Strange New Feet

by Shannon Esposito

  Strange New Feet

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  STRANGE NEW FEET

  by

  S.O. Esposito

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2010 Shannon Esposito

  Discover other titles by S.O. Esposito at Smashwords.com:

  SAHARA'S SONG

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  “But is there a clear biological distinction between us and the rest of creation, one that should never be confounded by the scuffling of strange new feet in laboratory basements?”--Jamie Shreeve, New York Times article “The Other Stem Cell Debate”

  Chapter 1

  (Pineville, North Carolina)

  Points of light jiggle furiously, winking in and out of existence, twinkling like some mad, colorful acid trip. Safia pulls back a little, using her consciousness like a fine focusing knob. Patterns emerge, knots of 3-D hexagons and pentagons reflecting electric blues, crystalline yellows. She pulls back more, opening up to a wider, softer landscape of strange fuzzy shapes moving in random jerking motions amid liquid currents. One more adjustment. Ah, there it is. She moves around it, examines its borders, folds it into her mind to process the new data.

  Safia’s eyes open slowly, gold specks glitter with fresh knowledge and sadness. She lifts her hand from the sedated patient’s stomach, briefly registering the chill of the hospital room against her heated palm.

  “Stay strong,” she whispers, moving her gaze to the still face: a 42-year-old ghost in a cold, white room.

  Dr. Ackers studies her expression as she emerges from room 617. His body leans heavily into the wall as if he’s been waiting there for the entire hour.

  “She’s not responding to the paclitaxel or radiation, is she?”

  “No,” she answers, slipping her hands deep into the stiff pockets of her lab coat. “The tumor is growing.”

  “Surgery it is then.”

  Safia offers a small nod, knowing the proximity to major blood vessels shoots her odds of survival to hell. She moves down the green and white checkered hall, feeling drained and not quite in the present moment.

  “Miss Raine,” Dr. Ackers has moved to walk beside her, he seems hesitant. “I have another patient I’d like you to…help us with.”

  Safia smiles wearily, the corners of her mouth like punctuation marks ending at her sharply angled cheekbones. She has been working at Pineville Medical Center for six years and, though most of the physicians she works with have come to trust her accuracy even above the Pattern Mining software, they still cannot bring themselves to talk about what she does. It has become an unspoken rule, and one that serves her well because she knows she can’t explain it anyway. She turns to Dr. Ackers as they step into the glass elevator.

  “Which floor?”

  “West Tower.”

  Safia glances up sharply. “Children’s wing?”

  “Yes.”

  Her shoulders stiffen. The children break her heart.

  She stares out at the panes of smoked glass buildings beyond the manicured gardens they are descending upon. The elevator stops on air, opens and they step out into the muggy afternoon heat. As they make their way down the sandstone path, thunder rumbles in the distance.

  “Looks like we’re in for another storm today.”

  Safia nods, the doctor’s comment not really registering. She pulls a clip out of her pocket, twists her dark hair into a knot and secures it firmly, leaving thick bangs framing her face. Drops of sweat roll down her neck and under her collar. She is still feeling drained and the heat isn’t helping.

  “Male or female?”

  “Female…fourteen years old,” Dr. Ackers answers with a touch of weariness. “She was brought in because her mother’s live-in boyfriend tried to kill her. Smother her.”

  Safia’s breath catches in her throat and she shoots a horrified glance at the doctor. She isn’t sure she has the strength for this. “But why? What happened?”

  “He’s not talking. The mother came home from work early, caught him on top of her with a pillow. To his credit he was crying hysterically and saying the Lord’s prayer. The mother bashed him in the head with an iron, beat him into unconsciousness. He’s still in the hospital…Parkland, I believe.”

  “My god…the world has truly gone mad,” Safia whispers. “So, what am I looking for? Brain damage?”

  “We thought so at first. She does have a pervasive developmental disorder, but her mother says she functions okay. Her mental capacity is about that of a seven year old’s. Tuberous sclerosis is a risk in autism spectrum disorders, which is what we’ve found.”

  “Brain tumors.” Safia shakes her head. “This little girl can’t catch a break, can she?”

  They make their way through the gardens, the scattering of cement lunch tables and around the large coin fountain in silence, finally coming to the outdoor elevators of the West Tower. Dr. Ackers punches in his code, and the doors slide silently open.

  “After you.”

  The doors close smoothly behind them, shutting in the silence.

  “So, you said ‘found?’ The mother had no idea her daughter has this tumor disorder? How is that possible?”

  “It’s fairly mild in her. X-rays have shown no other organs affected. She does have some of the classic behavior and skin abnormalities but no one ever bothered putting it together. ”

  They exit on the sixteenth floor and step out into a brightly lit hallway with red, blue and yellow shapes painted on the walls. A clown with balloons is leaving one of the rooms. It is some child’s birthday and Safia saddens at the thought of them spending it in a hospital bed.

