IA_B.O.S.S.

by John Darryl Winston

  On their runs, Naz told Meri about his date but kept what he learned about Ham to himself. The more he thought or talked about it, the more he’d want to do something about it. It was better to put it out of his mind altogether.

  After their runs they enjoyed another extravagant dinner at MeeChi’s. This time Meri assisted in the preparation. She had managed to learn a thing or two in the culinary arts during her time off from making runs with Naz. She and Mr. Tesla promised Naz a surprise for the next day’s Thanksgiving feast. They assured him Tone would not be on the menu.

  On the way home Naz told Meri what his lab partner had revealed to him: that his pencil had moved all by itself when he had dozed off.

  “Well?” she probed.

  “Well what?”

  “Did you try to move the pencil again, when you were awake?”

  “First off, I don’t even know if she was telling the truth. Second, yes, when nobody was looking … and I couldn’t. It felt stupid.”

  “Stupid? Like Dr. Gwen said, you have to think you can do it.”

  “Uh … the word you’re searching for is, believe.”

  “Think, believe … what’s the difference? It’s probably like everything else; you need to practice. It has been over three years you know.”

  He looked at her and shook his head.

  “You know I’m right. Maybe you can only move things when you’re asleep.”

  “Wow, that’d be a great talent to have,” he said. “And I guess we’ll never know that either since you can’t stay awake long enough to catch me sleepwalking … like you suggested.”

  Meri tutted.

  As they turned onto their block, two boys walked in their direction. They were too far away to recognize, but Naz could sense right away something was out of place. He gave his key to Meri and instructed her to run home and let herself in at the first sign of trouble. They then crossed the street in Naz’s customary way to give the two boys a wide berth.

  The boys nodded with smug looks but kept walking.

  “That’s weird. I guess I was imagining things. That one with the mohawk is the one that stabbed Ham. I don’t recognize the blond with the glasses. It’s like they’re multiplying.”

  “We shouldn’t have to walk on the other side of our own street. This is where we live.”

  “Sounds like somethin’ Ham would say.”

  “Well it’s true.”

  “I know … and one day, we won’t have to,” Naz said as he watched the boys make their way down the street and he and Meri crossed back to their side. “Looks like we don’t have to worry about those guys anymore. I wonder what they’re doing around here anyway. Give me my key back. It looks like Miss Tracey isn’t here again.”

  There was no light coming from inside the house.

  “Let me do it,” said Meri with the key readied in her fingers.

  “What’s that humming sound?” asked Naz.

  “Sounds like beezzz …,” answered Meri.

  Naz’s ears directed his eyes to look up and find, not a beehive, but a little black box taped to the top of the screen door with wires sticking out of it.

  “Humph … that’s odd.” Naz looked back down the street to find the boys just standing there, watching. He looked back up at the black box and a chill ran through him. “They must’ve …” He looked down at Meri who was reaching for the screen door and yelled, “Wait!”

  But it was too late. There was a crack and a flash and Meri was blown off the porch onto the pavement and grass. Naz stood aghast for a second, then bolted toward her.

  “Meri!”

  She lay on her side, motionless.

  “Help!” he screamed, but there was no one in either direction.

  “No, Meri … Meri!” He rolled her onto her back and shook her frantically. “Meri!”

  There was still no response. He was wasting time, and he knew it. And the voice was back, only he couldn’t understand what it was saying, what he was saying, because whoever “he” was, was talking over himself, as if the same person was in an argument with a multitude of him-selves, and it grew louder to a point where Naz could hardly hear at all. He grabbed his ears, winced in pain, and looked up at the lone unlit streetlight on the corner, which shattered immediately.

  He barely remembered through his confusion that had happened several weeks before, as the gang had closed in on him, Meri, and Artie. It had shattered slowing the gang down—or did I shatter it? He looked back down. It was getting darker, but he could clearly see Meri’s lifeless face. He looked up into a clear grayish sky to see the sliver of the waning crescent moon, and he remembered Dr. Gwen’s advice about calming down when the voice encroached upon his world. He took a deep breath—and then another—and the voice subsided.

