by Patrick Wong
With that, Carter went over to the receiver and turned off the vibrant and romantic Bollywood dance sequence. Silence was restored to the attic, but it increased the feeling of awkwardness and discomfort of the agents. Carter, battling a variety of conflicting emotions, pressed his earpiece.
“All units stand down. Operation Microwave is over. Repeat, Microwave is over. All units head back to base.” He then turned to Bishop. “I’ll see you in the car.” Agent Carter headed back down the flight of stairs and presumably, Bishop thought, went to go scream in their Suburban.
Bishop extended an arm to the shaken scientist to help him to his feet. It was just as well that they could prosecute him for the federal offense of satellite signal theft. Doing so would help with the paperwork back at HQ, although the report they’d file would certainly garner some interest and criticism. Bishop was pretty sure there wasn’t anybody who’d want to sign their names to a report that rationalized why twenty agents were needed to apprehend a single man and his homemade satellite box. Naturally, Bishop would see to it that Dr. Srinivasta was exonerated of all charges in exchange for his silence, and he would personally ensure that his job at DARPA was safe.
What made their quiet exit from the home even remotely possible was the scientist’s cultural misperception that this must be how illegal satellite raids were conducted in the United States. Although it all seemed very Hollywood, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, Bishop figured. The agents were happy to leave without a trace, and the scientist was more than happy to agree to anything that kept him out of jail.
As the special ops soldiers filed out, Bishop creaked back down the stairs and shuddered at the thought of what had just happened.
It was times like these that he worried about Carter’s lack of humanity.
Just what would Carter have done if Dr. Srinivasta were the real culprit? Heaven help that person.
Stop, Stop, Stop, Stop, Stop!
Nicole sat absentmindedly chewing her tortilla wrap. It was lunchtime in the Oak Wood High cafeteria, and the students’ conversations were buzzing all around her. Still, she hardly noticed, and the noise became a kind of low hum while Reilly sat opposite, regaling her with news from the party she’d missed on Saturday.
In the far corner, Drake joined his friends, and the raucous laughter quickly began. Reilly glanced across at them and then asked the inevitable questions about Amy and Drake and what had been happening.
Truth was, Nicole hadn’t seen much of Amy since last Saturday, as her best friend was sick with possible food poisoning. Or that was as much as she knew, for Amy had been particularly short and unusually sparse in her texts and emails. The friend-finder app on Nicole’s smartphone that Amy had insisted she install had placed Amy at her own house all week. But that could have just meant that she left her phone at home.
Staring across the cafeteria, Nicole wondered whether Drake knew more, or if Amy was also keeping him at arm’s length. By the sound of things, she may not want Drake to see her in the state she was in. It proved a painful reminder for Nicole that at the time when she most needed Amy, her friend was drifting away.
It had been a tough week at school, and although the fuss over the news report was now easing up, for some reason Nicole couldn’t seem to avoid references to choices and death wherever she turned.
Her English class had been studying an excerpt from Hamlet that morning, all about what it meant for Hamlet to be asked by his father to commit murderous revenge even though he couldn’t bear to. As the teacher read Hamlet’s “thoughts be bloody” speech, Nicole’s mind turned to her own dilemma. Amy’s words still bothered her, and after much soul-searching over the weekend, she knew in her heart that her promise wasn’t about being normal again — it was about not knowingly hurting another being.
Hers seemed to be the opposite of the Shakespearian character’s plight, and if she had to go on bended knee and monologue at a skull, she’d be emphasizing how noble it was to do nothing.
Elsewhere, Nicole had questioned herself as, time and time again, people’s tragedies presented themselves. A friend in math had been understandably upset after his grandmother collapsed from a stroke over the weekend. Another classmate was distraught after her cat had to be put down when it had run into the path of a moving car. Both were dealing with difficult feelings of fear and grief. Nicole knew full well that her gift gave her the power to turn around each of the tragedies. But that was the simple version, and it didn’t take into account the side effect of any such action.
To save them, something else would have to die.
It was like that terrible old quandary that friends sometimes wheeled out at parties. Who would you save if you could only choose one: your mom or your dad? This person or that? And Nicole would be forced to confront some uncomfortable truths about her own preferences and would usually attempt to change the subject as soon as possible.
Was she kidding herself?
Nightmares had been arriving thick and fast all week. Once she had dreamed she was back in the burning forest again with Amy and carrying Elise. But this time, as she ran, Amy grew weaker and weaker until she stopped, sank to the ground and withered like Mrs. Truman’s flowers. Then Elise had jumped out of her arms and run off with Charlie, leaving Nicole weeping as she cradled an ashen Amy in her arms.
Nicole had expected to wake up crying, but instead had sat up dry-eyed and upright in her bed, her pounding heartbeat the only evidence of the nightmare. It had taken her another hour to get back to sleep that night.
Nicole’s mom had been noticing her daughter’s tiredness, particularly the dark rings under her eyes. Nicole thought about telling her, but then decided it would be too much of a worry. Her mom had enough to contend with, and so long as she kept to her promise, there would be no more problems.
Of this, she was certain.
