A wall of white light hurled itself out of the door. The wall shimmered intensely. It hit him and the nurse, and they both threw up their arms to protect their eyes from the brightness. Mark thought briefly this must be like what it feels like to die. Then, just as quickly as the wall of light hit them, it was gone. Mark glanced behind him to see it pass through the door out of Labor and Delivery and into the waiting room — commotion and shouts followed it.
“What the…” the man in scrubs breathed.
Mark took one look at him and ran for the door he knew his wife was behind. If anything had happened to her or their little boy… He threw open the door into a room of chaos. Worktables were knocked over, and medical gear lay strewn where it had hit the ground. One nurse was helping another to her feet. One thing Mark noticed right away was his wife was lying on her back, breathing in short breaths and grimacing. Apparently, what had happened wasn’t going to interrupt her getting the baby out.
Mark smiled in relief. The next thing to strike him was the looks the doctor and the nurses were giving his wife. It was a mixture of confusion, shock, and a little bit of fear. He looked back at his wife. There didn’t seem to be anything out of place with her, other than she was trying to give birth and nobody seemed to be helping her now.
Mark looked at the doctor and shouted at him. “Is she going to have to do this by herself or is someone going to help her?”
The doctor broke his stare with Mark’s wife and met Mark’s eyes. He stared at Mark for a moment before getting a hold of himself and nodded. The doctor moved to Amy.
“Okay, Amy, I’m going to need you to give me another big push here. The baby is crowning nicely, just a little more. That’s it, another push. Take some deep breaths.”
As the doctor was instructing his wife, Mark moved over to Amy’s side and took her hand. He leaned down and kissed her sweaty forehead. Amy smiled up at him tensely before giving another grimace to push some more.
“You are doing great, sweetie.” Mark squeezed her hand to reassure her everything was all right. He hadn’t been able to figure out what had happened with the light, yet. He would have thought he imagined it if everyone else hadn’t appeared to have seen it. But Amy was all right, and that was what was important.
He was thinking how lucky he was to have a wife like Amy and to be having a baby boy with her when he heard the wail of a newborn. He looked towards where the doctor held a baby still wet with afterbirth. He couldn’t believe his eyes. His baby was right there, a little one with blonde hair pasted to its forehead. Its little hands curled up and pudgy.
Mark watched as they removed the umbilical and suddenly froze. He looked back to the doctor, but the doctor seemed to be avoiding his eyes. Mark was confused. This baby was a girl. Not a boy. He glanced down at his wife and saw she was smiling and looking at the baby as well. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed yet? The nurse to Amy’s right, who obviously didn’t know there was a problem, leaned over.
“So, do you have a name picked out yet?”
Mark was just about to ask where the hell his son was when he heard Amy answer the nurse.
“Sylvanis. Her name is Sylvanis.”
“What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” the nurse replied.
Mark stared down at his wife, looked back at the smiling nurse, then back to his wife.
“Are you okay, sir? Do you want to sit down? Have some water?” The nurse moved to his side and took his arm, moving him towards a chair in the corner.
Numbly he let her move him. She must have seen the look of bafflement on his face and mistook it for queasiness. He sat. Mark looked around the room. Everyone was acting like nothing was wrong. The only person who seemed to be acting strange…beside him obviously, was their doctor, who was conveniently avoiding eye contact with him.
Their doctor, of course, would know something was wrong. He had, after all, been there when they looked at the sonogram and saw the baby boy. Why did Amy have a name for the girl? Why didn’t she seem surprised it was a girl? Mark saw they were taking the baby away from Amy who had been holding her till now. He guessed the nurse was going to clean the afterbirth off her, and it would be a while before they would see her again. Mark saw Doctor Jeffrys move to the door. So, he stood up and rushed after him. The doctor had barely made it out into the hall when he caught up to him and grabbed his arm to spin him around.
“What the hell just happened, Doc?” Mark tried to keep his voice calm, but knew he wasn’t doing a good job of it.