  “Meri,” he called to her in a stern, controlled tone, tapping her shoulder firmly. He stood up and paced around her. “I know this. We learned this. I-I need to do something … um … um … check the scene and call for help.” He looked around and yelled, “Help!” He dropped to his knees next to her. “Meri!” he called again. “Wake up! She’s not asleep; she’s …” He didn’t want to think about that. “She’s breathing … I, I know it.”

  His nose was running uncontrollably, and tears cut trails across his now dirty face. He wiped them away as best he could and took a deep breath. He didn’t have a lot of time; he had to act. He remembered Fears had said he wanted his students to feel comfortable enough to attempt CPR if a real-life situation should arise. In his mind, there was nothing comfortable about what he was about to do. He put one hand on her forehead and lifted her chin back and up with the other. He put the side of his face right next to her nose, and he watched her chest. He couldn’t feel or see anything. There was no air coming from her nose or mouth and her chest wasn’t going up and down.

  “She’s not breathing.” He wiped his face again and again as he cried relentlessly, his two-year, self-imposed dam involuntarily broken. He grabbed her wrist and searched for a pulse. There was none. This is not the best way, he thought, and he put two fingers near her throat but still found no heartbeat. “Thirty compressions and two breaths, right? Right,” he began to talk to himself. “Thirty compressions and two breaths,” he repeated as he started the cycles: twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty … puff … puff … twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty … puff … puff.

  After ten minutes, Naz was exhausted, but he kept going. Meri was still not responding, and there were no vital signs that Naz could detect. He would go forever if it would save his little sister’s life. But he knew he didn’t have forever, and time was almost up.

  “What am I doing wrong? It’s supposed to work!” he said. Then he remembered Fears saying ‘Most often performing CPR doesn’t work on the victim’, and he cursed. “Then why do they teach us this stupid stuff? That’s why I hate school; it’s a waste of time!” he yelled to the sky.

  He was desperate. Meri counted on him. She believed in him, that he was special. It was time he believed in himself, for her sake. He sat back on his haunches and took in the image of his dying sister, smoke wafting up from her hand. He closed his eyes and gave in to his subconscious.

  He remembered in science class the pictures of the heart and lungs. He remembered the model of the heart being about the size of his fist, and he moved his hand to his chest to feel his own heartbeat. He imagined Meri’s heart in his other hand, the vessels, the arteries, the blood, and he began to squeeze with a gentle force in time with his own heart. At the same time he imagined her diaphragm pulling down on her lungs and then releasing, causing them to fill with air then empty over and over again. Then he imagined Meri whole, perfect, strong, and powerful in her petite frame. There was a cough and the voice startling him back to consciousness. He opened his eyes to find Meri with her back arched and coughing profusely.

  “My name is Meridian Andersen,” said the voice.

  “Meri!” Naz screamed. There was still no response, but she was breathing now and her heart
was beating, which gave him hope. He needed to get her to a hospital. He picked her up in his arms and ran.

  He hadn’t been to a hospital since the first day he met his mother in the Exclave over three years ago, but he knew there had to be one close by, and he would run and ask until he found one. The Exclave spread out before him like an endless labyrinth of identical houses.

  “My name is Meridian Andersen,” the voice said again.

  Naz stopped, kneeled on one knee, shifting Meri’s weight, and turned around, but no one was there. He hadn’t heard the voice so clearly by itself in so long it surprised him. He looked at Meri, but she was still unconscious. He thought about Dr. Gwen and Meri’s theory that he could be hearing the thoughts of others—could it be Meri’s thoughts that I hear—but it wasn’t Meri’s voice. It was always the same voice, the voice he had heard the day his mother died, the first day of school during the knife fight and when he first saw D at the drinking fountain. It was a voice familiar to him now, almost calming—could it be my father’s voice? Dr. Gwen had introduced this theory in one of their earlier sessions—it has to be the sound of my father’s voice relaying the thoughts that I hear.

  “My name is Meridian Andersen.”

