by J. D. Dexter
“I’m ready.”
“I’ll let them know. Just push the nurse button if you need me again.” He stands to leave.
“Hunter…thank you.” I say quietly, a little piece of my heart already his.
“Finley…you’re welcome.” His equally quiet reply barely reaches me just before he walks out the door.
Chapter Ten
After a couple minutes, everyone tromps back into the room in a single file line. The somber looks and dejection on my parents’ faces breaks my already aching heart. I reach my hand out to my mom as she sneaks another peek at me from behind her hair.
She hurries to the bed, grasping my hand in her unsteady one. I pull her in for a hug, her body quaking in my arms. She’s whispering something I can’t quite make out, but it sounds like she’s saying the same thing over and over and over.
Dad comes over and wraps himself around Mom, holding us both in his arms. “We love you so much, nugget. We love you so, so much.”
“I love you guys, too. So, so much.” I cry into my mom’s neck.
We hold each other a couple more minutes before separating, each of us wiping our eyes and noses.
My boys take the place of my parents and I’m once again wrapped in the arms of people I love, surrounded by comfort and acceptance. I take a couple moments to simply soak up the love, and remember who I am. Even if I’m not biologically related to any of these people, they are mine, and I’m theirs.
Our love-fest lasts a few minutes more, finding comfort and peace after the chaos. Everyone spreads out over the room, Mom coming back to sit on the lumpy bed with me.
“Let’s start all of this over,” Dad starts. “Mark, tell us what you can about ANK-23.”
“Like I told the boys and Finley, I can’t share very much due to the project being proprietary,” he reiterates.
“Then tell us what pertains to Finley,” Dad restates, his eyes fierce.
“First, I think George and Alice need to hear about some new things, Finley,” Josh says, his eyes overly wide.
“What is Josh talking about, nugget?” Mom asks. She sounds like she’s nearing the end of her ability to cope gracefully.
“Today appears to be the day for new and shocking revelations.” I clear my throat. Open my mouth…and nothing comes out.
I’m getting an inkling of why my parents kept their secret for so long.
I try it again. A dry rasping can be heard as I swallow to try to get more moisture in my mouth.
“Ihavespecialpowersthatallowmetohealmyselfandothers.” I have my head angled towards to my lap, trying to avoid see my mom’s face.
Crickets.
The boys look a little smug, probably glad it’s not them facing off with my mom and dad right now.
“What did you just say?” Dad looks confused.
“I have special powers that allow me to heal myself and others,” I say a little slower this time, wincing. It doesn’t sound any better at a slower pace. I peek at my dad from under the fringe of my bangs.
“What?” Mom looks more confused than ever.
“Finley, start from the beginning. This is going to take us forever at this rate,” Brian butts in.
“I have been healing myself since I was a child. I can also tell when people are lying. And I can see emotions, pain, and distress using a different type of vision.”
“What?!?!” It comes in surround sound. Every single person is looking at me with their mouths hanging open.
“What, what?” I ask. I’d already shared this with the boys. Don’t they remember? You know a couple of days ago, right before I got shot. It was kind of a big deal.
“Didn’t we just go over this, guys?” I ask. What is wrong with these boys?
“Not that you have a different type of vision!” Brian and Brent say in unison. Josh just shakes his head, his eyes wide, this time in surprise.
“Oh.” I could have sworn that I told them that part. “You’re sure I didn’t tell you that part?”
“No!” All the boys yell at me.
“Whoopsie daisy,” I say a little sheepishly.
“Moving on.” Good ol’ dad to the rescue. “Explain yourself, Finley. Now, please.”
I feel like I’m fourteen again, and getting into trouble for not being careful hanging out with the boys.
Wiggling in the bed like I’ve got ants in my pants, “Dad.” I really have traveled back in time…to middle school.
“Don’t ‘dad’ me, young lady. Explain yourself.”
I sigh.
“I call it the Spectrum. Different emotions, pain, various other internal things all show up as different colors, all the colors of the spectrum—hence the name.”