Doctor Jeffrys looked at him for a moment then shook his head.
“I have no idea. As far as I knew, you should be holding a baby boy, not a baby girl. The sonogram clearly showed male genitals. It just doesn’t make any sense.” He kept shaking his head as he turned away. Mark watched him go. He turned around as he heard the door open behind him. They wheeled Amy out in a wheelchair. They stopped in front of him.
“Hey,” Amy said tiredly to him. “I suppose you are a little confused, eh?”
“A little, yeah.”
“Me, too,” she responded.
“Well, you didn’t seem too confused when you pulled a name out of thin air for her.” He knew he was getting belligerent, and she didn’t deserve it, but he couldn’t help it. He was confused and angry. The nurse who had been pushing Amy was giving him a look that said she thought he was crossing a line.
“It just came to me.”
He looked hard at her, and then his look softened. “So, you really didn’t know?”
“How could I? I was there during the ultrasounds, too, Mark. But when she came out and I looked at her. I don’t know… Suddenly, I just knew what her name was. It was like I heard it… like she told me.” She smiled a crooked smile at him. “Sounds crazy, no?”
“Not anymore crazy than our baby changing sex on us.” He looked up at the nurse who was trying to pretend she wasn’t listening.
“We’re ready to go to the room now,” he said to the nurse. She nodded and began pushing Amy. Mark fell into step beside her. Amy reached up her hand and Mark took it in his and gave it a squeeze. They got to the room and Mark helped Amy into the bed.
“What was that light?” he asked her.
“What light?”
“You didn’t see it?” Mark questioned; a little bit surprised since it almost knocked him down. She shook her head.
“What was it?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. It came from inside the room you were in. And, by the looks everyone was giving you when I came in, I would say the light came from you.”
A look of shock came over her and quickly changed to a look of fear.
“Mark, what is going on?”
Her look made him want desperately to tell her what was happening… but he had no idea.
“Well, will you look at this? I can’t believe it.” Sarah leaned over the microscope, her auburn hair parted at the middle, falling to either side of the microscope, almost concealing it in a veil of hair. The hospital lab was completely dark except for the two lamps — one at her desk, the other at Sean’s desk where her co-worker pretended to work.
It was the middle of the night and Sarah and Sean had the lucky job of working night shift running lab tests at St. Joseph Hospital in Chicago. They had about two more hours left on their shifts and Sarah was running blood tests on a car accident victim. Sean pushed back his chair and it rolled slightly as he pivoted to stand. He crossed the room to peer over Sarah’s microscope.
“Okay, and what am I supposed to be looking at here?” He glanced at her with the blank look he usually gave her.
“It’s a wonder you ever passed med school, Sean. What you are looking at is a sample of blood that contains all the necessary aspects it should. You know red blood cells, white blood cells, platelets…”
He smirked at her showing his lack of enthusiasm for her sarcasm.
“…and also, a decent number of pluripotent cells.” She looked at him, and he stared back at her. It truly was
a wonder he ever passed med school. She assumed it was his good looks that got him through without knowing much of anything.
It was a little annoying to find him attractive with his unruly blonde hair that never quite looked styled, but she knew he made a weekly stop at the barber. Of course, there was his blue eyes and strong cheekbones. He spent a little too much time making himself look good was the problem. She would guess he spent at least ten more minutes than her in the bathroom getting ready. Yet, when he stared at her, she couldn’t help thinking thoughts she shouldn’t, especially since the stare he gave her was one of stupidity. He usually didn’t understand half the stuff she said to him. Definitely not my type, she thought.
“Pluripotent cells are basically stem cells, or cells that haven’t fully matured into the cells they are going to become. They are unique because they have the ability to become whatever cell they need to become.”
She felt like she was teaching class, but she needed to say it out-loud so she could think through it as she said it. Even though it had been a few years since that part of her anatomy class, she was sure she was remembering it right.
“The thing is, most adults have very few pluripotent cells. This guy has them free floating in his blood stream.” Sarah sat back and peered up at the ceiling. She was still trying to get her head around this one.
