“No, I get it. No problem.” He tries to brush it off, but I can tell he isn’t satisfied. “Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks, still searching for a legitimate reason I wouldn’t be interested in him.
“No, that’s not it. Just concentrating on school and stuff.” He shakes his head slightly and I hope I have salvaged some good will. I am sure when he is reminded of the other girls who are dying to attach themselves to him his feelings won’t be hurt. I do feel bad so I try to continue the conversation.
“You seem really at ease here. I don’t think I could fit in so easily. How do you do it?”
He smiles a little at the compliment and I hope I have made up some ground. I don’t want to like him, but he isn’t making it easy. “I’m an Army brat. My dad has moved me around my entire life. You either learn to do it gracefully or you wind up a total social reject.”
I laugh a little at his joke, but my mind starts spinning. My dad is really not going to like this. Anything related to the government immediately sends him into a tizzy. “Where did you move from?” I ask. That is a legitimate question, right? Not too nosy, just interested.
“His last duty station was the Pentagon, it was really neat living in the Capital region.”
I have to work to stifle a moan. This is getting worse and worse. “What brings you to Painted Rock? I can’t imagine a place being less like D.C.” Why did you have to come here?! I want to scream. The more I learn the more I know he is going to change my life, and not just because I am feeling my first real attraction for the opposite sex.
Again he laughs, I want to be annoyed that he is so easy going but it just endears him to me more. “That is exactly why my dad wanted to retire here. He wanted to get me away from the big city for the last little bit of my senior year.” He looks up at me and I realize a heartbreaking expression has come over his face. “Plus, my mom is really sick and she wanted to die in a beautiful place.”
I can’t believe he would so freely share such a personal piece of information. “I’m so sorry,” I mutter while looking back to my work, or anywhere except his sad eyes. For the second time that day I find myself wanting to touch him and being horrified at the desire. I just want to comfort him, to bring his easy smile back.
I am a monster…I am not a monster…I am a monster…I am not a monster!
“Not your fault,” he responds. “I am trying to get used to the idea. None of the doctors in a city as big as D.C. could help her. My dad has been desperate. After tons of research, he discovered that Painted Rock is one of the healthiest places on earth. Did you know that?”
My entire body goes cold, which for me is a feat, as I shake my head. “Yeah, I think I heard that somewhere.” And I know why that is.
“My dad thought that maybe with the fresh air and personal attention of a small town doc my mom could get better.”
Now I know for sure that my life is falling in around me. I try to keep my expression neutral as my insides are in turmoil. “I hope that works out for you.” I try to sound sincere, but I know that his mom dying would help protect my secret, as callous and as cold as that may be.
“We’ll see. Your dad is the town doctor, right?”
Finally, an explanation for his interest in me that doesn’t put my life in jeopardy. Again I shake my head, “Yeah, but like you said, he doesn’t do much. Clean air and an active lifestyle keep most people around here pretty healthy.” Again I try to smile and am not sure I accomplish much more than a grimace.
“Well, let’s hope he has a little more to do with it than that.” His eyes bore into mine and I wonder if it is just my own paranoia or if he knows something.
I shake my head and don’t say anything, because there is nothing more I want to say John Sullivan.
*****
At the end of the period, Lexi invites John to sit with us at lunch. I let Lexi and Jake carry the conversation and they cover most of the same ground that John and I had in Physics. I try to reassure myself that there is nothing going on and Lexi and Jake both seem satisfied with all that John tells them.
When John explains about his mother, Lexi almost tears up. It is more than her tender heart can handle. “Well, if anyone can help her it is Doctor Mills. He has magic hands.” She waves her fingers like a magician and smiles brightly. Even knowing she is joking, I am horrified. I glance quickly to John who is looking at me with hope and satisfaction; at least that is what it feels like.
I try to recover myself, “Come on, Lexi. Don’t get his hopes up.”
“Don’t be so modest. Your dad is the best doctor in the world, just ask anyone. When I was ten I broke my arm on a trampoline, it was a horrible break. My parents did all this research and everything said that I would never have full range of motion again and that it would take eight to twelve weeks to heal. Well, Paige’s dad had me out of a cast in six weeks and back on the monkey bars by eight weeks.” She stretches out her right arm, “Full of range of motion almost immediately. I tell you…magic hands.” She laughs at her own joke.
“Maybe you are the magic one, quick healing might be your super power,” I try to joke and direct the attention away from my dad. I remember all too well when Lexi broke her arm and how hard it was for him not to heal it right away. The break was so obvious with her elbow all sunken in and at a weird angle that there was no way he could have pretended it was only a sprain.
Lexi has never gone on about my dad like this before and I begin to wonder who else feels this way about my father. We have always felt that he hides his talent well. This day keeps getting worse and worse.
Paige, my mom calls into my head just to let me know she is close.
At the same time my phone vibrates and I pull it out of my purse. It is a text from my mom. I read it and show it to Lexi, trying to act nonchalant. “My mom is checking me out. John it was nice to meet you. I hope you like it here.”
