The Talent Diary

by Chris McFarland

  Chapter 9: Injection

  December 8th, 1991. Day 16. I’ll never be able to write about all that happened today. I had to talk to my Dad about my essay, which was supposed to be about my parent’s jobs. I just finished but I don’t think it is very good. Everyone else will get to write about the cool jobs that their parents do and my parents don’t really do anything.

  Also, we went into the tunnel we found yesterday. It is REALLY long and we still didn’t get to the end of it. Mark fell and hit his head and seemed to be hurt pretty badly, although he said it didn’t. He walked out of the tunnel without our help. It was scary inside the tunnel but I don’t really know why, since nothing scary was in there. It was dark. I think it was only the feeling of being lost if something bad did happen that made it so scary. We finally got out of there after our flashlights got broken and Cliff and Mark went home. I hope Mark is all right. I forgot to call him earlier and now it is too late. I’ll see him tomorrow at class though.

  Samantha was early to class the next morning because her Dad needed to drive into the city to meet one of his friends for breakfast. During their short drive, Thomas did not ask any questions about her essay. Mr. Stillson was not in the classroom when Samantha arrived, only Kelvin Zan and Marsha. Marsha was new to their class this year and Samantha did not know her well. She lived deep in the country and the only bus on her route arrived early in the morning.

  Samantha got her papers in order and looked at the clock, disappointed to see there were still twenty minutes before class started. Bored, she got up and walked to Kelvin’s desk.

  “Hi Kelvin.”

  “Oh. Hi Samantha,” Kelvin said nervously, adjusting his glasses. He put his left arm over the papers on his desk, instinctively. Samantha, who was good at math, found them interesting.

  “What are you working on?”

  “Some of my math homework from Algebra.”

  “It looks neat. Can I see it?”

  “Um, sure.”

  He took his left arm off the papers and showed them to her. Every equation was written in neat, even handwriting and he had included a small drawing of a square yard behind a house.

  “It looks like a word problem. What was it?”

  “Um, I was supposed to find the area of the usable yard. See, their property is a square, but in the center of the yard they have a circle goldfish pond. I needed to find out how much room they have for grass.”

  “Neat. Are all the homework problems like this?”

  “Yeah, most of them.”

  “I wish I could be in that class too. How did you get in there?”

  “The school asked my parents if they wanted me to be in it.”

  Samantha smiled and leaned back in her chair, looking at a few more questions while Kelvin resumed work on the problems he had not yet finished. Other students wandered into the classroom. The start of class was near, so Samantha returned the papers to Kelvin. He watched her walk to her desk, flicked the end of his pencil, and bent back over his homework.

  Samantha sat in her chair and Marissa slouched into the room. Her skin seemed too pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. She dumped her book bag unceremoniously onto her desk and sat down.

  “Hi Marissa,” Samantha said.

  “Hi Samantha.”

  “Do you feel any better?”

  “Do I look like I do?”

  Samantha did not respond immediately, surprised by how upset Marissa seemed. She watched Marissa stare blankly at the blackboard for a few moments and asked her another way, “Are you alright?”

  Marissa turned towards her, annoyed, “I’m fine. Can’t I sit here without people bothering me about how I feel?”

  “Jeez, sorry.”

  “But it sounds like you had a good weekend,” Marissa said. “Becky told me all about it last night.”

  Samantha’s stomach felt like it dropped into her shoes. She had asked Becky not to tell Marissa anything but Becky had anyway. Samantha figured Becky called Marissa to see how she was doing and didn’t mean to say anything, but couldn’t stop herself once the opportunity became available.

  “Yes,” Samantha said, deciding it was too late to play innocent, “It was a good weekend. I wish you could’ve come over too.”

  “It doesn’t sound like there’d be room for me anymore,” Marissa said sourly, turning to stare at the blackboard. Samantha could no longer see her face.

  “It was fun, Marissa, but it would be more fun with you. There is plenty of room for everyone.”

  “Sure. I bet. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Before Samantha could respond, Cliff walked into the classroom. His backpack was slung low so that it hung against his lower back. He noticed Samantha from the doorway and hurried to the back of the room. Mr. Stillson had not arrived and the classroom was getting rowdy.

  “Mark is fine but he’s staying home today. We told our parents he hit his head falling on a baseball bat while we were playing soccer in the backyard. I don’t know if they believed us but they didn’t care.”

  “I’m glad he’s alright.”

  Samantha noticed Marissa was holding still, trying to hear what was said.

  “We talked about it before we went to sleep last night and we still want to know where it leads, but I said that…” Cliff trailed off because Mr. Stillson had walked into the room, dressed in a bright orange t-shirt and jeans. Mink walked in behind him, pointing at Mr. Stillson’s back and miming exaggerated, silent laughs.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Cliff said, and he walked around the back row and up to his seat next to Marissa. He sat next to her and said hello, smiling, but she barely nodded in return. Mink sat next to Samantha and grinned at her.