As far as she knew, this was almost impossible. She was no expert in stem cells in the least, but she was sure she would have heard something about this. This would have hit the medical world by storm if they knew about it. Holy shit, she thought. I’m gonna be rich! She glanced back at Sean to see if it had dawned on him yet. But he was still looking at her blankly. Thank god he is an idiot. Slowly she pulled the slide off the microscope and capped the blood back up.
“So, what you are saying, Sarah? Does he have a disease or something?” Sean looked self-satisfied he had finally been able to figure out what she was trying to say. Although he got it wrong.
“Well, I’m not sure, Sean. It’s been a while since school. Maybe it is more normal than I’m thinking...yeah…forget I mentioned it.”
Sean nodded to her as if that was a good enough explanation for him, which it probably was and wandered back to his desk.
Now she just needed to run some more tests, but she also needed to get this guy to let her run them. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too much of a problem.
Clint Wallace reclined in the hospital bed flipping through the limited channel options on his room’s TV. It had been a couple of hours since the accident and he was still feeling a little sore. He probably should press the button to notify the nurse his painkillers had worn off, but he thought better of it. He wasn’t much for drugs. Besides, he knew the pain would go away soon enough. He never stayed hurt for long.
The truth was, he hadn’t even wanted to go to the hospital, but because of the severity of the crash, the EMS insisted. He tried to tell them he would be fine, but he was pretty sure they thought he was in shock and didn’t know what he was saying.
He touched the bandage on his forehead where he had hit the windshield. It didn’t hurt to touch it, so he figured it had probably healed by now. The wound on his leg where his bone had broken through was still a little tender and he figured it would take just a tad bit longer since it had been worse.
He changed the channel a few more times before turning the TV off in frustration. He hated being stuck here. It always led to questions. Questions he really couldn’t answer. Clint didn’t have any answers the last time he was in a car wreck and that was when he was five. That accident took both of his parents’ lives. He didn’t have answers then and he didn’t have any answers now, all these years later.
For fifteen years, he had pretty much been on his own. At least since he was twelve when he ditched his foster family for life on the streets of Chicago.
He joined a local street gang, but luckily, not one of the bad ones. This gang was mainly younger kids who didn’t mess with guns or drugs. They hung out, beat up the occasional trespasser who wandered onto their turf and did some minor theft just to get by with food and booze. It was a tough life and by looking at Clint, you could tell.
He was tall and lanky, but solidly built. He had broad shoulders and was muscular. Clint spent a good deal of time being the tough guy, and that meant getting into fights. He learned early on it wasn’t just knowing how to fight, but having some muscle to back it up, so he made friends with the owner of a local boxing gym, running errands and such for him. In turn, he could use the weights, and learn how to fight. He beefed up, got quick, and soon he was seldom the loser of any fight he found himself in.
His thoughts went back to today’s car accident, and naturally to the one he had when he was young. He had repressed the events after his accident with his parents. After all, he was only five, and the memory was not a pleasant one. The tragic events, and what happened to him afterwards, he had blocked out of his head. But he was quickly reminded of it when one of his gang stupidly pissed off a member of another gang… one of the bad ones.
He remembered that night like it was yesterday. Jack, Two-toes, Frankie, Crank and he were chatting up some hotties in front of Frank’s Hotdogs when the red El Camino came around the corner. Two-toes, the idiot who pissed off the guy, was the first to recognize the car and yelled “oh shit.” Clint turned his head to see what Two-toes was looking at. There were five loud bangs. Clint felt a searing pain in his side and left arm. The girls ran screaming up the street. He remembered hearing Two-toes groan to his left.
Everything seemed to go in slow motion as he watched the El Camino peel out and take off down the street. People were running everywhere, not wanting to be around the boys who had just been shot, probably in fear there would be another shooting. He remembered the feeling of not being strong enough to stand and sinking to his knees.