“So far…so good,” he smiles and gives me a meaningful look, I don’t want to read anything into it, but I do.
I start to get up right as an office aide comes up to me with my check-out slip. I wave to my friends and head to my locker to get my things. I meet my mom in the parking lot by my car.
She waves, Don’t say anything, we will talk at home.
I wave back, try to smile and climb into my car, knowing all the while that my life is spiraling out of control.
Chapter 2
As Doctor Andrew Cox swivels in the leather office chair to take a second look at the specimen sitting under the microscope, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his lab coat. Not bothering to pause his examination, he scans the text.
Contact made. No determination. Looks promising.
Even after seventeen years of receiving similar reports, he can’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline and the hope that this could be the one. Unable to concentrate on the task at hand, he pushes away from the lab table and holds his phone in both hands. Drawing in a large, steadying breath he responds:
Keep me informed.
Not that he needs to remind them, if any of the peons in his employ dare to keep something from him they would promptly be disposed of. Since giving direction of some sort is expected, he deigns to issue mundane commands.
One family, one girl. After years of research and trial and error, he had created the one crucial piece to bring all his work together. He knew she was different, the elevated temperature was the first sign…if only he had recognized how different a little sooner, he could have saved himself years of waiting. To be deterred for so long by someone so common is unpleasant to say the least. He should have known they would have been difficult, their devotion to the unborn child was one of the reasons he had been able to ramp up the experiment; they were desperate. Just as he planned it.
Confident the time is drawing near for his plans to come to fruition, he pockets his phone and returns to his microscope, allowing a small hint of hope to enter his cruel heart that this could finally be the one.
Chapter 3
Dad is rifling around in our strong box pulling out money and different sorts of identification. “Are we going on a trip?” I ask, thinking it’s the best way to get the ball rolling.
Dad looks up and shoots me a look that is at the same time loving and guilty. “I think it is time to move on, Beautiful, don’t you?”
Move on? Is he crazy? Just this morning I had marveled at John’s ability to adapt and knew I couldn’t start my senior year somewhere new. “No! Of course I don’t! Can we talk about this?”
Mom moves between Dad and I to put herself literally in the middle of the conversation. She holds her hands up on both sides, pleading silently for us not to argue. Dad looks at her expectantly, “What did you hear?” he asks a little more gruffly than I am used to. Oh, yeah. He is stressed.
“Surprisingly, little.” Dad and I both draw up short, wondering whose side it puts her on.
“We do need to discuss this. Shall we?” She points down the hall to my dad’s office. He had it soundproofed on the pretext that if he had any patients visit the house it would give them the privacy they deserve and he can speak freely without violating any HIPAA rules. Of course it is really so we can have family discussions without any fear of being overheard. We have rarely had to use it for such serious conversations, but I know what is about to happen is going to be big.
The thought of moving and leaving the only life I have ever known almost makes me physically sick, but it also reiterates how much my parents have given up for me. When they discovered my “gift” they gave up all that they knew and loved to raise me somewhere safe, somewhere they could hide how peculiar our family is. I think of the ones we have lost and I think of the horrors that could await us if our unique talents fall into the wrong hands.
As Dad closes the door securely behind him, I lie down on the cushy brown leather couch that lines one wall of the office. Mom sits in the matching leather chair and Dad takes a seat behind his desk. He looks so official sitting there behind the oversized oak desk with his diplomas, certifications and awards framed on the wall behind him. That’s another thing he’s given up for me, his real life, his real name that should be there for the whole world to see.
He folds his fingers behind his head and lets out a sigh while leaning back as far as the chair will allow. “Where do we start?” he asks as he reaches his hands over his head and refolds them in front of himself. I think this is how he would look if he ever had to deliver bad news to a patient and their family.
“First of all,” Mom begins, “All I heard was a million different ways to ask about your gloves,” she says, looking at me and nodding her head toward my hands.
“I was surprised he never asked during our lab today.”
Dad’s jaw drops, clearly not liking that I have already had interaction with the new kid in town. He shakes his head, “Wait, wait, wait, back up. Tell me everything that happened for you today and then I will do the same.”
I rehearse back to him every detail of my conversation with John. Of course, I don’t mention that I might have the beginnings of a crush or my desire to run my fingers through his hair, I love Mom and Dad but certain things they just don’t need to know. Both Mom and Dad listen intently and nod their heads to show they’re thinking about everything. The slight upturn to Mom’s lips tells me she heard more than I wanted her too and annoys me more than it should.
I end with, “What has you so upset? How much of this did you already know?”
“Pretty much all of it.” He responds. “Jeff Sullivan walked into the clinic this morning and laid out the same story, almost verbatim. He mentioned that he has a son who was starting school today and who also happens to be a senior. It seemed too pat, too rehearsed, too convenient.”
“Or we are just being a little paranoid,” I mutter.
