by Lily Cahill
A better life? Him?
Thinking about the situation had kept Henry up late the night before and had roused him early that morning. To distract himself, he’d sneaked into the clinic hours before it was set to open, making his way back to his grandfather’s office. If there was anything that could distract him from Ruth Baker, it was the mystery he’d only just started to unravel.
He went through his desk and pulled out the files he’d stashed in there days before. June Powell, Teddy Dickinson, both of the Briggs brothers, Cora Murphy Briggs, Kent Michaels—they were all there.
Looking at the files, a few things were clear to Henry. The first was that this BBC number indicated some kind of blood cell count—as much as it didn’t make sense, there was no other real explanation. The second was that the BBCs were being carefully tracked and recorded. Did that mean his grandfather knew what they did, or at the very least, suspected? Had the fog created this new blood cell?
Dr. Pinkerton had discovered the kind of medical anomaly researchers would kill to find—if he followed this research through, this could be worthy of a Nobel Prize. A new blood cell, whose developments was somehow—and Henry did not know yet how, but it had to be—linked to the development of superhuman abilities. It was incredible. Incredible didn’t even begin to cover it. This was a revolutionary find that could change the very face of medical studies in the future.
So why was his grandfather just sitting on it?
It was possible that Dr. Pinkerton was testing this on his own, working with someone in the lab in Denver. Tests could take years, and results had to be verified and published. Going public was a long term goal. But in the short term, his grandfather had a fully qualified, somewhat underutilized doctor waiting to assist him.
Yet Henry had discovered this all on his own. It put a bad feeling in his stomach, made him feel wrong-footed and uneasy to sneak around behind his grandfather’s back like this. He’d never known his grandfather to keep secrets about anything, and this was no ordinary secret.
He felt jittery, could not stop fidgeting in his chair, tapping the eraser of his pencil in a rapid staccato beat. The clinic would open soon—Mrs. McClure and Patrice hadn’t yet arrived to unlock the front door or start on their morning duties, but they were due within the next half-hour. His grandfather was still tucked away in his apartment upstairs.
Henry shuffled the files in front of him, organizing them alphabetically just for something to do. He was going to explode from nerves if he didn’t figure this out soon.
There was a knock at his office door.
Henry froze. He’d been so wrapped up that he hadn’t heard anyone milling around the office. Where was his head? “Come in!”
Dr. Pinkerton opened the door and strolled inside, smiling. He looked stronger today than he had in weeks, which was encouraging to see. His coloring was good, and he seemed less tired than he had the past few mornings. It was Henry’s medical opinion that his grandfather was overexerting himself. He was no longer a young man, and the long hours, the extra projects focused on secret blood cells—it was wearing him down. Every little illness, every cold hit his system and became a big problem. He wasn’t sure the man had been truly healthy in the past two months.
It worried Henry more than he could say. More than he wanted an able doctor nearby, more than he wanted to know what was happening with the blood cells and the strange new powers—he wanted his grandfather to be well.
“Morning, son,” Dr. Pinkerton said. He had two cups of coffee in hand. Apparently, he’d decided not to wait for Mrs. McClure that morning.
Henry sighed. Part of him thought it’d be better to keep up a charade, engage in some pleasant banter, but it was all delaying the inevitable. His grandfather was not going to be happy to find out that Henry had stuck his nose someplace it had not been invited.
“Granddad,” he started. He cut himself off with a sigh and pushed the folders forward, spreading them out so the names were visible. He grabbed the nearest one, Cora’s, and opened to her most recent blood test. The BBC stood out on the page. “I know you don’t want my help on these cases, but I really think we need to talk about what’s going on here.”
“What—” Dr. Pinkerton began. He adjusted his glasses and leaned in closer to see what Henry was waving about. When he read the name on the first file, his face fell. “Henry, what have you been doing?”
“My job. I was filing, and I noticed the same anomaly on each one of these people’s blood test.” Henry frowned, his brows drawing together. “You know more than you’ve let on. People are running around like madmen out there, talking about these people like they’re demons, and you have an answer that you’re just sitting on.”
“You should not have read that file,” his grandfather said sternly. His face was thunderous. “And I don’t have any more answers than you do, just another theory. Between the Soviets and the demon possessions, I don’t think we need any more of those. That new cell showed up on one of their tests, and then the next, and the next—what good is telling them about its existence if I can’t tell them why?”
Henry rubbed at his forehead. A migraine was forming just behind his temple. “Have you seen what’s happening in this town? Last night, people practically tried to kick June Powell out of the fundraiser because they didn’t like ‘her kind.’ It’s going to get out of hand, and fast. If people knew there was a scientific reason behind these changes—”
“What good will it do to give them partial answers if we can’t supply the entire narrative? They’ll doubt us until we have proof.”
It was preposterous. Surely the existence of a new cell was proof enough—but if that was the way his grandfather would spin it, fine. Henry wouldn’t be swayed. The old man was too sick and taking on too much to be trying to devote himself to this.