  Dr. Ackers knocks lightly and then enters with Safia shadowing him.

  The room is dim, cool and barren. One bed. One chair. One monitor. One bathroom door. The curtains are pulled open, and the sky is stuffed with rolling black clouds. A storm is rapidly approaching.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Olivia. How are we feeling today?”

  Safia stops in her tracks as Olivia peers around Dr. Ackers suspiciously and their eyes meet. She is beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

  “Oh, I see you’ve spotted your guest. Olivia, this is Miss Raine. She works here at the hospital and she is going to be your special friend.” He walks over and checks the monitor, adjusts her IV and then turns back to the silent girl. “Only if you want her to be, though, okay? If you just want your mom in here, that’s fine, too. You just say the word.”

  Safia smiles instinctively, but her mind is reeling. Something is wrong. The pattern i
s wrong. The smile must have seemed genuine because Olivia nods finally, without taking her eyes off of Safia.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, then.” Dr. Ackers stuffs his hands into his lab coat pockets and turns to Safia. “Okay, then I will leave you ladies to get to know each other. I’ll see you afterwards.” He leans close to her ear as he passes. “She should be out in about fifteen minutes.”

  “All right. I’ll talk to you later,” Safia hears herself say. Her mind is busy cataloging as she walks deeper into the room, moving the chair closer to the bed and lowering herself slowly into it.

  “Olivia is a pretty name,” she begins. Now that she is closer she can see beyond the strange effect of the teen’s lanky arms and legs sprawled out in the bed, to the more detailed strangeness of her eyes being different colors. One soft, coffee brown and one green. “You can call me Safia. That’s my first name.” Those eyes just stare back at her silently. No trust. Who would blame her? Attempted murder was not something a fourteen year old should have first hand knowledge of. She notices the girl is clutching a worn blue bear. “What’s your friend’s name?” she asks, nodding at the bear.

  After a brief hesitation, her grip tightens on the stuffed animal and she whispers, “Candy.”

  “Candy.” Safia smiles. “What a coincidence. That is a lovely name for a bear and also the very thing I have in my pocket.” Her hand emerges and she holds it out with a piece of butterscotch in her palm. “Would you like a piece?”

  Olivia’s mouth does something funny, protruding, her wide bottom lip curling under as she glances back and forth from Safia’s face to her hand. Patience pays off. She reaches out and takes it slowly.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Safia watches her diligently peeling off the cellophane. Her arms, hands and fingers are thin and elegant but her skin is a mosaic of patchy dark, hard and soft pink flesh. She looks like a burn victim. She has seen café au lait spots before on tuberous sclerosis patients, but never this extensive. She can’t shake the feeling that something is off.Dr. Ackers wants her to check the brain tumor, but there is definitely more going on here. Where to even begin? Nothing to do but try to get Olivia comfortable with her as she waits.

  “You’re being very brave, Olivia.” She means that. “I was fourteen like you once and I know I would’ve been scared to be in a hospital and have strangers coming in my room all the time. You know everyone here just wants to make sure you’re okay, right? That’s what all the equipment and tests are for.”

  She chews slowly, her multicolored eyes never leaving Safia’s face. Finally she nods without smiling. Then she lets herself slide down on the pillow. Relaxes. She is feeling the affects of the IV dosing. Safia keeps talking, letting her voice move into a lower, more soothing tone.

  “How about if I tell you a story? Would you like that?”

  Olivia’s face softens. She nods.

  “Okay. So, once upon a time there was a beautiful princess named Olivia…”

  Olivia smiles. By the time Safia gets to the Prince at the window, Olivia’s breathing indicates she is sleeping. Closing her eyes, Safia begins to slow down her own breathing. When she feels herself able to concentrate she slides the recliner closer so she can lay her palm gently against the rise and fall of Olivia’s lungs. She glances up at the small camera in the corner recording the room, a bit uncomfortable by the thought of an audience. Oh well, this is her job and one only she can do.

  Breathing in and out with long counts of ten, she lets all thought fall away, moving her attention to the heat under her hand. She follows the heat with her mind as it soaks into Olivia’s frail body. Minutes tick by as she immerses herself fully in the warm, dark pool of nothingness. Eventually, through the darkness of her empty consciousness, a white light begins to emerge. She moves her thoughts toward it to help it grow. When it engulfs her mind, it explodes and—like the birth of a star—shoots light and energy in all directions. She is in.

  Patterns begin to emerge in the light as it splits into a landscape of reds, violets, greens and yellows. Safia takes the next hour to move through each layer as if she were doing an autopsy…skin, muscle, tendons, bone, blood vessels, organs. No more tumors, no unusual protein expression that she can detect. Then again, it would be impossible for her to learn all the normal parameters. The human body is much too complicated. She moves deeper into the cells, into the nucleus, into the beauty of the crystalline structures life springs from. Moving from cell to cell, she begins to notice an almost undetectable pattern change. Sharpening her concentration even more is like focusing on the sharp end of a needle, but she manages to hold it for a few more minutes.

