by Tim Greaton
the orange taxi zoomed away. Zachary’s arm throbbed painfully. He tried to adjust his sling, but that only made it worse. They were standing on a busy sidewalk in a part of Boston he didn’t recognize. Dozens of people stood in line several businesses down. Zachary glanced up at the sign that read: “CHICAGO DAN’S ICE CREAM SHOPPE.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“We’re at the clinic,” his father said, pointing across the street at a two-story, narrow brick building with a long stairway that ended at a double set of tall doors. Above the doors hung a poorly painted, crooked sign: “CHICAGO SPECIAL CLINI—”
“What’s a clini?” Zachary asked.
“Should be clinic,” his father said. “The sign is broken.”
Zachary squinted and realized his father was right. The jagged end of the sign looked almost as if a giant mouth had chomped it. The rest of the letters had been painted in red with long drips scattered throughout. Zachary shivered at the thought of going into such a dumpy-looking doctor’s office.
“There has to be someplace better than this,” he said.
“This is the only safe option, Zach. It’s Gefarg’s clinic.”
“Gefarg?”
“Some people call him Doctor Gefarg,” his father said, “but his kind is better at killing than healing.”
Along with a large group of other people in the crosswalk, Zachary had been about to follow his father across the street, but he stopped.
“What do you mean by ‘killing?’”
His father glanced around. Zachary knew they were attracting attention and might actually get run over if they didn’t finish crossing, but he wasn’t taking another step until he understood what his father meant. Yes, it was true his body ached terribly but, last he knew, pain was a heck of a lot better than death.
His father gripped him firmly, and painfully, by the right arm and started to pull him across the busy intersection. The cluster of people they had started crossing with was nearly to the other side. The expression on his father’s face suggested he wasn’t expected any argument.
“Son, you and I are in a lot of trouble right now, and there’ll be plenty of time to discuss this. But if we don’t get you taken care of, your body could―something terrible could happen. We have no choice but to trust Gefarg. I don’t like it either, but he’s the only one that can help you. We have to do this.”
“What’s wrong with a normal hospital?”
“It’s just that if anyone finds out what you are—what we are—it will be bad. It’s bad enough that Gefarg will find out we’re still around.”
Zachary found it hard to think past the pounding ache of his nose and the back of his head. He felt unsteady on his feet. A large bus roared through the intersection beside them, leaving a strong diesel odor behind. No other vehicles were moving.
“What’s so different about us?”
His father gently gripped him around the waist and steadied him. “I promise we’ll talk about all of this, son, but the lights are about to change and we have to get out of the street. Trust me on this, okay?”
Zachary nodded and touched the top of his tender head. He knew he was probably imagining it but it felt as though his skull had grown taller. How had a simple school fight left him in such terrible straits? Ignoring the drivers that honked and shouted at them, he allowed his father to lead him the rest of the way across the street, up a set of chipped granite stairs and through the tall double doors of the clinic. He swayed against his father as they stood in a dim entryway where a muscular man in a stained security uniform directed them through another set of double doors on their left which opened into a large waiting room.
The banks of bright fluorescent lights were almost blinding after coming from the dimly lit entryway. Apparently much cleaner inside than out, the placed smelled pleasantly of lemons with a mild disinfectant. The cafeteria janitors at Zachary’s school could definitely have learned a few tricks from whoever kept the place so spotless and shiny. Even though the place was crowded with people, the chrome arms and legs of the furniture shone like mirrored surfaces and the white walls were immaculate. Even the white floor had a shine so deep that Zachary could see everyone on the other side of the room clearly reflected in its polished surface. All manner of people crowded the seats that lined every side and filled the middle of the sparkling clean room. Directly in front of them were two service windows, and two women in white nurses outfits were giving instructions and handing out clipboards to everyone who approached. Zachary and his father stood at the back of the shortest line, but there were still six or seven people in front of them.
“Why don’t you find a seat and rest,” his father suggested.
