The Pandora Project (4 page)

It was me.
It was all me. The treatments had turned me into some sort of radiation battery. When I touch people I change them. I activate them. It is like I jump start something inside of them and bring out something strong in them. For my mom, she became telepathic. Dad became more of a healer than he already was. Poor Grandma, a psychic.

Using some of the means at his disposal, Dad conducted a few highly controlled experiments.
I don’t know all the details, but I know he only let me touch his terminal patients. People who would die before they could share our secret. Always my touch brought about some change. Dad became convinced that everyone has some latent power waiting to be released.

Like all things
in life, some are good and useful, and some are evil and destructive. He told me he could guess what some of the powers would be based on how well he knew the people. That is when I started evaluating people based on their strengths and potential abilities. Knowing my parents abilities, I used to wonder why I couldn’t touch more people. Surely the world would be a better place with more people able to heal others or help in some way.

When I started dreaming of the good I could do,
Dad told me the one story he was willing to share. He snuck me into the hospital one night when a death row inmate was being treated after an attempted suicide. This guy was lowest of the low, inflicting pain on others had filled his entire life. It was an experiment Dad should never have done, but he had to know. After my touch, a nurse came in to check the convict’s IV line, she touched his arm and collapsed as a searing pain raced up her arm and through her body. After my touch, any contact he had with others caused them excruciating pain. His biggest strength was something horrible, and I added additional power to that horrible gift.

Dad had to act quickly before too many questions were asked.
I don’t think he regrets the life that was lost that night, but the knowledge gained disturbed him greatly. It is those types of changes that make me dangerous. Those powers that make me a monster. Those possibilities that drove Grandma to suicide.

That is when we disappeared.
After months of constant moving and constant research, we settled in Painted Rock, Nebraska. The colder weather suited our situation and the low population made hiding easier. Dad set up a new practice and honed his skills to perfection. He discovered that if he places his hands directly on a person for an extended period of time, he can completely heal all that ails them. Shorter periods of time produced less pronounced results and gloves, even just standard doctor issue latex gloves, block his abilities completely.

His ability really comes in handy because I constantly emit
free neutrons and the neutron activation I cause can be deadly. He immediately set up regular rounds through his practice, volunteer work, church activities and regular social interactions to ensure he touches everyone in the community regularly to prevent any radiation sickness. Of course if he misses anyone they come see him when they start to feel sick and he immediately takes care of them. It has worked for the past fifteen years and has allowed me to live a normal life. I’m not about to give everything up so hastily.

Dad pull
s me out of my reverie, “Paige, I know it is a lot for a seventeen year old to have to deal with, but don’t you think it would be safer to leave?”

I pause, taking in the scent of leather and parchment, hoping he will know I’m actually considering all aspects of our situation.
“No, Dad, I don’t. And I am not just being difficult. Think about it, if this guy is from some government organization that is out to get us, running will just validate everything he must think about us. Running will give him a fresh trail to follow and reason to do it.”

“You know I won’t leave a trail.
We are prepared for this, you are old enough and smart enough to start over anywhere in the world. We could leave the country and never be found. You wouldn’t have to start in a new school, you could take college courses online.” I shoot my mom a betrayed glance, knowing she clued my father in on one of my biggest worries.

“
None of us want to be used for what we can do, and Paige you could be turned into a weapon. Worse, you can be turned into a weapon that makes weapons!” His passion doubles mine and has me practically shouting.

“Maybe, just maybe, these people are exactly who and what they say they are.
Maybe they really are just grasping at straws and hoping to make the last couple months of some poor woman’s life tolerable and that is why they are so forthcoming and honest. Would they really tell us so much if they are out to get us?” The thought of leaving has me slightly hysterical, but so does the thought that I am wrong. I don’t want to leave, but at the same time I know we can’t stay if it means putting my parents in any additional danger.

Mom hasn’t even
blinked since our conversation started. I don’t know if she is listening to all the things that we aren’t saying or if she just wants to let Dad and I run the gamut before getting involved. She pushes a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear and looks at me with her blue-green eyes, “Is it really worth the risk?”

“What
. Is finding out if there is anything to run from before running worth the risk of some made-up government organization finding and using us for their nefarious schemes? Yes, call me crazy, but I think it is worth the risk.”

“Paige, you are acting like there is no reason to suspect something awful can happen.”
Dad turns his haunted eyes on me, “You didn’t see how scared she was. You can’t imagine how strong of a woman she was and how truly awful it must have been to drive her to do what she did.” I am almost crushed by guilt as I imagine Dad finding the body of his mother.

Instantly chastised
, I relent a little. Leaving friends and starting over is almost unfathomable, but if it means saving even one life, I will go.

Mom slowly gets up and moves over to Dad.
“Jackson, maybe we should let this play out. I can be in the office when they come in and try to get a read on them.”

Dad d
oesn’t move as Mom looks down on him. “I won’t heal her, Anne” he mumbles and reaches for her hand. “I can’t, it would be too dangerous.”

“And it will kill you, I know,” Mom answer
s soothingly as she begins to run her hand through his hair, trying to ease some of his tension. I wonder if she is still talking to him and I can’t hear. As they discuss my future without me, I watch them and wonder if I will ever have someone to touch and comfort, someone who will comfort me in return.

I am not a monster
. But I am, and we all know it.