  “There it goes again,” Naz said as he looked at Meri.

  Naz was forming a theory of his own—it has to be Meri. If he was the only one who could hear these voices, or thoughts, then they must come through his mind, be a part of his mind, in his mind—I can … or … I should be able to imagine them sounding however I want them to sound … like anybody or anything. He stood up again, gathered himself and Meri, and focused on her, and only her, as he started running again. It was dusk now, and would be completely dark soon, but he didn’t care. He asked everybody he passed where a hospital was and continued running, his aching body barely carrying him in the direction they pointed. He never took his focus off Meri and what he imagined her voice to sound like.

  And there it was again, “My name is Meridian Andersen.”

  This time the voice morphed halfway through into the sound of Meri’s voice, and he knew he was hearing her thoughts. A chill ran through him as he was careful not to drop Meri, fought through his fatigue, and quickened his pace.

  At the hospital, Meri was placed in a critical care unit where doctors stabilized her. Naz was still somewhat in shock when the nurse behind the desk handed him a clipboard with paperwork to fill out. He motioned with his hand for a pen to write with, and she directed him with a nonchalant nod to one on the counter. When Naz went to pick it up, the pen jumped into his hand before he got to it, causing him to call out “hey,” in surprise. The nurse looked up at him. He looked at her blankly, hoping she hadn’t seen what had happened. He could tell by looking at her and listening, she had not.

  After what seemed like hours, the doctor came out and explained to Naz the electric current in the door Meri had touched was enough to stop her heart, as if she had suffered a massive heart attack. She was treated for a third degree burn on her hand and was in a coma, due again to the electric current. They would have to run a CT scan the next morning to assess the damage, if any, to her brain.

  Naz listened as one by one the words clicked in his mind like a morbid puzzle. The doctor told Naz it was his quick thinking that gave Meri a fighting chance at life, and he had saved her by giving her emergency CPR. But that was no consolation even though Naz knew from the doctor’s eyes he was being truthful and was truly optimistic about Meri’s chances for a full recovery.

  An hour later, police arrived at the hospital and questioned Naz about the events that took place earlier that evening. Shortly after that Miss Tracey showed up, hysterical, wanting to know what had happened. It was all Naz could do to restrain himself because he knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, she had something to do with it. Police officers trained in disarming booby traps and burglarproof gadgets were sent to Miss Tracey’s house to confirm Naz’s story and disable the device that charged the screen door. Later, Miss Tracey tried to get Naz to come home with her to get some rest, but he refused to leave Meri until she regained consciousness.

  When he was finally allowed to see Meri it made him sick. There were tubes coming out of her nose and arm, and her hand was wrapped in gauze—that can’t be Meri lying there.

  “Wake up, Firecracker,” he whispered as traitor tears began to flow again. He made no effort this time to wipe them away, and they fell to the floor. As he put his head down to watch them fall he thought to pray, but no words would come his way.

  “My name is Meridian Andersen,” said the voice.

  “Meri,” called Naz as he looked up upon hearing her voice, but she was still in a coma.

  “Meri,” he called again. This time he got closer to her and grabbed her hand. He watched intently.

  “My name is Meridian Andersen,” the voice said again.

  Hearing her thoughts this time made him jump. To see Meri so lifeless and know that she was still in there, somewhere alone and unable to free herself spooked him, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He ran out of the room.

  He stood in the bustling emergency waiting room, oblivious to all around him, bombarded with voices. He looked out of the large window into the darkness, contemplating what was left of his world as he tried to suppress them. Another day that had started out so kind and warm had ended in cold disaster—could things get any worse? He hadn’t called anyone other than Miss Tracey, and the nurse made him call her, but he didn’t want to hear from anyone else, not Dr. Gwen, not Mr. Tesla and the other merchants, not Fears or his brothers on the team, not even D. He couldn’t handle the questions and the advice and especially the pity, but he knew at some point he had to let everyone know what had happened. It was the right thing to do, and they would be concerned—I’ll call them in the morning. He looked up at the clock in the cold room—it is morning, twelve o’clock in the morning.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” the voices said repeatedly.