Still dizzy, Zachary nodded and moved across the room to the only two open seats he could see. Just as he got there, a young brunette girl, maybe around nine years old, slid into one seat and draped her legs over the second.
“These be taken, wizard,” she said.
It was a weird comment, especially since she had no other fantasy playmates in view, but Zachary shrugged. Most little kids were weird. He looked toward his father, who was focused on the line in front of him, then turned back to the girl and smiled.
“Maybe I could sit until your family gets here,” he suggested.
“You’d best not smite me amongst these many eyes!” the thin girl said fiercely.
She seemed genuinely afraid of him, but not enough to remove her legs from the spare seat. She continued to glare with an I’ll-die-for-this-chair look, so rather than argue he scanned the room a second time, shook his head and moved back beside his father.
“No seats,” he said.
Feeling dizzy, he leaned against his father’s back. Fortunately, the line was moving quickly and in less than five minutes they were standing before one of the service windows. Either the floors inside the booth were high or their nurse was quite tall, because even in her seat they had to look up at her. Without glancing away from her computer screen, she slid one of the clipboards with paper forms though the open window.
“I’m Nurse Nightshade,” she said. “Please fill out both sides of the form with all the proper information, including species, world of origin, and whether or not your ailment is Terrain or other. Then in the last few lines describe what seems to be the problem. Any questions?”
Zachary expected to see a smile—species and world of origin―but she hadn’t even looked their way and seemed entirely serious. This was turning out to be a really strange place.
“My name is Roger Pill,” Zachary’s said quietly.
Nurse Nightshade’s dark eyes bolted from the computer screen to stare at him. Zachary couldn’t help noticing several of the nearby patients and even the nurse in the next window had also turned to look. His father turned to look at half a dozen pairs of eyes now watching them.
“What’s going on?” he whispered angrily through the open window. “What has Gefarg been telling you people?”
The tall nurse put her finger to her lips and gestured toward the white door beside them. Zachary and his father shuffled sideways as Nurse Nightshade closed her service window and came to open the door and wave them inside her office. Zachary had been right; she stood at least two feet taller than him, and her shoulders were as wide as Uncle Ned’s. Not the sort of nurse you wanted to make angry.
“Mr. Pill,” Nurse Nightshade said sternly, “a lot of people have been looking for you, especially since Merlin died.”
“I know,” he said. “But how did they recognize my name?”
That got Zachary’s attention.
Is our last name a fake?
Nurse Nightshade pursed her lips. “People around this clinic know more than you think, Mr. Pill,” she said, “and that’s usually more than they should. Either way, what’s done is done. I’m very pleased to see you’re okay. I feared Merlin might have been the last of your kind on this side of the corridors.”
Corridors?
“I was hoping that’s what everyone would
think,” Roger Pill said.
“Fate usually won’t allow us to hide from our destiny,” Nurse Nightshade said. Oddly, she stared at Zachary as she said it. Her voice softened. “You probably don’t remember me, young man, but I was your nurse fourteen years ago.”
“When I was born?” Zachary said.
“Yes, when you were born. Your mother was so excited and anxious to meet you that day.”
“She was, wasn’t she,” his father agreed. The words seemed to catch in his throat. He recovered his composure, however, and said, “I’m surprised you remember.”
“I remember all the important things.”
The nurse’s eyes flicked up and down Zachary’s young frame. Then she smiled, warm and friendly, as though she had known him for years, which—even though Zachary couldn’t remember it—she had. Zachary couldn’t quite say why, but in that moment he instantly liked this burly woman. She reached out and ruffled his hair.
“Nice shade of green,” she said, “just like your mother’s.”
He smiled. He couldn’t remember anyone outside his family ever complimenting his hair before. Most people didn’t like it. Come to think of it, he didn’t really like it either.
“So what happened to you?” she asked, her eyes examining his nose and then settling on his sling.
“I broke it in a fight.”
“Must have been quite a fight to break one of your bones,” she said.
The comment struck Zachary as odd. Was she suggesting there was something different about