The Pandora Project (7 page)

“It was very clinical
, with Mr. Sullivan. Almost like he knew he would be overheard and was saying what he thought I should hear.”

I jump to my feet, “Then what are we waiting for?
We need to get out of here, NOW!”

Mom pulls
me back beside her and wraps her arms around me to calm me. I notice my hands begin to heat up and that stresses me out even more. What is going on?! Dad is looking at me like I am a patient, and I wonder if he expects me to explode or something.

“Paige, we have lost the opportunity to run.
If the Sullivan’s have found us, you can bet we are being monitored on some level. It feels like we are being tested, like they aren’t quite sure what we are. We need to know who or what we are dealing with.” Dad pauses just long enough to breathe deeply. “I hate that our worst fears are being validated.”

We are all silent as we collect our thoughts.
I find my mind wandering again to the curls in John’s hair. What the crap! I have really lost it. I have to remember, chances are good, he is the enemy. “What about Mrs. Sullivan? What did you hear from her?” I ask Mom. John seems genuinely concerned about his mother. He can’t be that good of an actor, can he?

“Her thoughts don’t bother me near as much.
They were riddled with desperation and fear, much what you would expect from a dying woman.” I can tell Mom must have liked Mrs. Sullivan a little bit because she couldn’t keep the sympathy out of her voice.

“But what was she thinking,” I persist.

“Mostly, ‘Help us’ or some variation. She seemed very sincere.”

I immediately wonder who the “us” is.
Clearly, she needs help. But is she worried for John, for her husband? What kind of help do they need? Just medical?

“Did you touch her, Dad”

“Sweetheart, you know I can’t. We can’t make it that easy for them.” He pauses for a moment, “But I don’t think that went unnoticed. I tried to disguise my intent not to shake hands by immediately going to the sink and washing mine and then putting gloves on, but…” He shakes his head, indicating his skepticism.

“What do we do now?” I ask, dreading the answer.
I am so confused it is ridiculous. I want to like John, I want to hate him. I want my life to go back to how it was two days ago, but being interested in someone has helped me understand that I was just treading water, keeping everyone away and waiting for something awful to happen. I don’t want to leave, especially not Lexi, but I don’t want to stay if it means endangering those I love. At least I am still a kid and Mom and Dad have to make the decisions. I’ve never been less equipped to make huge decisions.

I know Mom and Dad
are talking to each other, Dad can’t hide the vacant look in his eyes as well as Mom can, “Out loud, please,” I say, hating to be left out of the conversation while in the same room.

Dad opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again as if uncertain.
Mom gives him a little nod of encouragement. “Do you have John’s number?” he asks.

“I do,” grateful that he had given it to me between classes but apprehensive to use it.

“Well, we have two courses of action. We can wait and see what they have in store for us, or we can have him over and see what the three of us combined can come up with. Besides, if he has been around you this much, he might need his first round of country medicine.” I hate being a nuclear power plant, I put everyone around me in danger every minute.

Chapter
7

Leaning back into the luxurious leather seat, Dr. Cox glances at the picture on his phone for the fourth time since it arrived. It is a blurry shot of Painted Rock’s own small town doctor, Dr. Jackson Mills. Because of the quality of the picture and the seventeen years that have passed, he can’t be sure but the resemblance to Trevor Madison is enough to make his heart race again.

As his private jet taxis to a halt in Omaha Airport’s executive section, he can barely keep his seat.
No word has come about the girl yet, but it is almost a formality now. Before this night is over he will have the one piece of his master plan that has eluded him.

He presses the speed dial trying to make contact with the Sullivan boy.
Using him might have been a mistake, but after years of chasing false leads…it is done. No going back now. He can be disposed of as easily as his father. The sooner the better.

Chapter
8

My parents want me to call from the office so they can monitor the conversation, but I know I am going to be awkward enough having to talk to him after the scene I made in the school parking lot. I head to my room and lie down on my bed for a couple of minutes. I breathe deeply and try to calm myself. As I do, my hands go from hot enough to melt marshmallows to their normal simmer. After a few more seconds, I start to feel the most relaxed I have been since Ashlynn appeared. Have I mentioned I hate her?

F
inally mustering up the courage, I dial. It rings three times before he answers, “Hello.” There is so much background noise and conversations, his voice comes through muffled. It sounds like he is somewhere public and I hesitate. This is not at all what I’m expecting.

“Hi, John.
It’s me, Paige.” I hope I don’t sound as unsure as I feel.

“Oh, hi.
Give me a sec.” He tries to cover the phone and I hear a muffled, “s’cuse me,” before he gets back on.

“What’s going on, Paige?”

“I hope I’m not bothering you,” I begin, feeling more self-conscious by the second.

“Um, no, not really.
I’m kind of surprised to hear from you, the way you ran off.” He doesn’t sound accusing so much as hurt and I immediately feel bad for suspecting the worst of him.

“Yeah, sorry about that.
I was wondering if you still wanted to come over, I mean, if you’re not busy.”

At that moment, I hear him get jostled and a voice
, unmistakably Ashlynn Taylor’s, say, “Come on, John. Who are you talking to?”

“You’re with Ashlynn!?” I practically
scream before I have time to compose myself.

“Um, well,” he pauses and I assume he is walking away from Ashlynn again.
His voice is barely above a whisper when he returns, “You did leave me standing alone in the parking lot and she kind of noticed.”

“I thought you didn’t go for the overly interested ones and let me tell you buddy, Ashlynn is used to getting what she wants.
Way to hold your ground.” I realize I should not let this bother me, I need him to come over. Knowing this doesn’t keep me from feeling hurt and betrayed. I feel the tingling in my hands again. Three times in one day, what is this guy doing to me?