“That’s how you can tell people are lying.” Dad makes it a statement rather than a question.
“Yes.”
“How does the ‘healing yourself and others’ work?”
“I’m not sure about that. Apparently, Aunt Cynthia saw me do it, which is why she felt she needed to protect Mark and the boys. Using the Spectrum, I can see the different layers of the body systems, which ones are functioning correctly, which ones aren’t. The only person I’ve ever healed, other than myself, is Josh.” I look over at him. He comes over and kisses my forehead.
“When I heal myself, I focus on the areas of dysfunction, and move my—energy, for lack of a better word—to the places that are damaged. I can manipulate how quickly or slowly the repair takes. It took me forever to figure out the vascular and nervous systems.” I try out a chuckle.
Everyone looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“I’m just glad I got it figured out a couple of years ago, otherwise Josh might not be with us.” I squeeze his hand as he gives me a wink.
“How did you figure it out?” Dad’s looking like he’s at the end of his patience.
“Um,” I delay.
Everyone’s going to freak out, I just know it.
“Now, Finley.” Mom’s Charge Nurse voice is on full, and she’s barking orders she expects to be followed quickly and efficiently.
“I might have given myself various injuries, within controlled settings, in order to learn how to do delicate healing.” It comes out with a distinctly defiant tone that I hadn’t planned on.
Crap, crap, crap.
Now I’m in big trouble. My mom doesn’t take any crap from me, life-threatening hospital stay or not.
“Finley Marie Tindol!” Mom yells. All of the boys take a big step back. Josh even drops my hand to scoot back. My mom rarely gets furious, but when she does…watch out.
“What?!?” I glare at everyone, except my mom and dad. “I knew what I was doing. And I knew I could heal any of the damage I did to myself. I wasn’t in any danger.” Hunching my shoulders, I’m transported to defending myself every time I tried to do something the boys did, but I wasn’t allowed.
“What would have happened if you had cut too deeply? Or you couldn’t heal yourself in time? Finley, you could have died!” Mom’s diamond-hard tone could cut glass.
“I had it under control, Mom,” I say begrudgingly. I give her my best puppy-dog eyes to soften her up.
“Don’t you sass me, young lady. I’m mad at you.” She crosses her arms over her diminutive chest.
“Mom, come on. Not in front of my friends.” I widen my eyes, exaggeratedly nodding at the boys behind her.
“I’m still mad at you. You could have been seriously hurt,” she says. She’s losing some of her anger.
“I know. But it was a couple of years ago now, so there’s nothing you can do about it. I’m here, I’m safe.”
Dad’s harrumph fills the space.
“I’m safe now,” I amend.
“So, you think this special ability of yours is somehow tied into what Mark is researching?”
“That’s my only guess.” I shrug my shoulders. “I’m pretty sure my central heterochromia is found in more than one in one thousand people’s genes.”
“Undoubtedly. This i
s more involved that central heterochromia,” Mark asserts. “I haven’t started looking into what ANK-23 impacts on the physiological side. I just know that it’s represented in a very small percentage of available samples.”
“Where have you gotten these samples?” Brent asks. I’m pretty sure he’s been wanting to ask this question since before I got shot.
“I had planned to answer that, but then Finley got shot, so it put a hold on this part of the discussion. We source our DNA samples from public genealogy sites. You know, the ones where you spit in a tube and send it in? Syv Global owns a variety of these sites. People never look at the fine print to where their samples end up after they get their ancestry results. We obtain the legal rights to the samples, so nothing we are doing is illegal,” Mark explains.
“And this research was started by looking for different cancer markers?” Dad asks.
“Yes. However, I’ve moved past cancer markers. Not that there wasn’t ample evidence for cancer markers, but this was a revolutionary find. I was told to focus solely on this aspect of the research,” Mark clarifies.