Two-toes sprawled in front of him and blood soaked the front of his shirt like an ink-blot. It was darker around Two-toes’ stomach and lightened up as it spread. Two-toes coughed up blood. Strange how it was making bubbles as it came from his lips. He watched each bubble as it rose from Two-toes’ lips, got bigger, then burst. He remembered looking into Two-toes’ eyes and watching the life drain from them. The next thing he knew, he heard sirens. Jack and Frankie were lifting him, shouting they needed to get out of there. For some reason, the running helped blot out the pain.
A quick examination of himself as they cut through side streets let him know he had taken a bullet through his left side. It had punctured in the back and left cleanly through the front. The shot he took to his arm apparently hit the bone as it made its way through because the bullet was sticking partially through his skin.
He grabbed and yanked it out, burning his fingers slightly. The bullet dropped to the street as they cut through an apartment complex. By the time they stopped running, making it to one of their hideouts, an old, abandoned clothing factory, the bleeding stopped. Within another twenty minutes the hole in the front of his arm closed as well. The wounds in his side seemed to be healing a little slower, as if making the repairs from the inside out. His friends exchanged looks he pretended to miss.
He always healed quickly; bruises disappeared within minutes, minor scrapes didn’t last more than five, but this was different. This was miraculous. This was insane. The wounds didn’t even hurt anymore, they just felt uncomfortably warm. By the time they were sure no one followed them, or were looking for them, the two wounds in his side were closed.
His friends never brought it up or mentioned it. With Two-toes’ death, the gang split apart after that. He chalked it up to the loss of Two-toes, but he was never sure. Jack, Frankie and Crank just never seemed to talk to him the same anymore after that. They would make jokes, give a strained laugh, glance at him, and then shut up.
Well after that, he just wandered around, working odd jobs to get food before he got lucky. The wife of the owner of the boxing gym opened a restaurant and needed someone to work late shifts and close s
hop most nights. Plus, she was willing to pay well.
On top of that, the restaurant she opened was in an old duplex and the upstairs was still usable for living. She offered him a job and a place to stay, all he had to do was close the restaurant five nights a week. Since he lived above it, he also needed to check it at night to make sure no one tried to break in. It was an ideal situation for him. He was on his own and he had his own place. For the first time since his parent’s death he felt like he was home. Jim and Mayanne, the owners, were pleasant people who were willing to give him a chance. Instead of seeing someone from the street, they saw someone with potential.
Then everything went wrong a few months ago. He remembered exactly when. He was watching the TV in his room about the big London earthquake. It was the last thing he remembered that night.
He came to, sprawled out on his recliner, and in a lot of pain. It felt as if all his bones hurt, his hands and feet throbbed, his face and jaw were aching. The most disturbing thing was the fact he was covered in blood: his face, his chest and his hands. At first, he figured he had been hurt, hurt bad and it was his blood. But he wasn’t hurt anymore because his body had repaired itself.
He didn’t understand how he had hurt himself or when. As far as he could tell, he hadn’t left his apartment, but he must have hurt himself, and the damage was repaired before he awoke.
That was what he told himself, at least, until it happened again.
The second time was even weirder. He was working at the restaurant at the time. The sensation was immediate, and he had this overwhelming desire to flee, to run away from all the people in the restaurant. Luckily, his assistant manager was there finishing up with her paperwork from the day shift. He begged and pleaded with her, telling her he needed to go, he wasn’t feeling well. He didn’t remember everything he told her, only that she finally agreed to stay. He ran out of the restaurant. He kept running for some time, then nothing.
Once again, he awoke, but this time in someone’s backyard. He was lying next to a mangled corpse of a dog, it looked shredded into several pieces. Again, he was covered in blood. Panicked, he ran, managing to find his way back to his apartment without running into anyone who would see all the blood. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t tell anyone. Who would believe him? And, if they did believe him, they would probably lock him up and throw away the key. After all, having blackouts resulting in your tearing apart the flesh of some dog sounded crazy.
The Awakening Box Set Page 5
