodies littering the floor. Dahlia kept to the shadows, fearful of any looters who might still be lingering about. At least with all the light, she could read the placards on the walls and quickly found her way to the cafeteria wing.

She tried to push open the large door to the cafeteria, but something barred her way. Looking down through the small crack she could manage to open, she saw the bloated body of a dead orderly blocking it. She heard something clatter to the floor in the distance. Carefully, she pushed the door open enough to allow her to gain entry, trying hard not to make noise that might draw the attention of whatever might be inside.

She crept close to the buffet tables. Though once they were piled high with food, they were now scraped empty, whatever was left sat crusty and rotten. She was surprised not to see more flies buzzing about, given the state of the room. Dahlia went past them into the darkened kitchen. A faint light bobbed and swayed in the distance. She followed it, crouching behind stainless steel counters and baking racks. In a corner freezer, she spied the silhouette of someone rummaging through food containers, lit by a single candle placed on a freezer shelf. Something unfamiliar wafted through the air. She couldn’t place her finger on it, but it wasn’t like the rotten food and flesh that dotted the area, something metallic, like ozone, but sweet. Dahlia placed a hand on the counter to steady herself. As she did a ladle fell noisily to the floor.

The person in the freezer spun around, arm outstretched in front of her, brandishing a knife. “Leave me the fuck alone!” she screamed. Dahlia noticed her other arm hung limply, wrapped in a poorly improvised sling, blood seeping through the fabric. “Come out where I can see you!” The woman’s eyes were wild. Dahlia had a hint of recognition upon seeing the woman’s face. It was the nurse that had placed her IV. She was even wearing the same scrubs as she wore the last time Dahlia had seen her.

“I don’t mean you any harm.” Said Dahlia. “I’m just looking for something to eat too.” She stepped into the dim light. “Were you my nurse?”

The nurse’s eyes narrowed. “So what if I was. That doesn’t mean jack shit now.” The knife did not waver.

For some reason, Dahlia found herself drawn to look at the sling, her eyes lingering on the blotchy patterns the nurse’s blood. She knew she should be watching her face or, in the very least, the knife… but the red was so alluring, such a beautiful shade, even here in the shadows.

The nurse looked behind her, confused, thinking maybe Dahlia was looking at the food containers just beyond her. “Fuck off. Go sniffing somewhere else for food.” The nurse started to advance towards her.

“Hey… I’m not…” Before Dahlia could finish, the woman slashed the knife in her face. The swing was more of a warning than an attack, missing her skin by nearly a foot, but it startled Dahlia into action. Dahlia easily sidestepped and, without even thinking, she took advantage of the heavy freezer door. Heaving it with whatever strength she had left, the steel door careened into the nurses injured arm and sent yelping back into the freezer. The door lazily swung back out, blood splattered on the handle. Dahlia was transfixed again, watching the crimson pattern glisten in the candlelight.

“STUPID BITCH!” the woman roared. “You have any idea how hard that was to stitch up? You’re going to pay for that!”

Dahlia hardly moved as the nurse started to barreled forward, intending to knock her off her feet. Part of her noticed the proximity of more fresh blood, grabbing her attention. Grabbing her leading hand, she forced the nurse’s knife to the side, pushing her to the floor. During the ensuing tussle, Dahlia felt strangely detached from it all. She knew the woman probably meant to kill her, or injure her enough to get away. That did not seem to matter, she kept coming back to the injured arm and the blood oozing from the popped stitched. The knife was the deciding factor in the fight; she needed to even up the odds. She felt like she was watching from outside of herself as she viscously bit down on the nurse’s wrist, breaking the skin and crushing the tendons underneath.

“FUCK!” The nurse dropped the knife, but Dahlia did not let go. Blood flooded in to her mouth. Part of her knew she should let go, to attack some other part of the woman’s body… that she should be repulsed by what she was doing… but she clenched down harder. The nurse grabbed a nearby skillet with her free hand, bringing it down on Dahlia’s head with a crack.

The blow reverberated through Dahlia’s skull, forcing her even further from herself, like shoving a unmoored boat from a dock. She was adrift with no way to right herself. She floated so far, she could only watch as she started ripping into the nurse’s body, tearing bloody holes as the nurse screamed. Dahlia watched in detached horror as she started to lick and suck the bloody wounds. With every ounce of will she had, she forced herself back, but it was too late. The nurse had stopped screaming… and breathing.

Back in control, Dahlia skittered off the body disgusted, blood dripping down her face and neck. But, God, it felt good. She rubbed her arms, surprised to find the huge painful abscesses left by the needles were quickly disappearing. Dahlia could feel something warm slowly spreading to every extremity. She felt on fire, the radiation sickness leaving her, replaced with a newfound strength. She had not felt this good in months, maybe years. Something in her was changing, but she had no idea what.

“That’s about all of it. It look me decades of work so that I didn’t just attack every human I saw on sight… and an embarrassingly amount more until I could be around people with even a paper cut. Now, it takes a lot of trauma to see that side of me to come out.” Payne sighed. She was emotionally exhausted. No one else knew this much about her. She finally looked up at Hancock as he leaned against the railing of the fire escape, a cigarette between his fingers.

“Damn! I guess that is one way to become a ghoul… plus you got to keep your hair and skin, you lucky dog.”

“Yeah, but there are a few drawbacks. Sunlight and the whole blood drinking thing. I give it a 2 out of 10, would not try again.” She motioned to his sleeves. “Did I do that?” she asked sheepishly.

“This?” He played with the holes sliced in the fabric of his coat. “Nah. That lovely lady on the floor in there was quite insistent on carving me up like a Christmas turkey… not that I know what that is.” He took a more serious tone. “So… if the nice-you decides to check out again... what do I do? Other than piss myself, apparently.”

Payne thought for a second. “Med-X is your best shot. I can’t take a bite out of anyone if my muscles don’t work.” Appearing to clear the fog, she shook her head. “I have to say, this was the first time I remember ever being called back.”

“Called back?”

“Yeah, I could actually hear you a bit through all that. Normally, I just wake up on a pile of bodies.” A pair of ragged crows squawked above them, fluttering off when Payne finally got back to her feet. The catwalk groaned and vibrated under the shift in weight. “Anything else you want to know? Before you make your decision?”

“Yeah, one thing.” He flicked the butt over the railing. “Where was your mom?” Payne looked at him, confused. “Did she ever make it to the grocery store?”

Not sure where he was going with this, Payne simply said, “I found her outside the house, shot in the back by some looters. I threw quite the ‘Welcome Home’ party for myself before I buried her… and those bastards footed the bill in blood.”

Hancock smiled as he adjusted his hat. “And that right there, Dream Girl, is why I’m going to keep you on. You take care of the people that you care about, no matter what. Making sure those who cross you pay… well, that’s just a bonus, in my opinion.” He strode confidently back into the building. “I think you have a new knife to claim… if you can find it in all this mess. That fucker’s sharp!”

Payne’s muscles finally relaxed a bit as she rubbed the small of her back. “You’re telling me!”

#antique champagne #fallout #fallout4 #fanfic #fan fic #ao3 #flashback #backstory #hancock

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