  “Did you have a good weekend my dearest,” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  “I did too, even though it rained a ton. I…” Mink trailed off as he noticed Marissa and how different she looked compared to her normal appearance. The familiar mean gleam appeared in Mink’s eye and before Samantha could attempt a diversion, Mink said, “So what’s up with you Marissa? You look terrible. Your Mom die or something?”

  Marissa turned around and looked at Mink, furious.

  “Shut up,” she yelled.

  The class went quiet and everyone turned to see what was happening. Even Mr. Stillson stopped fiddling with something behind his desk and looked up to see what was going on. Marissa glared at Mink for a few seconds, glanced at Samantha, and turned back around. Mink looked abashed and muttered, “Wow,” under his breath a couple of times. He started to get stuff out of his backpack.

  “Everything alright back there,” Mr. Stillson asked mildly. Nobody responded and he resumed fiddling with his desk again.

  The morning passed slowly. Becky sent Samantha a couple of notes, asking why Marissa was in such a bad mood, but Samantha didn’t respond to either of them. She was looking forward to lunch so she could get Marissa alone to talk. They covered an English lesson, turned in their essays about their parents, and did some independent reading. While she was supposed to be reading “The Cay”, a book about a boy whose ship was torpedoed by a German submarine in world war two, Samantha found herself looking at Mark’s empty seat and thinking about their trip into the tunnel the day before. She thought about what Cliff had started to say. They wanted to finish their exploration of the tunnel, probably the coming weekend. She wasn’t sure she would participate again, considering how it went the first time.

  Twenty minutes before the noon bell rang a student appeared in the doorway, holding a note. She gave the note to Mr. Stillson, who was sitting in the beanbag chair reading an extremely thick book on Physics. He read the note and looked up at Samantha.

  “Samantha? Could you come here for a moment please?”

  “Busted,” Mink said quietly, as she got out of her seat.

  She walked to where Mr. Stillson was sitting and took the note he offered. Uncomfortably aware of the class looking at her, she tried to fo
cus on the note.

  Please send Samantha Branson to the nurse’s office. Her doctor is on campus and would like a word with her.

  Samantha looked from the note to Mr. Stillson’s face, puzzled.

  “Why do they want me to go to the nurse’s office,” she asked. “I feel fine.”

  Mr. Stillson shrugged his shoulders, looking puzzled himself, and then did what he did so often. He said something Samantha never would have expected.

  “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to or if you don’t feel comfortable.”

  “But the note said…”

  “I don’t care what the note said,” Mr. Stillson said calmly. “You are my student and you will decide for yourself. I don’t understand why a doctor thinks she can tell a healthy student to leave class. She can call your parents and ask them for an appointment.”

  Samantha stood there, having forgotten that she had her back to the class. A paper airplane went flying by her head and hit the wall behind Mr. Stillson.

  “Nice try Mink,” Mr. Stillson said, still looking up at Samantha. “I know it was you because you always make your planes exactly the same.”

  “I think I’ll go then,” Samantha said, wondering why she felt she should.

  “OK. Let me sign it.”

  He took the note, put the time, and signed his name at the bottom. He held the note back up to her and Samantha tried to take it, but he held it tightly for a moment, and then let go. Samantha looked at him curiously, again feeling uneasy with him, and walked out of the classroom.

  The trip to the nurse’s office took just long enough for her to imagine all the terrible news she might be receiving. Tests indicated she had cancer, or that she had one of those blocked vessels in the brain that swelled up with blood until they burst. She told herself not to be silly but it was difficult to do. She was quite nervous when she opened the office door.

  Ms. Tyler, the school secretary, was putting on her coat when Samantha walked in. Ms. Tyler smiled and showed her into the nurse’s room, which contained no one.

  “So I’m supposed to wait here?”

  “That’s what the doctor told me, “Ms. Tyler said. “I’m heading out to lunch now.”

  Ms. Tyler walked out and Samantha heard her talking to someone. There was the sound of laughter and footsteps approached the door. It opened, and the last person Samantha was expecting, Nurse Wishon, appeared. She swiftly turned and closed the door tightly behind her.

  “Hello Samantha. How’re you today,” she asked.

  Samantha found she couldn’t speak. It was as if someone had reached in, pulled out her vocal cords, and filled her stomach with a pitcher of burning acid. She gripped the edge of her chair.

  “Well, I’ll assume that you’re fine then, shall I? I have a little job to do and it won’t take long.”

  “Where’s Dr. Ginger,” Samantha asked in a burst, suddenly finding her voice.