I am rewarded with a disappointed look from both parents. “I know you are only seventeen, Paige, but do we need to go over how dangerous you are? Do we need to remind you of what we have lost or what is at stake?”
I can’t help the tears that come to my eyes. I know he is just reminding me of the seriousness of the situation, but I feel ashamed. I am not a monster…even if my father makes me feel like one. It is not like I can control what I am, it is more their fault than it is mine. I look at the hurt on my mother’s face and know she heard my thoughts.
Their only fault is they have always loved me too much. At eight weeks pregnant my mom went in for a regular ultrasound and they found a large tumor in her uterus. Surgery didn’t work to remove it and most of the doctors advised a medical abortion. Mom wouldn’t even consider it, like I said, she loved me too much and she didn’t even know me yet.
My dad knew a specialist, a pioneer in the field of treating pregnant women with cancer. When my parents subjected me to radiation treatments for her cancer, they had no idea what they were creating. The doctor warned that there could be serious complications and damage to the baby. My parents thought they would be dealing with blindness, mental handicaps, deformed limbs; problems they could overcome with the love they already had for me. No one could have guessed the real complications.
The first couple weeks of my life I was handled with kid gloves, almost literally. No one directly touched me because they weren’t sure how the radiation might have affected my immune system. They were concerned that my body temperature ran consistently at 102 degrees and the temperature in my hands was always a couple of degrees higher than that. None of the doctors wanted to call much attention to my condition because they were all afraid of malpractice for allowing the unorthodox treatments to happen in the first place.
My parents were the only ones who ever touched me without gloves in those first couple of weeks. After a couple of days in the hospital, it was ruled that constant fever seemed to be the only side effect of the radiation and I was deemed fit and ready to come home. Dad had taken a couple of weeks off, shuffling his patients to other doctors in his practice, and we all went home to celebrate the first weeks of our life together as a family.
My parents doted on me constantly; hugging, kissing me and loving on me as much as any newborn deserves. They got used to my temperature and would joke that they would have to move to a colder climate if they wanted to be able to hold me. My mom tells me how I loved to place my hand on their cheeks as they held me. Mom would wonder what I was thinking or dreaming about and Dad would think about how glad he was that he was a doctor and would always be able to take care of me.
We think it is those thoughts and my desire to touch them that made all the difference. After a couple of days, Mom started to see visual images in her head. They would be of her or dad and always from my point of view. She started to hear my dad without him saying a word. It quickly became evident that she could hear our thoughts. She was amazed and horrified.
She went to our neighbor’s house to see if her power extended to those outside of her family, and sure enough she could hear everything, clear as day. She wasn’t able to go out in public because she was too quickly overwhelmed with all she heard.
Dad was confused and unable to come up with any theories as to why or how this was happening. He knew in his gut it had something to do with me, but wasn’t quite sure what it could be, and he didn’t seem to be affected at all. He became more and more confused until his mother came to visit. Of course she wanted to see her only grandchild and was overjoyed the first time she held me.
I put my little hand right on her cheek and she began to cry. Soon she was sob
bing hysterically and would have dropped me if Mom hadn’t been right there to whisk me out of harm’s way. Grandma ran shrieking for the door of my nursery, trying to get away from me, screaming, “No, no!”
Dad caught up to her and tried to calm her but he could barely restrain her. He finally gave her valium so she could calm down enough to talk. She sat in a chair rocking back and forth with her eyes closed and refused to have me in the room with her.
“What happened?” Dad asked in the calmest voice he could muster given the hysteria of his mother.
With tears trickling slowly but steadily down her face, Grandma answered, “I was looking down at my beautiful granddaughter, thinking about what a bright and beautiful future she has in front of her and how happy I am to be a part of it, when she touched me. As soon as her fingers made contact, everything changed. Now all I can see is death. She will be the end of us all.”
Her eyes cleared and she finally looked right at Dad, “Please make the visions stop. I can’t stand to see what she will bring. How could your baby do this?” she practically screamed the last part as she once again broke down.
Dad had to give her a sedative and laid her on the couch. Mom has told me repeatedly that she held me in her arms and cried. She had no idea what was going on but there was no way she would let anything happen to the baby they had worked so hard to bring into the world.
Dad says that is when he started to understand what I could do. He went back into Mom and put my chubby hand right up against his face…and nothing happened.
That night, Grandma took her own life. Whatever she saw was too horrible for her to deal with. She was the first one we lost and I know it is always her that he is referring to when he talks about what we have lost.
Dad’s new talent became evident when Mom went in for her first post-partum check-up. She was still being treated for the cancer and the doctor’s were pretty sure it would be bad because she had taken time off from her treatments for my birth. However, when she went in, she was given a clean bill of health. In fact, the doctors were amazed at how healthy she was. Everything was perfect, except there were still trace amounts of low level non-ionizing radiation. They thought it could be residual from her treatments and set up follow-up appointments for her.
The Pandora Project Page 2