“Does anyone else know what Finley can do?” Mom asks. She’s been petting my head this entire time. I’m getting a little headache from the pressure against my head, but can’t bring myself to move away from her at the moment. We’re both a little fragile right now.
“No one at my office knows that Finley is special.” Mark shakes his head.
Once again, I feel like I should be wearing a helmet with a drool cup riding at the back of the short bus.
“Stop calling me special like that,” I shout.
Everyone looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“I hate it when you call me special in that soppy tone of voice.” I huff at them all. I’m a little embarrassed about my outburst, but it drives me insane when people say ‘special’ like that.
“Yikes. Sharpen your teeth on someone else, Fin. We aren’t implying anything. What do you want us to call you?” Josh puts his hands up in surrender.
“Sorry, sorry.” I know I’ve overreacted, and I’m a little ashamed of myself for that. “How about ‘enhanced’? Does that work for everybody?” I ask.
“Really angling for the Agent Clark endorsement, huh, Finley?” Brent asks.
“Heck yeah. If I’m going to be a superhero, I need to have cool powers, not be ‘special.’” I add the air quotes with a sneer. “Besides, I like how enhanced sounds. Now I just need a name to get me onto the Avengers’ roll call.” I reason with them all.
Mom and Dad are snickering, the boys are straight up laughing, and Mark looks like he’s eaten a lemon—pinched face and all.
“We’ll come up with a good nickname for you, Fin. Have no fear.” Josh reassures me.
“Kids these days,” Dad huffs, a slight smile on his face.
“Just can’t stay focused,” Mark joins him.
“Old people these days.” Brian juts his thumb at his dad, snickering.
“Just don’t respect a good superhero formation,” Brent slides in quickly.
“Back to the current situation.” Mom says in her you-better-listen-to-me voice, one eyebrow raised in warning.
“If I have these genetic markers for ANK-23, I had to have gotten them from my biological donors, right?” I ask Uncle Mark.
“That is the most logical, and scientific, explanation, yes,” he affirms.
“Mom, Dad, do you have my adoption records? Anything from when you got me?” I ask them. Mom blinks her eyes like she’s trying to stave off more tears. Dad looks like he’s eating the other half of Mark’s lemon.
At least Mom and Dad shared the big bomb with everyone else, so I didn’t have to try to have that conversation with the boys. Thank goodness for small favors.
“Of course, we have all of the proper documents. They’re in a safe deposit box here in Wichita,” Dad replies.
“Can you go get them? We can meet at my house. I’m hoping to get released either today or tomorrow. I really don’t want to discuss this in the hospital anymore than we absolutely need to.”
“Dr. Jamison still wants to run a battery of tests to make sure you weren’t exposed to that second attacker.” Dad still looks a little worried.
“I had forgotten about him.” I look over at Brian.
I must have looked guilty because Brian narrows his eyes at me. I can feel my shoulders hunching up around me ears. My attempts to look innocent failing spectacularly, especially since everyone’s glaring at me.
“What’s wrong, Finley?” Brian goads. “Something to share with the rest of us?”
I glare at him. Jerk. He just puckers his lips and blows me a kiss.
“I wasn’t exposed to anything from the second attacker,” I inform the room. The glares turn into confusion, and a creepily satisfied look on Mark’s face.
“What? How do you know?” Mom wants to know.
“Yes. I’m interested to hear that answer as well.”
Dr. Jamison has come back in the room.
Chapter Eleven
Shocked silence fills the room. All eyes are once again on me. I meet each of my family member’s eyes, having no idea what to do. Brent gives me a slight nod. I feel my heart rate slow back down into the normal range. The infernal beeping sharing with the room my anxiety.
“I’m waiting for an answer, please.” Dr. Jamison does not sound like the Hunter I shared with a little bit ago, this Dr. Jamison’s voice is cold and angry.
“Dr. Jamison…” Brent starts.