  “She’s at her office of course,” Nurse Wishon said, gesturing with her broken arm. “Where would you expect her to be?”

  “The note said she wanted to talk to me.”

  “Well, I’m here instead. We need to do a simple test and to take some blood. It won’t take a second, unless you start struggling again.”

  She reached with her free hand into a black leather bag and removed a syringe and clear plastic tubing. She set it on the table and Samantha stood up.

  “What’re you doing,” Nurse Wishon asked sharply.

  “I’m going.”

  Samantha started walking toward the door, but Nurse Wishon held out her hand, blocking her path. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice here.”

  “Yes I do. You can’t make me stay.”

  “I sure can,” Nurse Wishon said, reaching rapidly into her bag and removing a spray bottle. She sprayed the contents into Samantha’s face. Samantha started to cough and gag. She tried rubbing her eyes but they were streaming water and she couldn’t really see. She fell back a couple of steps and the nurse gave her a push. She stumbled and tripped into the chair.

  Samantha had experienced a burst of foul odor and a deep, burning sensation had spread throughout her lungs. It faded quickly, however, along with her ability to think clearly. She barely registered the push the nurse gave her and she tripped and landed in the chair with a complete lack of surprise. Watching calmly and without concern, Samantha saw Nurse Wishon fitting the tube on the table to the syringe. The nurse flicked the end of the syringe, pushed the right sleeve of Samantha’s shirt above her elbow, and inserted the needle. In a stupor, Samantha watched as bright red blood, her blood, flowed back through the needle and into the tube. It emptied into a vial and started to pool. She stared at the nurse’s face, contorted with both hatred and something like revulsion, with no concern at all.

  The vial was soon full and Nurse Wishon removed the needle. She dabbed a small piece of paper with Samantha’s blood and the paper immediately turned bright, neon blue.

  “I knew it,” Nurse Wishon said bitterly. “Well my little freak, it appears we’ve one last thing to do.”

  She reached into her bag again and removed a bottle full of clear liquid. Samantha watched, feeling slow and interested, as Nurse Wishon retrieved a second syringe and filled it full of the liquid. She again tapped on the needle and approached Samantha.

  “You might not feel so good after this one,” Nurse Wishon said, “But that’s what you should’ve expected, am I right?”

  She positioned the needle over Samantha’s right arm and the door burst open, causing Nurse Wishon to jump and look around, startled. Something happened then. It happened so fast that Samantha was not sure what was going on. She was aware of a bright orange flash of movement. Then Nurse Wishon was being spun around, collapsing to the floor with her own syringe sticking in her arm. It was over before it had started and Samantha was wondering how much was real until Mr. Stillson knelt in front of her. He had taken something off the shelves and he broke it into two pieces. He held these pieces under Samantha’s nose and a sharp, acerbic smell that seemed to go straight to the back of her brain filled her senses. Her ability to think, and a flood of suppressed fear, washed over her and she looked from Nurse Wishon to Mr. Stillson, and burst into tears.

  “What’s going on,” she cried, over and over again. Mr. Stillson hugged her tightly, rocking her back and forth, but he didn’t say anything. Gradually Samantha got herself back under control.

  Mr. Stillson stood up and took a phone out of his pocket. He seemed completely indifferent to the Nurse lying unconscious on the floor. He dialed a number and stood with his back partially to Samantha.

  “Hello? This is Roger. Your suspicions were right and I’ve stopped an attack. Yes. Five minutes? Excellent. No no. You are more than welcome, you know that.”

  Mr. Stillson put the phone back into his pocket. He turned to look at Samantha and smiled. It was so natural and seemed so completely innocent that Samantha was amazed to feel herself answering it with a smile of her own.

  “Your grandfather will be here in five minutes to take you home and explain a few things to you.”

  “Grandpa? You know him?”

  “Indeed I do. I’ve known Neil for a long time. Almost my whole life.”

  “But why is Grandpa coming?”

  “He needs to tell you a few things, stuff nobody wanted to tell you until you were older. But, unfortunately, you will have to know now Samantha.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “I’ll let your Grandpa explain. Why don’t you go wait for him in front of the school?”

  “What? But…”

  Samantha looked down at the unconscious nurse, and then back at Mr. Stillson. He looked at her, his face warm but his eyes dark and cold.

  “Please Samantha. Go wait out front for your grandfather. He will be here very shortly I’m sure.”

  “But…”

  “Go.”

  Samantha, feeling more confused and in less control of her
own actions than she had ever felt in her short life, walked to the door and went through into the empty front office. The door was closed behind her. She stopped and looked at the closed door for a long moment. Something of immense importance was happening around her, she thought, but was she too young to understand? Then her fear came back up, threatening to overwhelm her. She ran through the office door and out into the cold December air.