Where the dead things Bloom [Chapters 10, 11]

10: Bandaid for your soul

Calvin led us to a shelf stocked with a few medical supplies—gauze, bandages, and a bunch of random pills arranged in neat rows. My limbs trembled slightly, adrenaline ebbing away to reveal the true extent of my injuries. The nipper bites, though small, burned like acid beneath my skin.

"I'll leave you to patch yourselves up," Calvin said, tipping his tinfoil hat before retreating to his office. 

As his footsteps faded, I slumped against the shelf, wincing as my weight shifted onto my injured leg. Blood had soaked through my cargo pants, leaving dark stains that spread like spilled ink.

"Let me see," Nessy said, her voice extra soft as she knelt before me. Her eyes, startling blue pools that seemed to reflect an entirely different world, held genuine concern.

"I'm fine," I muttered, the lie automatic. 

I'd grown used to tending my own wounds—both physical and emotional—for as long as I could remember. My parents had always been too busy fawning over my brother to notice my scraped knees or broken hearts.

"Shush," she replied, but there was no bite to her words. "You're not fine. These nips need cleaning."

Before I could protest further, she rolled up my pant leg, revealing the angry puncture wounds left by the nippers' teeth. Without hesitation, she leaned forward and—to my absolute shock—began licking the wounds.

"What are you doing?" I tried to pull away.

She held my ankle firmly, her strength once again catching me off guard. "My saliva contains enzymes that kill bacteria," she explained between licks. "A natural antiseptic.”

“Isn't there some alcohol here or something?” I groaned.

She eyed the shelf with the bandages and resumed her licking. “Nope.”

"Argh. That's—" I sputtered, shuddering as her tongue moved over my skin. The sensation was bizarre—warm and gentle, oddly soothing despite the absurdity.

"Relax," she said, pausing to look up at me. "I've been doing this since I was a pup. My mom used to lick my scrapes all the time."

"That doesn't make it better," I pointed out, then winced at how that sounded. “Is there any of that… entropic shit in the wound?” 

“No,” she replied with a sniff and resuming licking. “Nothing. Those things were conceptually weak and their matter dissolved when it was disconnected.”

I fell silent.

When she finished, Nessy reached for the bandages and began wrapping my injuries, clawed fingers working with practiced precision. She hummed softly as she worked. 

"Where did you learn to do this?" I asked, watching as she secured the bandage with medical tape.

"Told you—mom was a nurse," she replied, her ears twitching slightly. "I picked up a few things. Plus, mechanics get hurt all the time. You learn to patch people up when you work with heavy machinery and knobs who think safety procedures are just suggestions."

She moved to the wounds on my arms next, repeating the process—lick, clean, bandage. I found myself studying her face as she worked, the way her brow furrowed in concentration, how her ears pivoted subtly toward any small sound outside.

Several bites marred her own fur, dark patches of crimson staining the black and white. She twisted like a pretzel to lick a particularly nasty bite on her thigh.

Then she thrust the bandage into my hand. “Bandage.”

I looked at her.

“I can bandage myself, yes,” she said. “But this builds pack trust and you need practice for any future injuries since outside is a friggin 'death trap now.”

“Fine,” I relented, feeling a bit awkward as she submitted her thigh to me, her body too close for comfort.

As I finished bandaging the thigh, Nessy turned suddenly, her face inches from mine. Before I could react, she leaned forward and licked my cheek—a long, slow stroke from jaw to temple.

"Erm. What was that for?" I asked, fighting the urge to wipe my face.

"For being brave," she grinned, her tail wagging with renewed vigor. "You were amazing out there with those nippers. The way you sliced through that alpha? Pure pack-leader material!"

Her enthusiasm radiated from her in waves. She crowded closer, pressing her forehead against mine in what I was beginning to recognize as a distinctly canine gesture of affection.

"We make a great team," she continued, voice trembling. "You and me against the world, just like it should be."

