IGNATIUS The Colors of Rage

Chapter f Transformations

He drew her into a loose hug to comfort her, but since he was so large he towered over her. His voice vibrated through his chest and into her ear. “You’ve learned a lesson,” he started. “I hate to get technical on you, but I’ll try to explain. It’s painful because the venom in the bite is not compatible with infected blood. It has no evolutionary purpose mixing with it. Infected people only feed on other infected people when they want to create deep emotional connections with one another.” 

She sought his eyes. “But, what does this mean?” 

“Uh…” He released her awkwardly. “Well… I don’t want to make you feel worse…”

“Tell me!” She shrieked, clenching the hem of his shirt until he slapped her hands off. 

“Well... in your case,” he stalled, “it means that you’ll feel stronger for him. He took a part of you with him. He holds a part of who you are, and it’s actually kind of a big deal.” 

“It can’t be that big of a deal,” she scoffed. “It happened too quickly to mean anything, and I didn’t say it was OK!” 

He tilted his head right ear toward the floor and cringed. “You’re right, it happened quickly.” Then effortlessly, he found the strength to recover, and straightened his spine one vertebrae at a time until he could mask his own worry. “But, that doesn’t mean that it’s not an important event. For example, many people live years together before ever sharing themselves with one another. Sometimes, they have ceremonies for it and everything.” 

“But, Nansen…”

He looked around the room, seeing that the two were alone. “Is a disappointing w***e,” he stated. “He takes a little bit from everyone. If he asks you, just say ‘no’.”

Her nose pulled back and she looked at him sternly. “Why would I say yes to something that hurts so badly?"

He rubbed the side of his face. “Oh geez…” he chuckled. “I didn’t think I would already be doing this talk.” He refocused on her curious eyes and laughed under his breath. “Next time, if there is a next time, try just giving it to him.” 

Her eyebrows became crooked. “What?”

“I know this sounds really weird, but if you are ever in this situation again and you cannot help yourself, give yourself a little cut and give it to him. I mean, he already took it, so it couldn’t hurt to give it a try, right?”

“That is… the most… appalling thing I have ever heard.” 

“Yeah,” Baine nodded, agreeing. “And we’ve been living like this for a long time. Welcome to the Fenderson family.”

She frowned and peered down at the floor. “Did I miss out on something big, then? Is that what this means?”

Baine shook his head and lowered his eyebrows, dismissing her worries. “Look,” he pulled her wrist out into view and gazed down at the well scabbed wound. “His bite looks just like yours.” 

Iggy heard his name echo through the main lobby, but he just kept running. A great aching in all of his joints reminded him that he still needed to heal, but he couldn’t stop himself, now. Up above on the loft in the lobby, he spotted Nansen’s back leaning against the low wall. 

“Nansen!” he screamed, thrusting himself up the stairs. Nansen turned, and caught him by the shoulders. Iggy clashed to a stop, panting, and shaking. Breaking through the panic and guilt, Iggy struggled to speak. “Help me…” he begged. “Help me!” His fingers gripped the chest of Nansen’s sweater. 

After a shudder of shock, Nansen pried Iggy’s fingers off of him. “Whoa! This sweater is thirty years old!” he declared. “Don’t ruin it like you did to my last one!” His eyes narrowed and he lifted his finger up to Iggy’s chin with caution. “Whose is this?” he asked, inspecting the dark red smudge on his finger. 

“No!” Iggy cried. He tore at his face to erase all evidence of his mistake. Then, he looked down at his open palms. His skin crawled beneath the rust colored stains. He jammed his fingertips around his temples and arched forward. “How could I have done that? How? How? I’m no better than the woman in the garden!” 

From the lower lobby Baine spotted Iggy and Nansen up above, so he made his way up the stairs quietly. Before the clicks of his heels could be heard, Iggy could feel him. A tickle up his spine. That long lost cousin of his blood. He hunched forward with his hands over his head as if bombs were falling.       

Nansen patted his back. “It’s OK,” he whispered. “I’ll protect you,” he lied. Nansen and Baine faced each other. “What happened in there? Did he phase out on you?” 

“Where were you? You followed me in, didn’t you?” Baine exhaled a bit exasperatedly. “Did you just bail?” 

Nansen forced a tough mask on, but even so, Baine could clearly see his wavering eyes. Nansen sighed and stared at Iggy with an expression of uncertainty. He shook his head side to side. “I didn’t think you needed my help. Any who,” he whistled, “I’ll take him to his room, so that he can calm down.” Nansen swung his arm around Iggy’s shoulders and guided him away.

Iggy fumbled through the doorway into his very own room, astonished to find that it was the exact same as it had been left, but it was still very different. The books along the walls and the various artworks scattered around the room made it a sanctuary more than anything else. It was a safe place. It smelled like sweat, leaves, and pencil lead. Dried leaves and flowers cluttered the desktop. Collages of insects and paintings of the night sky covered the walls. Everything was more spectacular than Iggy had ever known. More beautiful than he had ever been able to see.

Now, seeing and knowing this, Iggy was nervous, ashamed, and angry, yet still mesmerized. His entire life changed. His entire life was nothing until now, and yet it had always been something, too. Something special. 

Nansen stood at the doorway, leaning against the frame, and watching Iggy with a grin. It wasn’t every day that an artist could see his very own artwork for the first time the way that everyone else saw it. With color. With texture. With layers. With significance.

Iggy came to his bed and sat down. Hanging directly across from him was a piece of work that he had made not long before he was changed. It was an array of branches from every species of tree in the lot. They laid on a bed of preserved leaves and long strands of grass. When he collected the specimens to make it, he was feeling good and carefree. He didn’t need memory to decipher it.