“I’m sorry, Paige, I am having a hard time keeping up with the signals you are sending!
Not interested, interested. Want to kiss me, but don’t invite me over! At least I know what Ashlynn wants!”

“WE ALL KNOW WHAT SHE WANTS!”
Am I really screaming? I don’t think I have raised my voice to anyone outside of my family in my entire life!

“That is not what I mean!
She only wants to stay at the tip-top of the social pyramid and having me in her hip pocket does that. Will you please calm down?”

I realize that if I don’t I might ignite the phone.
I pull off one of my gloves and almost puke when I see that my hand is glowing. Shocked, I drop the phone and run to the bathroom which adjoins my room. In some distant part of my brain I register John’s voice screaming my name through the phone. It just angers me more. I turn the cold water on and start to fill the sink as I pull off my other glove. Both hands are shaking with tremors and without the gloves I can feel the heat radiating out in all directions.

I submerge my hands.
I try to get myself under control, but when the water starts to boil, it is more than I can take. I open my mouth to let out a blood curdling scream when an explosion rocks the bathroom.

The first thing I notice is water seeping into my shoes.
Looking up, I see Mom and Dad standing in the doorway with their mouths agape. My sudden sobs energize Mom and Dad. Mom pulls me away from the hole in the wall and sits me on the edge of the bathtub. Dad runs out of the room and this scares me even more. “Is he afraid of me?” I ask between my tears.

Mom actually laughs, “No, Silly, he went to turn the water main off before the house floods.”

This pulls my attention back to the carnage I wrought on the place where my sink used to
be. The blast incinerated the sink and part of the wall. As I watch, the water that had been gushing out of the exposed pipe slows to a trickle and then to a fast drip. Dad comes back into the bathroom and without a word scoops me up in his arms.

He practically runs with me back to his office and I know we are about to have another conversation he doesn’t want anyone to overhear
. I want to scream a million questions at him, but I am drained. I barely have the energy to hold myself together and not fall asleep. He deposits me delicately on the sofa. Maybe I should just move into this room, I seem to spending a lot of time on this couch!

I close my eyes and am comforted by the steady rhythm of Mom rubbing my hair away from my face.
After several minutes I have the energy for one question, “What the hell was that?”

“Language, Sweetheart,” Mom murmurs.

“I blew up the bathroom and you are worried about the word hell? I don’t even think that is a cuss word!” I mean for it to come out overwrought with emotion, but it actually comes out a whisper. “What was that?” I try again.

“I’m not sure,” Dad says from across the room.
The energy from the blast seemed to drain all mine away. I’m too tired to open my eyes or ask any more questions. Waiting for them to explain my life to me, I quickly fall asleep.

*****

A steady knock at the front door wakes me up. I lurch into a sitting position with my heart in my throat, unsure why I am so anxious until I remember my incident in the bathroom. Mom puts a steadying hand on my shoulder, hoping to calm me. Mom and Dad are still in the room with me but that isn’t really any indication of how long I have been asleep. I’ll have to blast them away from me to ever be left alone again. The realization that I could blast them brings tears to my eyes.

Dad gets up and moves toward the door.
I shake my head at him, terrified of anyone being close to me. I could literally kill someone with my bare hands! For the first time in my life I begin to believe that my grandmother foresaw me being a monster. As much as my internal dialog condemns me, I think deep down I always thought it was a mistake. It has never felt as real as it does right now.

Dad puts his hand up to reassure me but leaves the room, “Mom,” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“Shh, I’m listening.”

I move toward the office door so I can hear too; slightly jealous of Mom’s ability.

Dad opens the door, but from my angle I can’t see who is there. I know immediately when I hear a familiar voice say, “Hello, Doctor Mills, I’m John Sullivan. Is Paige here?”

“Paige isn’t really feeling up to visitors right now, John.
I’ll let her know you stopped by.” He isn’t overly gruff as he says it, but he is pretty quick to shut the door in John’s face. John stops the door with his hand placed firmly against it and sticks his foot over the threshold.

“Sir, I am a little bit worried about her.
She dropped our call and I could have sworn I heard some crazy things in the background. I would really like to check on her and apologize for some of the things I said.”

Points to him for standing
up to my dad, and heck yeah, he has some apologizing to do. However, now is really not a good time. I am shocked when Dad steps back and opens the door again to let him in. “Sure, come on in.”

Turning, I practically run into Mom who has come up right behind me.
“Whatever happens, don’t get involved,” she whispers in my ear. I know she must be communicating with Dad or reading John or she would have just thought it to me. She pulls me to a corner of the room.

Dad and John walk in, both with slightly glossed over eyes, deep in conversation with Mom.
Dad walks over to the hutch that covers one side of the room and pulls out some equipment fresh from the autoclave. I am distracted from what he is doing when John starts talking to me, “Paige, I’m glad you wanted to see me.”

He is looking at me and talking to me, but not really.
“I’m glad you made it over.” I move to get closer to him, but Mom pulls me tighter. She motions with her hands to keep talking. I open my mouth to speak again but am silenced when John pulls his shirt off and faces his back toward me.

Wow, I would never have guessed he was so muscular under his clothes.
And you can tell he is not from around here because it is hard to get that deep of a tan in Nebraska. It is hard enough to find reasons to hate him. Does he have to look like a gorgeous beach volleyball player. The kind with broad shoulders and thin hips. Dad ruins the view by stepping between us; a good thing if I need to concentrate on anything other than those shoulders.