I pulled back slightly, uncomfortable with her intensity. It wasn't that her affection felt wrong—it was that it felt unearned. Undeserved.

"I got lucky with that hit," I said, breaking eye contact. "And you did most of the work with that concrete glove thing."

"Ehh, I didn't really damage it permanently, got bogged down, distracted by the process of the fight itself. Also, you gotta stop that," she frowned, tilting her head. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Being negative. Deflecting. Dismissing yourself." Her ears flattened slightly. "Every time I try to get close, you pull away."

I sighed, suddenly exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with our recent battle. "Look, Nessy, I appreciate your... Affectionate enthusiasm. But we've known each other for a day and a half."

"That's not—"

"It is true," I interrupted. "For me, at least. And I'm sorry, but I'm not the Alec you knew. I'm not your pack leader or your childhood friend or whatever else you remember."

Her eyes narrowed, something flashing behind them that might have been hurt or anger or both. "You smell like him. You look like him. You even fight like him—all calculation and last-minute recklessness."

"But I'm not him," I insisted. "And what happens if—when—you find your actual Alec? The one who knows all your shared history, who remembers the promises you made?"

She flinched as if I'd struck her. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I don't want to be your temporary replacement Alec," I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "Your consolation prize until the real thing comes along."

"That's not what you are to me."

"Isn't it? Because from where I'm standing, you've spent every moment since we met trying to force me into someone else's shoes, basing affection and pre-existing trust on things I never did.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Nessy's tail had gone completely still, her ears flattening.

"I don't understand," she finally said with a whine. "What am I doing wrong?"

I recognized her expression, the desperate need for validation, for connection—it mirrored how I felt when my parents had chosen my brother over me. 

"You didn't do anything wrong," I sighed, rubbing my temples. "It's not about you, Ness. It's about me not being able to trust people in general. I never had anyone in my life who didn't fuck me over in the end.”

Nessy's dire look softened.

"I don't know if I can be what you need," I continued. "I don't know if I can be an alpha, a pack leader, a protector. For one, I never considered myself as a leader or a follower. I've been keeping mostly to myself in school and university. None of my relationships worked out. Every girl I dated peaced out after like a week or two.”

“I might have maybe worded things a bit wrong,” she said, tilting her head. “A syn-pack isn't a thing where you just boss me as an alpha leader, it's a partnership between man and dog. It's about trust and understanding and cooperation.”

I sighed wearily.

“Relax, you're still learning,” She reached out slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. "I'm not expecting absolute perfection from you," she said softly, pawing at my face softly. "We can figure it out… together."

I wanted to believe her. Wanted to surrender to the comfort she offered so freely. But years of disappointment and abandonment had built walls around my heart that couldn't be dismantled in a day, even by someone as persistent as Nessy.

“I'd never betray you,” she reached out and hugged me, nuzzling against my face. “Never ever. You know that… right?”

“And if we encounter another Alec in this interdimensional patchwork world? One that remembers your life together, one that's better than me at everything. What then Miss doggo?”

Nessy's eyes widened at my question, her pupils dilating slightly. The husky-girl's pointed ears flattened again, and I watched something shift in her expression – a ripple of confusion, then hurt quickly followed by fierce determination. Her grip on me tightened.

“There was only one path for me to follow via Scrutiosmia,” she growled. “Just one. Towards you. Not infinity paths, not two diverging roads, or ten. I did sniff things that were sort of you-ish, but not exactly right, different. If there was another Alec out there, I would know. There isn’t.”

“But what if one appears in the future?” I pressed on.

“Aleeeec,” she whined. “I’m a simple doggo. Stop tormenting me with these ridiculous philosophical questions. Right now I’m imprinted on you and I’m not bloody going anywhere. If another Alec twin or a clone appears from thin air, I’d obviously choose you because I can smell myself all over you. I’ve already made my choice and I’m sticking with it and will stand by your side as your dog until I’m dead.”