“Hey, I’ll see you later, OK?” Reilly’s chirpy farewell surprised Nicole, who had inadvertently zoned out on the gossip. As Nicole pushed back her chair and carried her half-finished lunch to the clearing area, she immediately regretted not surveying the area.
She had been careful all week to avoid a certain person, but one slip of attention had left her exposed.
Sure enough, within moments, Ben Owens had stopped next to her. He looked flushed, like he’d been psyching himself up to say something for half an hour, which actually wasn’t an exaggeration.
“Hey, Nicole.”
“Hey.” Nicole flashed a quick, polite smile and hoped that would be the end of it.
“I need to talk to you.”
“I got that,” she responded quickly. “Now’s not really a good time.”
“There’s twenty minutes left.”
He was gutsy, she had to give him that. He stared at her expectantly. Then the line in front of her moved, and she headed to the stack, moving briskly away from Ben. Nicole used this time to think quickly about how she might fend off his questions.
Ben didn’t have any actual proof yet, and anything he’d collected was simply circumstantial evidence. There was nothing new in the emails; she just hadn’t sent him a reply. That’s all. Perhaps that was what he wanted?
Dumping her tray on the side of the trash can, Nicole turned to find the boy still waiting for her.
“Please. It’s important,” Ben implored.
Nicole gave in and indicated for them to go outside. She knew people would be watching this. Although she had done little to incur the envy of, say, the cheer squad, she was still of vague interest to the bored sections of the cafeteria.
Heading out into the chilly fall air, Nicole wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck. The trees were turning now, and Oak Wood High was surrounded by intense strokes of oranges and reds.
“So?” Nicole said as she pretended to be uncomfortably cold and rubbed her hands together on the pleasant fall day. This was the kind of trick Amy would pull, and it was usually effective.
Ben stared at her, unimpressed.
“Seriously, Ben, I have, like, ten minutes. What do you want to say?”
Ben closed in. His expression was dead serious. “I know, Nicole.”
Nicole felt a choky feeling in her throat but managed to hold her nerve.
“What do you know, exactly? If it’s these conspiracy theories you’ve been sending me, then you can just stop.”
“I’ve found the link. It happened last night. I’ve been researching for weeks. It all has to do with the Fountain of Youth.”
Nicole snorted with laugher, which was partly from relief. Whatever she’d feared about Ben’s research was unfounded. He was way off.
“No, seriously. I found it online. I’d send it to you, but I wanted to talk first.”
“Ben, whatever happened was a mad coincidence.”
“I know you’ve been opening my emails. I just found out about this Professor Barnard at Yale. He’s pretty old by now, but he looked into a medieval prophecy a while back.”
“So why haven’t I heard of him before?”
“His ideas were … well, he got into some trouble with his university.”
“So he was a nut job?”
“Not exactly. Some of his ideas were brilliant.”
“And?” Nicole knew she was being mean, but she was so tired of all of this and what it had done to her.
“Well, I was thinking you could come over, or I could come to your place, and we could watch his lecture?”
“Ben, stop it, please.”
“I think it’s important for you!”
“Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!” That silenced him. Nicole had never seen him look so surprised. “I don’t want to know where it comes from. I don’t need to know its historical significance or what it could mean for the world. It’s not going to happen again, do you understand?”
Ben’s eyes lit up.
Nicole could have kicked herself. She had basically just admitted it.
“Don’t look at me like that. Don’t look at me any way at all. In fact, don’t even speak to me again, Ben. I don’t want any of your emails, OK? I wish I’d never rescued Elise! I am not a hero. I wish things could just get back to normal. And they will. If you and everyone else who just wants to see a freak show would leave me alone!”
Nicole’s eyes started to get moist with tears as she pushed past a stunned Ben and headed for the restroom.
Ben was left standing alone as the bell rang. He should’ve been filled with amazing thoughts of discovering something of historical proportions, or feeling wonder at all of the things Nicole could possibly do. They were basically miracles! And yet he was left with an empty feeling in his stomach, because the one person he cared about didn’t care for him.
That Sorta Sucks
Rain pelted down on the roof of the sunroom,
and Nicole tried for the fourth time to concentrate on her novel. The sunroom had been added onto their home, and its long glass panels were ideal for sitting, reading and generally relaxing. Nicole was very far away from that state of mind.
She reread the same sentence again and, frustrated that her attention seemed still to be wandering all over the page, she slammed the book shut.
Across at Mrs. Truman’s house, the diggers that had been brought in to landscape her front yard were parked uselessly out front, their progress stalled by the incessant rain. The cleanup had taken a week following the police investigation there after Mrs. Truman had demanded the whole area was fingerprinted, vowing vengeance against the culprit. Nicole felt extremely lucky that there were no hidden cameras around to identify her, even though her guilt would be impossible to prove. After all, a camera would only show her and Amy watching the garden turn to sticks and twigs and then laughing about it.
She had Skyped her dad as usual that morning, though there were only a couple of letters for him to look at and she’d used all her energy trying to appear upbeat. So when her mom quietly eased into the room and curled up on the large old couch, tucking her legs under her in her usual way, Nicole thought it was only fair to do the same with her.
She gave a cheery wave and picked up her book again, hoping to look carefree.
