Chapter 15

Show And Tell

As I moved toward the next bed, Abigail and Dad joined me. My nanny's face was contorted by a deep frown and I could tell from her expression she lost her argument with him. Abigail hated to lose.

"You've met Tosh, I see," Dad said. "And Elle?" He waved at the girl who smiled back. "You see now how we chose those who had no hope."

"I guess," I said, still feeling weird about it. "So, you were right then, huh?"

"About?" He paused at the foot of the next bed.

"It only works on disabled kids?"

Something flashed across his face. "Yes."

"And you know this how?" Abigail asked the question before I had the chance.

"We ran a limited test," he said. "On volunteers. Children of the program participants."

I wanted to throttle him. Nothing was sacred but his stupid project.

"No luck, I take it?" I refused to be nice about it.

He shrugged and ignored my tone. "No. Like the soldiers who we've tested, none of the able-bodied children showed any effects. As I said, it was proof I was right all along. But we needed to know for sure. Hello, Billy." He addressed the black-haired boy in the bed, cutting off Abigail's attempt to engage him in a further argument. I felt her seething next to me and was glad I wasn't a telepath after all.

Her thoughts could probably knock me on my ass.

The boy in the bed didn't smile. In fact, he barely acknowledged us. He, too, was wasted, body thin, gray eyes sunken. A breathing tube ran from his nose to an air tank but he still struggled for breath. I glanced at his chart. Billy Kanter, sixteen, Chicago, Illinois.

"Billy suffered from a rare heart defect," my father explained, as if the boy in the bed was an object to be studied.

"Suffered?" I looked at Billy, caught his eye. "What happened?"

"Maybe you should mind your own damned business," he wheezed at me.

Nice. The bitterness I could understand, so I held my temper in check. Dad ignored his attitude and went on.

"A donor heart was found and transplanted, but his body is rejecting it." He put one hand on Billy's shoulder. It was very quickly shrugged off.

"Don't touch me," he said in his gasping voice.

I didn't like him much, but tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. We were in the same boat together.

"Like the others," Dad said, more to Abigail than me, "Billy has no other recourse. He is an orphan without family to care for him. We are his only chance."

"Show and tell is over," Billy said. "Move along."

I resisted the urge to tell the jerk where to go and hoped his attitude improved after he was better or I'd have to take steps.

Dad smiled at the next resident in the hospital bed across the room. "Good afternoon, Philip."

"Hi, Dr. Simons." The redhead turned his head toward the sound of my father's voice, but he had a cold, flat look of someone who was blind, hazel eyes empty.

His chart said Philip Patterson, fifteen, Willow Run, Michigan. Scrawled in messy hand underneath was "Inoperable brain tumor".

"Philip's vision was damaged by a growing mass pressing against his optic nerves."

"Not much they can do for me," Philip said. "Hoping it's different here, doc."

Dad patted him on the shoulder with such familiarity I felt hurt all over again. He cared more for these strange kids he'd just met than his own son. Resentment bubbled up and simmered.

"We'll do our best, Philip." Dad led us to the next bed where Abigail already held the girl's chart. I caught the name Simone Charles and Crawley, Louisiana.

"This is Simone," Dad said. "How are you, dear?"

She sat propped up on a mass of pillows, gasping for air. Each breath had a wet, gurgling sound behind it. Simone removed the oxygen mask from her face long enough to whisper, "I'll be better soon. I hope."

Dad nodded to her. "So do we." He glanced up at me. "Cystic Fibrosis. A horrible lung disease. Simone is drowning in her own body."

"Drowning would be better," she said, deep brown eyes dull, long dark hair a pool around her making her pale skin more ghostly. "At least it would be over." She pronounced it ov-ah. I found myself caught up in her Southern accent. She smiled at me, lips tinted blue, and I smiled back.

"And last, but not least," Dad showed us to the last bed, "this is Andre."

I shared the chart with Abigail this time. Andre Ellis was seventeen, from Sweetwater, Texas. His skin was the darkest I had ever seen and shone against the white of his eyes. His gaze drew my attention, irises pale amber and quietly hopeful.

"Deaf-mute," I said.

Dad nodded while Abigail and I exchanged a sad look.

"His whole life," my father said. The tall, lean boy lay on his back, still and silent, while his startling eyes caught mine and held them.

I waved. Andre waved back as if he wasn't sure he should.

My heart broke for these kids, so much like me and yet… I found myself wondering what each of their talents would be. Would they be strong like me? Invincible? Would they fly? I felt excitement rise, I admit. The side of me worrying about the kids was pretty much silent. For the most part, they chose this for themselves, knowing they had no other recourse.

I found myself praying the experiment would work.

Abigail, seemed to have only hardened her own resolve on the matter.

"This is horrendous," she said. "Edison, you should be ashamed of yourself. Giving these kids hope. What if it harms them? Speeds their illness? Or worse, does nothing? You have no idea what you are playing with." Her whole body shook, she was so angry.

"We don't feel that way at all," Elle's soft voice carried to us. Abigail drifted closer to her, arms crossed over her chest, face a mask of pity.

"Darling, you don't know what you are saying."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Elle said. "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but you're the one who has no idea." I saw Billy nodding in the bed beside her and turned to find Simone and Philip also in full agreement. "You haven't lived this life. You haven't spent your whole existence waiting to die. You don't know how hard it is to go through yet another procedure only to have it fail." Elle struggled to sit upright, positioning herself before I could reach her. When she spoke again, her voice sounded stronger. "We choose to do this, not because we are misguided or foolish or desperate. We choose to do this because we refuse to give up on ourselves."

"Like everyone else," Billy said with so much bitterness I lost all animosity toward him. Even I didn't understand them. I at least had Abigail, someone to care for me, love me and make sure I had everything I needed. They all came through the foster system, most likely shuffled from one home to another when they weren't hospitalized.

"We want to try," Elle said. "What's one more experimental treatment, anyway? Especially if it works. How is this any different than most of the other stuff doctors have done to me? Except this treatment has a success story, not a clinical trial which may or may not have panned out in the first place." She beamed at me.

Abigail's arms dropped, expression softening. She walked to Elle and kissed the girl's forehead before turning to Dad.

"Fine," she said. "It's their choice. But you're going to need someone to care for them besides techs and scientists."

My heart leaped. "Totally," I said. "Wow, Abigail. I just had a great idea."

She winked at me.

Dad laughed, a real laugh even. "Done," he said. "This was always your favorite part anyway. Ladies and gentlemen, meet your new mom."

Abigail had the good grace to blush.

***