The paranoid part of my brain immediately started to dig for any cracks in her argument, any weakness in her loyalty that might prove me right, trying to sabotage this connection before it had a chance to disappoint me, just as everyone else had. My parents, my brother, every fleeting relationship—they'd all taught me the same lesson: attachment leads to abandonment and ultimate betrayal, a stabbing in the back.

"I'm not worthy of your devotion," I muttered, not finding a solid enough argument, averting my eyes from her wide blues. "You barely know me. I barely know you.”

"Okay, fine, maybe I don't know everything about you yet," she fired back, her voice steady, "but I saw how fought for me against those damned nippers when you could have run. I saw that ‘breathe into a bag’ system message too, you know. I know you smell like kindness beneath all that fear and doubt. You showed me care when you washed entropic dirt off me and bandaged my wounds, even when you're pretending not to care like a knob now.”

I squinted at her. 

Yeah I’ve got nothing. Way too tired to argue.

“This is fine,” she added, licking and quickly binding the rest of her smaller wounds. “I’ll whine a bit, but I'll accept your dumb reservations. I'll simply work extra-hard on earning your trust the hard way, grind you down like a river assaulting the cliffside till you submit to my doggored powers. As long as I can be by your side, I’m happy.”

Damn you, persistent, fluffy creature.

"All bandaged up? We should plant that sandwich," I commented. "Before the concrete expires."

“Yeah, yeah,” she huffed, gave me another quick lick on the cheek and then let go of me, swatting me with her fluffy tail.

Humming another rune under her breath, she retrieved the bucket of concrete from where we'd left it by the door.

“Do you have a living lamp or is there a quest-in-the-quest for us to find one?” I asked Calvin who was lounging in an unfolded camping chair in front of the door and sketching out eyes on his yellow sticky note pad.

“You know where the living lamps are,” he said. “You got stung by em.”

“So you want us to catch… bulbees?” 

“Yep.”

“By walking all the way back across that whacked out mall full of insane growing shit?”

“Nah. Grab a glass jar from aisle 3. You don't need to go anywhere when you know what the bulbees want.”

“What do they want?” I asked.

“The bulbees are attracted to flowers on electric screens that radiate bright positive vibes.”

“Vibes?” I stared at the tinfoil-hatted man. “Seriously?”

“Hey I don’t make the rules,” Calvin shrugged. “I just… see and hear things when I walk around the area.”

"Where do we find these... flowers?" I demanded.

"Be creative," he said, waving us off.

I continued to stare at Calvin, frustration mounting. Cryptic advice was beginning to feel like this guru's specialty.

"Glass jars," I muttered, heading toward aisle 3. "At least that part was straightforward."

Nessy followed me, her claws clicking softly against the linoleum. The shelves in aisle 3 were mostly bare, but a few mason jars remained, their glass surfaces collecting dust. I grabbed the largest one, turning it in my hands.

11: Positive Vibes

"Electric flowers that radiate positive vibes," Nessy mused, her tail swishing thoughtfully. “Hrmmm.”

“I don’t suppose you happen to smell anything like that nearby?” I asked.

“Nope,” she shook her head. “I mean, I can try to sniff that specific thing out, but it’ll probably burn through my remaining Scrutiosmia and then we’ll be completely defenceless. Plus I don't want to go out there and get caught up in another fight.”

We retreated to a quiet corner by the freezer section, sitting cross-legged on the floor. The jar sat between us, empty and waiting.

"Okay," I said, trying to approach this logically. "Electric flowers. Something that blooms, produces light, and gives off... good feelings? Happy energy?"

Nessy's ears perked up. "What about string lights people hang up during holidays? They're electric, colorful, and they make people happy."

"Maybe," I said, considering it. "But where would we find working Christmas lights in this mess? And would they even count as flowers?"

Nessy's nose twitched as she thought. "What about those lamps that look like lotus flowers? My neighbor had one—it changed colors and rotated. Super relaxing."

"Again, where do we find one?" I sighed, leaning back against the somehow functional freezer door. The cold seeped through my shirt, a small reminder of the past where everything wasn't screwy.