Holding up his hand in the universal sign for stop, “I’m going to stop you right there. I’m in charge of her medical care. We have a dead body with no outward signs of trauma. This leaves diseases and internal issues as causes. She was in direct contact with this man, therefore she needs to be cleared, medically, before she is allowed to leave this facility. I’m the one who will be clearing her. I have a right to know if she is a health risk to the greater population.” The hurt on his face is easy to see. His pain makes my stomach hurt.
“Guys, give us a minute.” I tell everyone else, my eyes on Dr. Jamison’s.
“Finley, I think-” Mark begins.
“I know, Uncle Mark. I’ll only tell him what he needs to know about me,” I reassure him.
Mark looks highly skeptical, but he nods and follows everyone else out of the room.
At this point, we might as well put in a revolving door.
Brian leans in and says something else to Dr. Jamison. Dr. Jamison glares at him and nods.
“Ms. Tindol.” Ouch, back to Ms. Tindol. I swallow the lump of sadness that fills me.
“Hunter…” He glares at me. “Dr. Jamison. Just listen. Please.” My eyes plead with him to let me explain everything.
He stares at me for a couple moments before he nods at me. He takes a seat at the end of my bed, and just sits there silently with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for me to wow him with my explanation.
Taking a deep breath, I launch into the story. Leaving out the parts that don’t concern me personally, I tell him everything.
I finally wind down, letting everything I’ve shared sink in.
“Okay.” He nods once…twice. He seems to be taking this really well. It’s kind of freaking me out a little.
“Okay?” I repeat, unsure I’ve heard him correctly.
“Yeah. There’s no possible way you could have healed all of the damage I saw when you first came in here. Yet you jumped out of the bed to try to get away from the gunman. You healed everything didn’t you?” he asks quietly. Watching me closely.
I really don’t know how to feel about his easy acceptance.
“Yes.” I nod slightly, looking for danger in his words or actions.
“So, I’m guessing you had something to do with how the attacker went down?” I can’t figure out what I’m hearing in his voice, but whatever it is scares me just a little.
“Yes,” I answer honestly, keeping steady eye contact.
He just sits
there watching me. Looking for something in my own eyes, I guess. I watch him watching me.
His head tilts to the side, a tiny smile edging the corners of his lush mouth.
I feel a little light-headed seeing the shift in his demeanor.
“Okay,” he says. “I’m guessing since you can heal yourself and others—which I would love to see in action sometime—you can also do the reverse?”
“Honestly, I had no idea that would happen. I’ve never been able to see inside someone who wasn’t in my direct eye line. But with his skin touching mine, I guess I could pick him up. His body looked like I was looking at him through a thermal camera. “
I noticed two different spots in his body that were in the red range of colors. For me, that generally means emotional distress or dysfunction in the body. Considering how slowly he was breathing into my hair, I didn’t think he was in emotional distress.”
“When I looked a little harder, one of the areas of dysfunction was going off like a neon red strobe light; the other area was more pinkish in color and was pulsing like a really slow heartbeat.”
“I focused my energy—I still need to come up with a better word for it—and sent it towards the pink spot. Thinking about it now, that spot was in his upper chest area, and the neon red nearer his lower trunk. At the time, I wasn’t sure where the two different areas were, so I just went with my gut and chose the more sluggishly moving spot of dysfunction. I’m not really sure why or what prompted my picking that specific spot.” I shrug my shoulders, shaking my head slightly.
“Well, it looked like he suffered from some type of hemorrhagic fever, which is why we needed to do testing on you, to make sure you weren’t, aren’t, a carrier. That isn’t something we can have floating around the city. But if you were the cause for his death, then we can forego the testing.” He’s taking more notes now.
“What are you going to tell the hospital?” I ask, breath trapped in my lungs, heart stuck in my throat. I can’t have this getting out. I could be in serious danger if it gets out that I can heal and kill people with my brain.
He lifts his head to look at me again. His eyebrows scrunched up over his nose.
“What do you mean? I have to tell them the truth.” The inherent ‘duh’ is easy enough for me to identify.