Her mom sipped her coffee and then, as if choosing her words wisely, set down the cup.
“No Amy this weekend?”
Nicole shook her head.
“Did you hear from her?”
“She’s still tired from the food thing.” Nicole picked up her phone and scrolled to the friend-finder app. It was still showing that the Amy-shaped dot on her phone’s screen wasn’t moving and Amy was still at her own house.
“I figure she’s still annoyed about my stealing her limelight,” Nicole added, somewhat ungenerously. She caught her reflection in the windowpane and noticed her lower lip was jutting out a little. “I’m being mean, I guess.”
Her mom shrugged. “Maybe it’s nothing to do with you.”
Nicole glanced at her pointedly.
“There are lives other than ours. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that,” her mom added.
Nicole sighed. Perhaps it was easier for her mom to remember about other people’s lives because she worked with them all day long. Nicole’s week had seen her moving into further isolation, and this was really getting her down.
Her mom finished her coffee. “You gonna mope about all day?”
“Maybe.”
“If you do, could you mope about with the vacuum cleaner?”
“Sure,” Nicole shrugged.
This would ordinarily be the time for Nicole to be left on her own in the den again, but her mom seemed to be battling with something. One or the other side of her won, and her expression turned serious. “What’s happening?”
Nicole weighed up her answer. “It’s just a thing at the moment.”
“Is it something I can help with?”
“No,” Nicole said with certainty.
“OK. I’ve got work in an hour, but I’ll be back this evening.”
“OK.” Thinking of the hospital, it occurred to Nicole that she hadn’t thought about Ethan for a while. “How’s Ethan doing?”
Something about her mom’s expression told her the situation was serious.
“Not good. I wasn’t sure whether to tell you.”
“Oh no.” Nicole felt the sudden knowledge about Ethan’s fate well up inside her. Her mom reached out and took her hand.
“I’m not sure he’s going to last the weekend. I’m sorry.”
Nicole felt such sadness as she was bombarded with images of Ethan — how he creased up into giggles, the way he’d mercilessly tormented “Awesome Amy,” and how much he loved their tales of adventure about the wildfire. She could hardly believe that this little boy would not be long for this world.
“That sorta sucks,” she said simply.
“I know.”
Mother and daughter sat like that for a few moments, holding hands, the rain still hitting the roof and the water now cascading down the long panes, blurring the green of the backyard.
Nicole was first to break the almost meditative silence.
“How do you cope when that happens?”
Usually her mom would ask for clarification or try to dodge these kinds of questions, but her daughter deserved a proper response this time. She stretched in her seat and thought about an answer.
“It’s hard at first. You know, when I started in the Pediatric ER, I wasn’t sure if I could stay. All these kids were so sick, and some didn’t even get a chance. Then my colleagues helped out, and you learn to leave a little part of your heart behind before you get to work each day. Not that it changes how I am with the kids. Some days it’s harder than others. You do your best, but it’s still not enough and you have to live with that. Then when you came along. Phew …” Nicole’s mom exhaled. “Then I had some trouble! I kept thinking about you in their place, and seeing those kids’ parents — that was hard.”
Nicole listened, as rapt as Ethan had been at her SuperNix story. She had rarely heard her mom talk th
is way.
“So, I do my day, I get home, I see my family. Sometimes things just happen. And I just need the courage to accept things I can’t change.”
“But you’re a doctor.”
“I’ll do everything in my power and I’ll always do what I think is right. But sometimes it’s just not enough. History shows we don’t know everything there is to know in the world. My field especially. Some of the things doctors used to believe about medicine and health would turn your stomach. Frequently we later learn it was all wrong. That’s how it is.”
Nicole considered all that she had heard.
“Can I see Ethan today?”
“Sure. I’ll take you in.”
Nicole’s mom patted her leg and left.
Nicole’s long, dark week of soul-searching was changing her, and she wasn’t sure what into. All she knew was that her current strategy of denial was failing on nearly all levels.
Simply put, she had the ability to heal and revive life, and to ignore it was a waste of the gift.
Could she make a difference in the world?
Anchovies Are Not a Laughing Matter
Ben pressed play on his computer, restarting the grainy footage of an old lecture on YouTube. Onscreen, a hundred or so academics of all shapes and sizes were seated in a Yale auditorium, applauding the arrival onstage of a wiry man in a tweed jacket and bow tie. He took a few moments to adjust his wire-rimmed glasses and then sip a glass of water.
This was Professor Barnard, Ben’s possible answer to Nicole’s mystery.
“Welcome to you all and thank you for inviting me here today. It’s an honor to speak to such a venerable audience.”
The sound of polite applause started up again. On his laptop, the video showed a close-up of the professor. Ben paused the screen and stared at the man. He tried to find the words for him. Was he majestic? No … mercurial. That was it.
The mercurial Professor Barnard sported a neatly trimmed beard and a shock of salt-and-pepper hair that contrasted against his dark skin. His shiny eyes were quick to find points of interest in a room, and Ben wondered what it would be like to come under his eminent gaze. Pressing play again, Ben moved across his bedroom to clamber onto his desk chair, which wobbled underneath his feet.