We fell silent, the reality of our situation settling around us like dust. Here we were, bandaged and exhausted, trying to figure out how to catch glowing insect-like creatures to help plant a moldy sandwich in magical concrete. The absurdity of it might have been funny if our lives didn't depend on it.

"What if..." Nessy began slowly, her eyes lighting up. "What if we make one?"

"Make a flower?"

"Yeah!" She bounced slightly, her enthusiasm returning. "Like, an origami flower or something, but with light. Didn't Calvin say intent matters more than technique? Maybe we could fold paper into a flower shape and... I don't know, infuse it with happy thoughts?"

“But with light… electric light,” I pondered. “How would we light it up… maybe put your phone under it or something? Wait… what if we just took a photo of a flower? A flower on a phone screen is an electric flower.”

“Yes! That’s perfect!” Nessy clapped. “You're so clever!”

“But that excludes vibes… where does one find happy vibes?” I asked.

“Music festivals, restaurants, beach parties, theme parks,” Nessy commented. “People produce vibes.”

“Pretty sure none of those exist right now,” I said.

“Yeah,” she frowned. “Dang it. Wait…. But what if we generated our own happy vibes and just… took some selfies of you and me?”

I stared at her. Could the solution really be this simple? 

“There were scented kids markers in our ‘room’,” I said. “We can draw some flowers on paper and… take selfies with them?”

“Nah. I’ll draw flowers on your face and lick them off,” she said. “Happy vibes!”

“Is this just an excuse to lick my face?”

“Yes, yes it is, how very observant of you.”

“And what if I won’t radiate enough ‘positive vibes’ for the selfie?” I asked.

“Eh, I’ll radiate enough happy vibes for both of us,” she said with absolute certainty. “Trust me. I’m vibing extra-hard just thinking about it.”

“Uhh.” I looked at her and noticed that her tail was wagging like helicopter blades, vibrating her entire figure. “Right then. Go get the markers. I’ll be here… definitely not vibing or whatever.”

“Uh-huh,” she laughed and vanished with a swish of black and white tail and tapping claws.

She returned at the speed of the wind, nearly crashing into me, hands filled with thick markers.

"Ready for your makeover?" she grinned, uncapping a purple marker with her teeth. The scent of artificial grape filled the air between us.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I replied, momentarily closing my eyes with resignation.

Her paw steadied my face, the soft pads of her fingers pressing gently against my jaw. The marker's tip was cool and wet against my skin as she began to draw. I could feel her breath, warm and rhythmic, as she concentrated on her work. 

There was something extra-intimate about this moment—her face inches from mine, her attention focused entirely on me, her panting breath washing over me in waves from running so fast to procure the markers in question.

"Almost done," she murmured, switching to another marker. This one smelled like synthetic strawberries, sickeningly sweet but not entirely unpleasant. "You're being very patient. Good boy."

I opened one eye, staring at her.  "Did you just 'good boy' me?"

Her eyes and cheeky grin stuck me as her flower-drawing faltered for just a second. She grinned, her canines flashing in the dim light. "Maybe! Hold still."

I held still, surrendering to Nessy's artistic endeavors. Her tongue poked out slightly from the corner of her mouth as she concentrated, the tip of her dark nose twitching with each stroke of the marker, decorating my entire face with flower art that would hopefully be enough to attract the bulbees.

"Almost..." she murmured, switching to a blue marker that smelled vaguely of blueberry candy. "Just need to add some highlights..."

"There!" she announced triumphantly, capping the marker and leaning back to admire her handiwork. "You look positively garden-worthy!"

She pulled out her phone, which inexplicably still worked despite its battery being permanently at zero percent. "Selfie time! Try to look happy. Or at least less miserable than usual!"

"I don't look miserable," I protested.

"No, you have a 'perpetually preparing for disappointment' face," she replied, positioning her phone at what she clearly thought was the optimal angle. "It's very cute in a sad puppy way, but not great for positive vibes."