Chapter
4

Hanging up the phone, Dr. Cox runs a hand through his graying hair as a smile creeps across his face. Everything is finally falling into place. While his informants have not made a positive identification, there are too many variables outside the norm for coincidence to explain away.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together, and he is smarter than any rocket scientist he ha
s ever met. Knowing he should wait for more concrete evidence and hesitant to participate in what could be a wild goose chase, he jumps slightly when his reverie is disturbed by his assistant.

“Sir, you have a call on line one from Colonel
Mays.”

Andrew Cox regards most people with the highest disdain; those who think they are his equal in any way hold a special place of hatred in his heart.
Knowing Colonel Mays, this is going to be an unpleasant conversation, but one that cannot be avoided.

Picking up the phone, Cox says, “Ah, Colonel Mays, to what do I owe this unexpected surprise?”

“Where’s the Sullivan boy?” demands the voice on the line.

“Now, Christian, I have no idea what you mean,” Cox responds, his voice dripping innocence.

“Cut the crap, Cox. Where are John and his mother?” Dr. Cox flinches slightly at the familiar use of his last name and has to bite his tongue not to reprimand Mays for his insubordination.

“Christian, I don’t feel you are in a position to be making demands of me.
If you or your boy hear from John be sure to let me know.” With that Dr. Cox slides the phone back into its cradle and buzzes his assistant. “Sabrina, get in here.”

“Get me on a flight to Omaha first thing in the morning,” he demands by way of greeting when she walks through his office doors.

“Sir, you have a budget meeting in the morning.”

“Reschedule,” he spits at her.

Used to his verbal abuse she responds, “This meeting has been rescheduled twice already and the board of directors are getting very impatient.”

Dr
. Cox narrows his eyes and tries to control his temper. Painted Rock could wait a few more hours, maybe by tomorrow afternoon there would be something more concrete and he could save himself the trouble of a trip to that barren wasteland. Besides, as important as his side projects are, he has to ensure funding through his legitimate work. The need to deal with such insignificant details never ceases to annoy him.

“Fine, make arrangements for tomorrow afternoon.”
He has waited seventeen years. One more day wouldn’t kill him.

Chapter
5

After I ignore several texts, Lexi calls to check on me. I’m not really in the mood to pretend life is normal but I know she will persist until I give in and if anyone is worth pretending for, it is Lexi.

Pi
cking up my phone, I throw myself down on the queen bed in my room. “You OK?” she asks as soon as I answer.

“I’m fine,” I answer feeling guilty for ignoring her texts.
“I just forgot my medicine and my mom worried about me staying in school around so many germs.” I lie, perpetuating the story that also explains my gloves.

“I texted a couple of times.”
It isn’t a question but the
Why didn’t you respond
is implied.

“I know, sorry.
I fell asleep. Took a nap, it was great.”

“Well, I guess you’re probably too tired to hear about how interested John is in you.”
I can hear the smile in her voice.

My stomach turn
s three full flips. What is going on with me? The last thing I need is to let teenage hormones interfere with my life or my judgment.
I am not a monster
…radioactive freak perhaps, but not a monster. I deserve this.

“No, no.
All rested up, I think I can handle some news.” I don’t know if my stomach is doing acrobatics because I am scared or excited. Probably a little bit of both.

“He tried to be subtle at first, asking a couple more questions about your dad, but then he just jumped right in and asked how he could get to know you better!”
She is so excited you would think he had asked for my hand in marriage.

“And what did you say?”

“Well, Jake might have set things back a little bit because he said you were never interested in anyone, no matter how appealing.”

I groan
. So far I am coming off as quite a snob. I know I started it, but Jake sure didn’t help. “Don’t worry, I fixed it. I invited him over to hang out Friday night.”

I groan louder and longer.
“Lexi, how could you move so fast?” I whine.

“Easy, it is not like I gave him a free pass into your britches.”
I can’t help but giggle at that logic and the use of the term britches. “Besides,” she continues, “You should be thanking me! Every girl in school is after him and he only seems interested in you. I am just giving you a push in the right direction.”

“More like a shove!” I correct.

Her voice turns serious and a little hesitant, “I think he might be different, Paige. I think this one is worth stepping outside your comfort zone.”

“Oh really, why is that, because we have already gone through every other guy in this two-bit town?”

“No,” she hesitates again and I know she wants to tell me something but is not sure how I will take it.

“Just tell me, Lex,” I prompt.

“He never even asked about the gloves.” She spits it out like it is a relief to get it over with.

S
ilence fills the line as I try to think how to respond. “Never even brought it up. Didn’t say anything about you not shaking hands, didn’t pry, knowing that we could tell him everything. That takes a certain maturity and, I don’t know, something, doesn’t it?”

Again, I don’t know what to say.
An errant string that is starting to fray on my quilt catches my eye and I absently pick at it. Staring at the gloves that both save and condemn me, I finally stammer, “Yeah, I guess that is something.”

“Just don’t turn him away without giving him a chance, OK?”

“It doesn’t seem like you are giving me much choice, now does it?”

“No, I’m not!”
She giggles and is right back to being her normal affable self. We trade a little more small talk and say good-bye.

Long after I hang up, I’m still pulling on the string.
That one string when pulled long enough created a hole in the quilt and I know Mom will be upset. My quilt is unraveling…just like my life.
Please don’t let John be the string that creates a hole,
I beg. The silence in response is more than a little unnerving.