  What is it she’s catching? It’s like seeing one red pixel in a sea of green ones. But, it is definitely there in some cells, a pattern next to a pattern. Not one pattern, but two. Impossible! This one thought is enough to cut off her connection and bring her focus back to the hospital room.

  Falling into the chair, she watches the teen sleeping peacefully. She sits like that for a while, gathering her thoughts and letting her exhausted mind rest. The room has grown dark with the storm and she becomes aware of rain pelting the window behind her. Her body relaxes as she listens and chews on Olivia’s situation. Suddenly, she realizes she hasn’t even taken a look at the brain tumor. Dr. Ackers isn’t going to be happy with that bit of news. She rubs her forehead. A dull ache is forming behind her eyes. It will have to wait. Lifting herself quietly, she sighs and goes to find the doctor.

  She taps lightly on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Sitting down in front of his desk, she crosses her legs and buries her hands in her pockets.

  “You don’t look happy,” he says.

  “I didn’t get a chance to assess the tumor.” She notes his disappointment. “But, I did find something odd.”

  “Go on.”

  “I don’t know what it is, really. I assume she has had blood tests done?”

  “Yes, of course.” He is beginning to look confused.

  “DNA tests?”

  “I…well, I believe so.” He pushes himself upright and touches the flat screen monitor to his right.

  “Patient files. Olivia Barnes. DNA test.”

  Safia watches the scrolling colors reflected in his glasses. Green and blue, white text. It stops moving.

  “Yes, DNA tests were completed at the beginning of the week. No abnormalities found.” He turns back to her. “Do you suspect some other hereditary disease we should be looking for?”

  Safia shrugs and glances down at the desk. “I don’t know.” She is sure there is something they are missing.

  “She seems healthy other than the tuberous sclerosis.”

  “You don’t think it’s odd that there aren’t any other tumors…kidneys…nervous system?”

  “I think she’s lucky. If we can remove the brain tumor without complications, I think she’ll be even luckier.”

  “Hm.” Lucky is not a word she would associate with Olivia.

  “Look, Safia,” Dr. Ackers leans forward on the desk, his eyes softening behind the glasses. “You look exhausted. Maybe you’re just tired and seeing things that aren’t there. Tolly won’t be here until Monday anyway, he’s at a conference all weekend. Take the next few days off and we’ll try again Monday morning. I just need a second opinion on radiation versus radiosurgery. If you don’t see anything we’re missing, we’re going to start her on steroids, go in with the gamma knife and then send her home.”

  But there are two patterns, she wants to scream.

  He was right, though. She is exhausted. Her legs feel like brick logs and the dull pain behind her eyes is moving into migraine mode. In defeat, she nods and stands up.

  “Monday it is then.”

  Chapter 2

  It’s only two miles from her apartment to the Pineville Museum of Art, but as Safia presses her jog into a run she feels the air getting thicker, harder to push in and out of her lungs. It has b
een storming since Thursday, since the day she met Olivia. She pushes Olivia out of her thoughts; she has a bigger problem today. Her mother has made her promise to keep Kat out of the Museum protest.

  Outrage has been building in the town and some neighboring towns as well, since the announcement of the controversial exhibit six weeks ago. The news is having a field day with their “unbiased” reports on the dangers of modern science. She finds it interesting that they chose to start their exhibit tour in the U.S. in one of the most conservative states of the union. Then again, she thinks wryly as she watches her worn shoes splash through another puddle, the state government didn’t mind making money from the people they were shaking their heads at, offering huge tax incentives and gift-wrapped property rights to lure in dozens of biotech and biopharmaceutical companies.

  She still has about three blocks to go, but she can already hear the rumble of hundreds of voices shouting in unison and the echoing bleat of a siren cutting through periodically. Pushing a damp strand of hair away from her eye, she checks her watch. Almost ten thirty. The doors are supposed to open at noon. The wide streets are empty of traffic, but parked cars line the road on either side. She knows most of the town will either be protesting or watching the opening on CBN.It’s expected to get out of control, the gasoline thrown on a flame of controversy already dividing the town: artists and scientists against politicians and everyone else. The politicians will be pulling strings from the shadows, of course, not wanting to bite the hands that feed them. Not out in public anyway.

  Two sleek, black patrol cars turn the corner, red and white lights pulsing silently on their roofs. As they pass, Safia catches a glimpse of their full back seats. Protesters are already being removed.

  The scene is worse than she imagined. She lingers on the outskirts for a moment, trying to catch her breath but her heart seems to be picking up speed. She walks around the perimeter of the chaos slowly, her hands resting on her hips. Signs are being thrust into the air with mounting force: