Dead and Beloved (9 page)

Behind old Shadow Church, surrounded by trees, is a small grassy park with a giant oak tree in the center. When I was a little kid, my parents used to take my sister and me to neighborhood picnics there. Everyone would gather under the pavilion in the corner and share potato salad and fried chicken on the four long tables. The white haired priest would set up a fishing pond behind a blue bed sheet and we'd all go home with new PEZ dispensers and packs of gum.

One summer, Andre and I used the park shade for daydreaming and reading comics. It was the only place to safely read our Captain Death books and escape the older bullies in the neighborhood. That was years ago. Before basketball consumed every moment of our lives. Before high school. Before the Virus.

The park is silent and dark tonight. The tree branches, bearing only small leaves, look like giant crooked arms with long probing fingers against the other shadows of the night. A high breeze passes as I choose a seat on an empty bench and the trees moan and sway. Somewhere up the hill, a dog howls. It's been disturbed. Did I make the wrong choice? I clench my fists and wait.

My heart pounds out the ticks of a clock in double time. I fidget. Still nothing. Then something crosses the tree line. As she approaches, a nearby street light silhouettes her against the trees. I know that it's Jessica.

“Ryan, is that you?” she whispers.

I smile my relief and stand to greet her.

“Ryan?”

“It's me.”

She meets me on the grass and wraps her arms around me. I was expecting a hug, but it feels strange—I feel strange.

“What's wrong?” she asks. She holds me tight.

I like the feeling. She's warm tonight, but her touch is affecting my senses.

“You're shaking, Ryan. Why are you shaking?”

My hands, my fingers, even my legs are nervous to be touched. This contact with her is the first I've had since kissing her. “I'm not used to hugs,” I answer. I squeeze her closer to acknowledge that I want this, but it still feels awkward. I'm not sure where to place my hands.

“What did my father do to you?” Jessica has her head against my chest. I feel her shudder and know she's fighting tears.

“I don't want to talk about him,” I say, lessening my grip around her waist. “Don't talk about the clinic.”

This makes her shake a little. She sniffles and starts to speak, but stops before the first word finishes. The dog in the distance howls again.

We hold each other while my stomach does its little drop and rise, twist and tumble. She's here. She's actually here. And we're alone again, at last. It's the perfect moment on a perfect night. I lead her toward the tree in the middle of the park and we sit in the grass.

“How did you know about this place?” I ask her. I lay back and prop my head with my hands near the tree trunk. “I love this park.”

Her face glistens against the stars. “My friend Paige told me about it. I'm glad my note made it to you.”

“Yeah.” I grin at the effort it took to keep it secret. So far, the work was worth it. “Some kid at school gave it to me. I thought it was a trick or something.”

She turns to look at me, her face shows worry. “He said he knew you. Adam told me you were friends.”

I start to shrug and then the name hits me. Adam. “Adam Turner?” I ask.

She nods. “Did he tell anyone about the note? He was supposed to keep it secret.”

“His mom works at my hospital,” I tell Jessica. “How do you know him?”

“I thought you didn't want to talk about my dad.”

“Adam knows your dad?”

“No, silly.” She slaps my leg. “His mom does. They worked at the university hospital together. There was a party last night. Adam and I were talking about you.”

Talking about me. I'm a little annoyed, but I don't press the issue. A picture of us kissing is all over the world anyway, so I shouldn't have a problem if Jessica talks to someone about me.

“So where is your dad?” I ask. “Don't tell me he let you come.”

Jessica laughs. “My parents flew to Denver for a meeting. I'm supposed to be staying with Paige.”

“And you snuck away?”

“No. Paige brought me. She's at a party. She'll message me when it's over.”

I don't want to think about the night ending, so I lay back down. Above us, stars dot the midnight sky. I try to make out some formations, but it's been too long; I don’t know them anymore. “When's the last time you looked at the stars?”

Jessica lays back and stares into the heavens. I turn to watch her. She's beautiful. An angel. The shape of her body is delicate and perfect. Her chest rises and lowers with her breath.

“I thought we were looking at stars?”

I fall back and look away, embarrassed.

She rolls on top of me and kisses me softly. I reach for more, but she moves back to my side. “I never really notice them,” she tells me. “They're always out.”

“My friend Andre and I once spent the night in his backyard when we were kids. We tried counting the stars, but gave up at over eight hundred between us.” I look over at Jessica. “That's the last time I remember looking at them like this. A long time ago.”

Jessica and I lay in silence after that. I don’t know what to say and suspect she feels the same. It’s peaceful, though. Even the breeze feels calming.

After a while, she reaches for my hand, which makes speaking easier. We talk about school and about dreams. We try describing shapes in the stars. The night goes on and on and we don't stop talking—I can't stop talking. She's my only friend and she understands me. There’s so much to share and so much to love. The night could last forever.

But it doesn't. Her phone buzzes and breaks the darkness with a bright blue glow.

“Paige is leaving now,” says Jessica. She keys in a response and then turns off the screen. “It's almost four. I've got about ten minutes.”

Suddenly the night seems too short. I stand up, but something's happened. I'm dizzy as I wobble across the grass.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

She stands and stumbles as well. She tries to fight it but falls onto the grass again. I roll over to her—the night doesn't spin when I don't look up—and press my head near hers.

“It's the stars,” I say. “They've moved. We've been staring so long that our eyes are used to their motion. Now the earth is making us dizzy.”

Jessica turns to face me. She's inches from my face. “Thank you for figuring out my message,” she says. “I'm glad you came.”

“I'm glad you sent me the note.”

We're kissing each other when headlights announce her friend's arrival on the road opposite the trees. Jessica breaks away from me and straightens her clothes.

“Do you need a ride to the hospital?” she asks. She grabs my hands and pulls me close again.

I shake my head. “I'll be okay. It's not far.”

“I'll talk to you soon.”

She gives me a final kiss and then runs toward the shadows. A door opens, there are whispers, and then the car speeds away, leaving me in darkness again. I look up at the stars; they were my witness tonight. They saw what I saw, they heard what I heard, and perhaps they know the swirling inside of me. I still feel her lips against mine. I still taste the strawberry lip-gloss on my tongue. I smell her perfume. I hear her voice. The night was perfect. I don't want to go home, but the sun will be out soon.

The service entrance door at the hospital won't open. I scan my access badge across the sensor again. It beeps and flashes a red light, but the lock doesn't disengage.

“Come on,” I say, wiping the badge on my jeans before trying again. “Work.”

No change. I can't get inside the building. There's a camera above me, but no one ever looks. At least, no one ever did before. By this time, the attendant in the front lobby is probably more concerned about discount watches on a television shopping channel. I need to get in. It'll be light soon, and if I'm caught outside, I may never be able to sneak away again.

“Work!”

The sensor mocks me with another beep.

With a groan, I hurry into the bushes away from the hospital and search for another way in. Four stories of vertical climb. The windows are all locked; they don't open. There's another door, one other door—the front entrance. The night suddenly feels cold and I shiver. How do I get back inside? No one comes, no one goes. The shifts change is around five, I think. But I’m not sure. I've never been awake at this time of day.

I stare at the door. I could break it. I'm certain that I'm strong enough. Getting it open wouldn't be that tough, but an alarm would sound and I wouldn't make it to the end of the hall before someone saw me.

A car drives slowly by before speeding off again. I growl in my frustration. How do I get inside?

With no other options, and dawn approaching, I walk around to the front of the hospital and scan my access badge at the front. The reinforced glass doors open and I walk in. As I thought, the attendant isn't at the desk, but he looks over at me from the lounge. I wave back casually, as if I'm expected, then walk over to him.

“I was
getting some air,” I say. “Had a hard time sleeping.”

He wrenches his face, obviously trying to figure out when I left, and hustles to his log. I wave again and return to the stairwell, gasping with relief once I'm safe on the third floor. Back in my room, I change out of my clothes and hop into bed. The sheets feel cold. I take one of my pills and fall asleep assuming that the attendant entered a fake entry in the log.

~ O ~

I don’t see Adam Turner at school Monday, but catch a glimpse of him in the hall on Tuesday. The football team, who glare at me as I pass, surrounds him. He looks comfortable, laughing and joking with them, making it hard for me to believe that he's the one who made seeing Jessica possible Friday night. If he's on our side, he's put on a good ruse for the guys around him. And if he's not—well, I still got to see her. Whatever his intention, Adam is more than he's letting on, I'm certain about that.

I bleed again during Art and eagerly head to the nurse's station. The guards can't follow me inside due to HIPPA rules, and I grin knowing that they'll have to spend detention with me later. Mr. Montrose won't have any quirky remarks or urges to convince me to give up my quest for Stanford. Having a couple guards could turn out to be a good thing.

Nurse Jennings welcomes me, but groans while examining my neck. “Ryan, what happened to you?” she asks. She presses hard against the side of my larynx.

“I'm just stressed,” I answer when she releases my throat. “I think my body knows that it's spring.”

She doesn't say anything and takes more readings than normal before snapping a couple photos of my neck and arm and noting heavily into her tablet.

“Is everything all right?” I try to see what she's entering, but she turns away.

“How are you feeling?” she asks. “Have you been dizzy at all?”

I remember staring at the stars Friday. “No,” I lie. I don't want anyone to know about that night. Even Nurse Jennings. Especially right now. I lean forward. “What's with all the words?”

Nurse Jennings smiles, but it's a flat smile, a worried crease that tells me something's wrong, something she doesn’t want to tell me. “Do you feel more pain than normal?” she asks. “Or burning in your hand?”

I wiggle my fingers. “No,” I answer. “Nurse Jennings, what's wrong?”

She shakes her head and speaks in a panicked voice. “What about shortness of breath. Is your appetite different? Do you crave? Do you crave—?”

“Flesh? Nurse Jennings, what's wrong?”

Then I see it in her eyes. There's terror, there's abandonment, and there's mourning.

“Am I getting worse?”

She nods and takes a deep breath that seems to last forever. “Andre looked the same before he went over the edge,” she says. “I'm sorry, Ryan. I'm so sorry.”

The world, the day, and my future crash down and press my stomach so low that I can't breathe. If Nurse Jennings has lost hope, then what is there left for me.

“Why is this happening?” I ask, choking on my words. “I was stable. I've done everything I've been asked. I've done the workouts. I've taken all the pills.”

“I don't know, Ryan.” Nurse Jennings shakes her head. “You've been through a lot. It could be stress, it could be the change of environment, and it could be—”

My face is burning. “What?”

She barely releases a whisper. “Love.”

“I don't understand.”

“Hormones are tricky, Ryan. You have to be careful. Teenagers are affected so differently, it's hard to know what will happen. That's why it was so hard to get you into the program.”

Her words reach me, but I don't want to believe them. It's impossible. There's no way Jessica is affecting me that way. She is not making me worse. She's not.

“Can you fix me?” I ask, fighting off the emotion that's threatening to make my cry. “I need to get back to class.”

Nurse Jennings presses the Second Skin against my neck and then cleans up the supplies so I can step off the examination bench. “That's the best I can do right now, Ryan. You can go now—if you want,” she tells me. Her voice is broken and sad. “Be careful.”

One deep breath and I'm back out in the hall with my guards. “You should have told me my neck looked worse,” I snap at Keller. “That took longer than normal.”

He glares at me and cracks the knuckles in one hand by making a fist. “I'm not your mother,” he tells me. He keys something into his phone before shoving me toward class. “Let's go.”

I'm nervous the rest of the day, thinking about the symptoms that Nurse Jennings mentioned, and feeling worse about leaving her that way. Her words are digging into me like an elbow to the ribs. Maybe this is why she didn't want to tell me? Every time the room spins a little, I catch my breath and try to focus. I notice the burning in my arms more than normal. I breathe heavily in short gasps and start staring at the darkened screen of my tablet, using it as a mirror. My face is thin, but it looks the same as this morning. I think it does.

After school, I head to detention and check in.
Exactly as I had thought, my guards are upset about the arrangement. Keller keeps mumbling about an appointment he's missing and Brooks threatens that he might not keep the next student who tries to trip me away. I'm about to reply with an insult, when their radios flash and sputter with coded communication. Both guards press their earpieces closer and listen. I lean forward, trying to hear what's happening, but Brooks shoves me aside. More codes flash from the radios.

While Brooks and Keller occupy themselves
with excited chatter, I notice something peculiar on the shirt Mr. Montrose is wearing. A block letter S. S, for Stanford. That's it. He went to Stanford. That's why—

“Let's go,” Keller orders.

Mr. Montrose steps forward to protest, but Brooks shoves him out of the way.

I'm rushed to the back of the school, past curious faces and lingering students. There’s definitely something serious happening because Brooks and Keller seem to be ignoring the threats they made to me minutes earlier. They're shoving kids aside, clearing away stacked chairs, and even trample a banner a committee girl is painting for prom.

I'm led into the gym and out the back door where my shuttle is running, ready with its doors open. Keller grabs my collar and tosses me up the steps.

“Grab a seat,” the driver yells. As my guards scramble inside, he jerks the doors shut and speeds us away.

The shuttle swerves and I tumble onto a bench. “What's going on?" I ask. "Where are we going?”

Keller clings to a pole before scrambling into a chair. “We're returning to the hospital,” he tells me. “Vaccinations have begun.”