“All right.” The words grated in Henry’s throat, but he forced them out. “If that’s what you think is best. But I’m going to help with this. A second pair of eyes on the results might—”
“No!” Dr. Pinkerton ripped the files out of Henry’s hands and backed away, coughing as he went. All his high color and good spirits had vanished. “I don’t want you meddling in this. This isn’t something you need to get involved in.”
His grandfather was curled over the folders, his eyes hard as he glared at Henry. It was a look he had never seen on his grandfather’s face before, and it threw him. Henry sank back into his desk chair.
“I don’t understand,” he managed, sounding as lost as he felt.
At that, his grandfather softened. He kept a tight grip on the files, but his shoulders slumped. He looked suddenly older, less like the man Henry had known and loved his entire life.
“I just don’t know what this is yet,” Dr. Pinkerton said, shaking the files a bit for emphasis. “Something strange is happening in this town, Henry, and I don’t know how safe it is. I don’t want to involve you in something that could hurt you.”
The love was plain in his voice, but it wasn’t a good enough reason. All the coddling was maddening.
“This is hurting you. I can’t stand by and—”
Dr. Pinkerton’s voice took on an edge. “Well, I’m telling you to.”
There was a moment of silence. Henry stared at his grandfather, looking for any trace of the man who had raised him.
“How about this,” Dr. Pinkerton finally said. “The second I feel like I need your help with this, I will ask for it.” He tried to smile. It was weak.
“Okay,” Henry agreed outwardly.
Inwardly, he was already plotting how to conduct his own tests.
A half-hour after the fight, the clinic was open.
Dr. Pinkerton was quickly caught up in a patient exam—yet another one of the kind Henry had to be excluded from, he thought ruefully. Once Dr. Pinkerton was closed up in the exam room, Henry sidled up to Mrs. McClure’s desk. “Well, if there’s nothing else going on, I guess I can continue with that filing project.”
; “Oh, didn’t your grandfather tell you?” She tsked as Henry leaned into a pile of bills she was sorting. “He decided it would be more efficient if we cleaned out the old files first. The ones from the early days of his practice. You don’t mind, do you?”
And that was how Henry found himself in his office, surrounded by dusty boxes overflowing with medical files belonging to the long-dead citizens of Independence Falls. His grandfather, clearly, didn’t want him poking around in anything more recent.
None of it made sense. There was no danger posed by people he had known his entire life. They couldn’t have changed that drastically while he’d been away at college. He could help, he knew he could. His grandfather didn’t have the resources necessary to do a lot of the lab work, while Henry still had contacts at the university lab in Denver. All Henry had to do was talk to them, tell them he’d found something, and he was sure some of his old professors would let him in to do some research.
Although that did pose a question Henry hadn’t previously considered: How was his grandfather getting such specific results back from a lab that didn’t know to look for these things?
He didn’t have any time to consider that, however, as Mrs. McClure popped her head into his office.
“Patient for you,” she said, smiling. “Exam room one.”
He stood mechanically, hardly thinking about his own actions, and walked to the first room at the start of the hall. He didn’t even spare a look at he chart on the outside of the door as he opened to door. “Good morning,” he said, stopping in his tracks when he saw who it was.
Ruth Baker was sitting there, waiting for him.
“Ruth,” he said, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice and failing miserably. The second he saw her, the cloud hanging over his morning disappeared. “I mean, Miss Baker.”
She looked up at him, and there was something almost defiant in her gaze. Her face was flushed red, and she was obviously embarrassed, but she would not look away or back down. It must have taken a lot for her to seek him out, considering how she had been the one to leave the night before.
She was braver than he’d ever expected. He liked it.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was stilted and a little raw, like she’d recently been crying. Henry felt his heart rate jump at the very thought.
He stepped forward without thinking, and she dropped her gaze, staring at her knees as she continued. “I am sure this must be awful and awkward for you, but I didn’t know who else to go to.”
“Seeing you could never be awful.”
He could have smacked himself for how painfully obvious he was being. She probably thought he was crazy—hell, he sort of thought he was crazy. There was no way this girl was already so deep under his skin.
There was the faintest trace of a smile at the corner of her mouth, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. “I kept telling myself that if I was good enough, it would go away, but ….” The tears entered her voice again. “I don’t think I can be that kind of good anymore. I can’t handle this. I’m afraid I’ll hurt someone.”
The words were all in English, and grammatically, he understood them, but they were practically gibberish. “You have to tell me more than that, Ruth. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
Her eyes found his, dark brown and seemingly fathomless. “I can … do things.”
“I’m sorry, I still don’t understand what you—”
“Like the other people in town. June and Clayton and Frank and—I can do that.”
Henry’s stomach contracted into a knot. “You have powers?”
Ruth’s lower lip trembled, and she nodded. She looked so vulnerable, so upset. He couldn’t stand to see her this way. All his professionalism left him, and he found himself reaching out to cup her cheek, rubbing his thumb across her soft skin. He moved so suddenly that he didn’t even consider the repercussions until he was already standing before her, comforting her. It was like his body had taken over, refusing to let him over-think his actions.
“Can you show me?” He kept his voice low, soothing. When she looked up at him, he realized how close their faces were. Despite himself, his eyes darted down to her lips. That moment they had shared already felt too far away—he wanted to taste them again.