Before I could formulate a response, she was pressed against me, her arm wrapping around my shoulders as she held the phone aloft in front of us. Her fur tickled my neck, soft and still slightly damp from our earlier washing adventures.

"Say 'squirrel' or whatever makes you smile!" she instructed, her tail thumping against the linoleum floor with excitement.

"Sandwich," I deadpanned, which earned me a snort of laughter.

The camera clicked, capturing what I assumed was my flower-decorated face next to her grinning muzzle. She immediately checked the result, her ears swiveling forward with interest.

"Hmm, not vibey enough," she declared, scrolling through the phone's features. "Let's try with filters. Oh! This one adds actual flower animations!"

She set the camera on multi burst selfie mode and snuggled closer, her weight shifting until she was practically in my lap, her tail now brushing against my arm with each enthusiastic wag. I could feel her heart beating against my chest, rapid and strong, a drumbeat of pure canine excitement.

"Ready? One, two—" Without warning, she licked the side of my face, a long, slow swipe from jaw to temple that left my skin damp and tingling.

“Ugh, bleh, these taste terrible,” she sputtered, sticking her tongue out. I chortled. The phone kept recording and taking selfies. “Ugh whatever.”

She proceeded to lick me, making bothered faces and commenting about sniff-marker betrayal which made me giggle and then outright explode into laughter, which made her laugh in turn.

“Yass, these are def’ vibacious vibes!” She commented, licking and wincing.

“Vibacious isn’t a word,” I laughed. “Why are you still licking if you don’t like the taste?”

“I’m not deviating from the five-year-licking plan when minor complications come up!” She fired back, laughing so hard that tears sparked in her eyes. "Let's take more! Different angles! Different expressions! Maximum vibage!"

What followed was a barrage of selfies, each more ridiculous than the last. Nessy seemed to have an endless repertoire of ideas for poses and expressions, from solemn to silly, from regal to outright ridiculous. And with each new photo, she found a way to invade my personal space in increasingly creative ways.

She drapes herself across my shoulders like a living fur stole.

She stood behind me with her paws on top of my head, making bunny ears.

At one point, she even convinced me to hold her up as if she were crowd-surfing, her arms spread wide in triumph while I struggled not to drop her (and secretly marveled at how light she was despite her size).

Between shots, she licked at the marker drawings on my face, claiming she was "refreshing the canvas" but really just indulging her apparent need to groom me at every opportunity.

"We done yet?" I asked. "Surely we have enough 'vibes' captured by now."

Nessy scrolled through the collection, her ears perking at certain images. "Almost... We need one more. The ultimate vibe!" She flopped onto her back beside me, patting the floor. "Lie down. I want to recreate that famous scene from that movie…”

“What movie? Titanic?”

"No, no, the one where they're looking up at the sky, thinking about how small they are compared to the universe."

I had no idea what movie she was referring to, but I found myself lying down beside her anyway, staring up at the stained ceiling of Calvin's mini-mart covered in drawings of marker-colored, violet-iris eyes.

Nessy wiggled closer until her shoulder pressed against mine, her fur tickling my arm. She held the phone above us, adjusting the angle carefully. "Now, look thoughtful but hopeful. Like you're contemplating the vastness of existence but also thinking about maybe getting ice cream later."

"That's... oddly specific," I said, but tried to comply, focusing on the eyes staring back at me from above with unnerving intensity. Violet eyes. So many violet eyes, a spiral, a constellation of them, a galaxy of violet, twinkling stars.

"Perfect," she murmured. Her free hand found mine, warm fur against my skin, her claws carefully retracted. Her nose booped my cheek. "I'm really glad I found you, Alec."

The simple sincerity in her voice caught me off guard. I turned my head slightly to look at her, finding her blue eyes already watching me, glowing slightly. For once, she wasn't bouncing or fidgeting or talking a mile a minute. She was just... present. With me.

The camera clicked above us, capturing the moment.