  “Thanksgiving morning,” he laughed, as he began to get angry. “I have nothing to be thankful for. It could’ve been worse, right? I mean, it might as well be.” He balled up his fists. “Why not take everybody from me?” he yelled, looking up at the ceiling as he wiped his watering eyes.

  The waiting room quieted a bit at his outburst, then returned to its bustling state.

  He realized he was making a scene, sat back down, calmed himself, and tried to block out the voices that haunted him. He was completely enveloped in his thoughts. He needed to make plans. What would he do now—what will Meri and I do now, because she will be OK? He was determined to think positive. Negative thinking had gotten him nowhere. Fears always talked about the power of positive thinking. That day at his house he said he had learned it from my dad.

  “I hope he’s OK,” the voice said.

  Naz shook his head to cast the voices out and continued to think. In the morning, he would let everyone know what had happened—and then Meri and I will have to find someplace else to live. They couldn’t go back there ever again—strike that. We’ll go back with Coach, Harvis, and Soul, get our stuff, and then never go back again, but we’re not grown. She might not let us go. She can’t make us stay.

  “I never should’ve let her drive home from that party.”

  Naz tried to ignore the voice.

  He began to feel drowsy—we could stay at MeeChi’s … or Coach’s, or better yet, Dr. Gwen’s. But they couldn’t be a burden on anyone—that would be bad. He was fading fast—I’m sure she’d enjoy having the human lab rat around full time to poke and prod at. Next year Meri would be at International Academy—maybe I can too. Maybe the General can pull some strings for me and we can all leave this place behind.

  “It wasn’t my fault. Do I have to stay here all night?” asked the voice.

  A deep, heavy fog of lethargy washed over him—my name is Meridian Andersen, he thought, as his eyes closed without permission.

  Naz thought he heard somebody ask his name as he crept bac
k into consciousness.

  “My name is Meridian Andersen,” he said opening his eyes.

  There was a little boy with a bandage wrapped around his head holding his hand out to Naz with something in it. It was the key Dr. Gwen had given him. The unbreakable clasp that kept it around his neck had apparently come undone. Naz could barely understand the little boy.

  “Fine it unna flo,” said the little boy.

  “Huh?” Naz jumped up and hurried past the little boy to nurse’s desk.

  “Have there been any changes, Ma’am?”

  “I’m sorry, young man.” The nurse shook her head.

  “Thank you.” Naz looked back at the little boy. “What happened to him?”

  “Carjacking. A homeless man brought him in early this morning.”

  “Where’s his parents?” asked Naz apprehensively, knowing the nurse’s probable answer.

  The nurse shook her head.

  “Thanks again.” Naz walked back over to the little boy, picked him up, and sat him in the chair so his legs were swinging.

  “Fine it unna flo,” said the little boy again, as he held the key out to Naz.

  Naz took the key from the little boy. “Find it under floor? Oh … you mean, found it on the floor. What’s your name little man?”

  “Gabe.”

  “Thank you, Gabe.”

  “Fine it unna flo.” Gabe pointed to the key in Naz’s hand. Naz smiled and sat with Gabe for a while.

  It was light outside: a new day, but it didn’t change all the pain and suffering around him. Some of the chorus members might have changed in the night, but they were still singing the same tune, and it depressed him. Naz checked the desk again to see if there had been any change in Meri’s condition through the night. There hadn’t.

  He needed to get some air, clear his head. He took a walk, first just around the hospital, then a little further out. It was noticeably colder than the day before, and he could see his breath rise before him as he walked—apropos. He didn’t want to get too far away; he wanted to be there when Meri woke up. He would call everyone soon, but not just yet. He still didn’t feel he could handle all that attention. My name is Meridian Andersen. Why does she keep saying that? She must be stuck in some kind of dream loop or something. Why Meridian Andersen and not Meridian Slaughter? She’s obviously changed her name. I don’t blame her. He looked at the key in his hand and thought about what D had said—a journal … a diary!