He shook his head. He was at the clinic—this was neither the time nor place.
Henry backed up a step, putting some space between them. Jesus, he couldn’t think straight around this girl! He’d never once acted so inappropriately around a patient, not in his clinicals or his residency or his time in Independence Falls. He needed to get a grip. Ruth was scared, trembling like a leaf on the paper-covered table. Now was not the time. If she was to be his patient, there would never be a time.
He couldn’t think about that right now.
If Ruth was perplexed by his strange behavior, she hid it well. She looked around the room, eyes darting back and forth. “Do you have a glass of water?”
“Oh, um. Sure. Hold on.” He grabbed a glass from one of the cupboards and filled it in the corner sink, then held it out to her. “Here you are.”
She shook her head and pointed at him. “It’s not for me, it’s for you.” She furrowed her brow, looking a little sad, but then squared her shoulders and sat up straight. “I’ll show you, just—don’t be scared of me, okay?”
“I won’t be,” he said. She seemed skeptical, but he had never made an easier promise.
Ruth slowly pushed the sleeves of her dress to her elbows, and then held up her bare forearms. She stared at them, squinting in concentration.
Nothing happened.
She glared at her arms through the narrow slit of her eyelids.
She frowned. “I don’t understand. Normally, I can’t make myself stop!”
Henry nodded at her, face serene. It wouldn’t do to upset her more. “It’s not a big problem. Why don’t you just describe what happens to me, and—”
“But it happens all the time!” She insisted. “And, of course, the one time I really need someone else to see, I can’t manage to—”
Her hands burst into flames.
Henry felt the heat of them hit his face, and he recoiled, but he could not tear his eyes away. The fire had come from nowhere, had simply risen out of her skin as it was just below the surface, waiting. The orange flames danced to her wrists and then farther up her arms; he was so mesmerized that he didn’t see the look of pain cross her face, not until she gave a yelp and began to shake her hands vigorously, trying to put them out.
The fire only grew. Henry glanced down at the water in his hand. It wouldn’t take care of what she had produced, but he had an idea ….
He threw the water at her face.
The flames died out instantly.
“Sorry, sorry!” The words came tumbling out of Henry before he could stop them, and he reached into a drawer for a small white towel. He nearly began to wipe at her face himself before it occurred to him that it might be crossing a line. Instead, he handed it to her. She pressed her face to the white terrycloth.
“I’m sorry. I thought a shock might help.”
She looked up, face red with embarrassment, rather than fire. “It’s fine. That was good, actually. It was starting to hurt.”
“Let me see your arms,” Henry said, drawing her right arm toward him with delicate fingers. The towel was still clutched in her left, and it dropped to her lap. Turning the arm in all directions, Henry tried to find some indication of damage. The skin was a little pink, but otherwise no worse for the wear.
“Does it always hurt you?”
Ruth shook her head. “No. Only if I can’t get myself under control—but I never can. I panic, and then it’s even harder to calm down.” She caught his eyes. “Can you fix me?”
“You’re not broken,” he told her. When she snorted, he pressed on. “I mean it. But even if I could take the powers away from you, we don’t know how yet. We don’t even really understand where they’re coming from.” That was not the complet
e truth, and the lie of it sat on his conscience uncomfortably.
Suddenly, Henry froze. This was it. Ruth was his chance. He had wanted to continue studying the anomaly, but he couldn’t go through normal channels—his grandfather would surely guard his secrets more carefully now. There would be no more unauthorized access to files.
Dr. Pinkerton hadn’t studied Ruth, however. Ruth had not been at the makeshift hospital where thirty people had been kept during the horrible illness. The man didn’t know Ruth’s powers existed.
Ruth was the perfect test subject.
His insides roiled at the thought. She was so much more than that to him.
Despite his misgivings, he found himself saying, “If you want, I could maybe do some tests. We could try to find the thing that changed you, isolate it, study it, and then look for a cure.”
There was a total void of emotion on Ruth’s face. She seemed overwhelmed. When she looked at him, her eyes were too wide. “You think that would work?”
Truthfully, he wasn’t sure, but it was better than the alternative, which included letting Ruth live in fear and allowing his grandfather to kill himself for the sake of this mystery.
“It’s worth a try. If you can come down to the clinic tomorrow, I can draw some blood and—”
The hopeful look left Ruth’s face abruptly. “Oh, we’d meet here? Never mind then.”
“What?”
“I am taking a huge risk coming here today. My father doesn’t believe in medicine.”
Henry snorted before he could stop himself. “It’s medicine, not Santa Claus.”
She gave him a stern, unamused look. “If he finds out I’m here, he’ll be unhappy with me, and I—I feel conflicted enough, but the fire happens, sometimes, when I’m asleep, and this morning I woke up and ….” She shivered. “I burned my bed in the night. I could have killed someone. I can’t handle this on my own anymore. I need help.”
She looked so small, so scared, and Henry knew he couldn’t let her walk out of the room without helping her. His conscience wouldn’t allow it. But how? They couldn’t sneak into the clinic after hours. His grandfather slept directly above, and he was bound to hear them.