"That's the one," she said softly, looking at the photo. “Perfect.”

It wasn't perfect—my face was still covered in smudged marker flowers, her fur was sticking up in odd directions, but there was something about our overall poses and expressions, the way we were looking at each other rather than the camera, that felt real. Genuine. Maybe even vibe-y.

"Yeah," I agreed, a strange tightness in my throat. "That's nice.”

“The nicest!” She sat up suddenly, her mood shifting back to excited determination. "Now let's see if these selfies can attract some bulbees!"

Retrieving the glass jar, Nessy pried open a window. She set the screen displaying our floral-themed selfie collection in a continuous slideshow. Then she got some duct tape from a shelf and taped her phone to the base of the jar.

She placed the phone-jar onto the outside concrete ledge 

The colors flashed and changed, the digitally added flowers blooming and fading in endless cycles across the selfie slideshow lighting up the jar.

I looked up at the darkening sky. It looked like a wall of gargantuan, black storm clouds was rolling towards us across the city, flashing with violet streaks of lightning that left off-color rainbow imprints in my eyes.

“Looks like Celestorm is ‘bout to get here,” Calvin said from behind us, almost making me jump. “Good timing. Get the bees and head to the garden.”

“If this insanity works,” I commented.

“It will,” Nessy said, looking at something in the distance. She was softly humming something under her breath. 

We didn't have to wait long. Within minutes, a faint buzzing sound drew our attention to the rapidly dimming street, where a small cluster of light began to form—a glowing, pulsing orb that seemed to solidify as it approached. Then another appeared, and another, materializing from the gloom like tiny stars emerging at twilight.

Bulbees.

They drifted toward our makeshift flower beacon, their crystalline wings catching the light, bodies pulsing with internal electricity. Unlike the ones that had attacked us earlier, these seemed calmer, more curious than aggressive. One approached the jar, hovering above the phone's screen, its light dimming and brightening in time with the changing images.

"They're responding to the pictures," Nessy whispered, her voice hushed with wonder. "Look, they're changing their colors."

She was right. As the slideshow cycled through our various selfies, the bulbees shifted their illumination to complement the hues displayed on the screen. When a photo with predominantly blue filter appeared, they glowed a soft amber. When pink dominated, they shimmered with emerald light.

"It's like they're... completing the spectrum," I murmured.

One particularly bold, chonky bulbee descended into the jar, settling atop the phone. Others followed, drawn to the vibrant selfies and possibly to each other. Their collective light grew stronger, filling the jar with a swirling aurora of color.

Moving with exaggerated slowness, Nessy reached for the jar's lid. The bulbees showed no sign of alarm, seemingly entranced by our images. With one smooth motion, she sealed the jar, capturing seven of the electric insects inside.

“Well done,” Calvin commented. “You've created something new—not just electric flowers, but a reflection of your bond. Clever. Very clever indeed.”

“Eeeeee,” Nessy squeed, holding up the jar. “Look, look! They're so chonk and cute when they’re not stinging me!”

Like a miniature lightning storm captured in glass, the bulbees swirled and pulsed, painting the inside of the jar with ever-changing patterns of light. Their earlier hostility seemed forgotten, replaced by what almost looked like playfulness as they darted around each other like electrons circling atoms.

She handed me the phone and the jar, her face alight with pure wonder.

“Hurry now! Bring the drawing, the concrete bucket, the sandwich, and your luminous friends to the back garden. It's time to create new life!” Calvin declared loudly, sending Nessy into motion.

Celestorm thunder rattled across the city beyond the small Mini-mart we were occupying. It didn’t sound like regular thunder, more like a symphony of alien whales crying through the sky. The broiling, dark shawl engulfed the world horizon to horizon, the clouds twisting into, inverted, tornado-like swirls.

The clock on Nessie’s phone went berserk as if the phone was being flown through twenty time zones at the same time. 

The [0%] battery message momentarily flashed with [∞%], sending a cold, eerie shiver down my spine.