BACK JACKET FLAP
She remembers things that never happened.
She's a stranger in her own home.
She always knew she was different.
She just didn't know why.
Until now.
CYCLES
Published by Levanter Publishing
Copyright Lois D. Brown, 2011
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
Summary:
When Renee discovers that her neighbor, Dr. Dawson, has bags of his dead daughter’s frozen blood stored in his basement, she decides it’s up to her to uncover the doctor’s mysterious past. What she learns, however, is not what she expects. Now she and her friend Sam Miller are on the run, hiding from scientists who want to use what the two teenagers know to change human life forever.
Book One
ISBN: 978-0-9847237-0-6
Cover art made using Thinkstock/Getty Images
This ebook is licensed for personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or copied for distribution. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
DEDICATION
To McKay, Lindsay, Abby, Larson, and Eloise.
CYCLES
BY
LOIS D. BROWN
1. Blood
A DROP OF LIQUID OOZED from Renee’s fingertip. Her neighbor, Dr. Dawson, set down the sharp lancet and scooped the small, red ball onto the slide.
“Be sure to secure both locks and test the alarm on the barn when you leave,” he said, peering into the microscope lens at the sample he’d just collected. “I thought I saw someone snooping around the other day.”
Renee didn’t answer. Instead she let her gaze wander out the kitchen window and into the trees where the nearly empty stables stood. It’d only be a few more minutes, she told herself. The thrill of being able to see Dr. Dawson’s horse again grew inside her.
The doctor’s face gave nothing away. If her blood showed any sign of illness she couldn’t go near Mercury—one of the several hundred horses still alive in the United States after an out-of-control virus killed them all off.
“Everything looks good,” he said at last, sending relief through her.
“Awesome.” She stood up, balanced on her tip toes, and stretched to look taller than her unimpressive five-foot-two frame. She hoped it reassured her neighbor that she was definitely old enough to do this job.
“Be careful,” he said.
“I will.”
The worry lines around his mouth reshaped into a faint smile, and he patted her on the arm. “Sometimes I forget how responsible you are for a fourteen-year-old.”
She was actually thirteen and a half, but this wasn’t a good time to remind him of that.
“I’m leaving for San Jose in a few minutes,” he said. “I won’t be here when you’re done grooming Mercury.”
“No problem. I’ll make sure everything is locked up tight.” Pressing the alcohol-drenched cotton ball on her finger where he’d drawn blood, she walked to the back door. The screen bounced shut behind her, and she breathed in deeply, surrounding herself with the fresh scent of pine trees. This was going to be a great day.
***
“Come here, boy,” Renee called. Mercury moved toward her, and she gently attached the tether to keep him still, not because he needed it but because it was the rule. Carefully sitting on an old stool so splintered that one quick move would result in a backside of slivers, she ran the brush over Mercury’s sleek dark coat in her familiar pattern: a spiral. Her mother called it a doodle and said it was one of Renee’s most annoying habits. Spirals were all over the phone book, her homework, and the newspaper. Even in her mashed potatoes.
The barn’s worn, weathered walls stood in stark contrast to the high-tech security system that Dr. Dawson had installed two years ago after the deadly horse epidemic. Metal bars guarded the windows, and the large front sliding door was equipped with electronic deadbolts. Renee settled into the rhythm of brushing, allowing herself to fantasize about riding Mercury. It would never happen, of course. Not with Dr. Dawson being so paranoid about keeping him safe.
Renee didn’t notice the voices outside as they approached. Their hushed tones blended with the wind blowing in from the Diablo Mountains to the east, muffling their words. It took a loud rattle on the barn door to awaken her from her daydream.
Puzzled, she got up to see who it was but stopped. Anyone who was allowed in the barn knew the code. There was no need to pull on the handle like that unless someone was . . . breaking in. Her throat turned dry.
“The electricity to the barn should have been disabled by now. What’s holding it up?” said a woman’s voice.
More clattering.
“I don’t know,” a man finally answered. The door rattled a few more times. “I’ll go see.” Loud footsteps faded into the distance.
Renee crouched behind two bales of hay. As she hid, she heard light footsteps circling the barn. How could she keep Mercury safe?
She lifted herself to her knees and crawled toward the tack area. Standing up, she hoisted the lightest pad and saddle off the wall. The dust from the leather seat flew into her eyes, and she blinked several times trying to wash away the gritty feeling. She needed to be able to see clearly. Holding the equipment tightly in her arms, she returned to where Mercury was tethered. He nuzzled her neck.
“Don’t worry, boy. I’m going to keep you safe,” she whispered.
She’d read enough books about horses to know that putting on a saddle could be tricky for a beginner. She shivered in spite of the heat. Pushing the old stool toward Mercury’s side, she placed the pad and saddle on his back and tightened the cinch. Surprisingly the action felt almost natural, and attaching the breast collar was just as easy. She leaned backward and nearly whistled, stopping herself just in time. Mercury looked amazing. With swift hands she felt along the saddle’s edge to make sure nothing pinched him. At last she slipped the bridle on effortlessly.
Mercury whined and stomped his front legs.
“Shh.” She got off the stool and stroked him, wondering how long it had been since he’d been ridden. The thought made her grimace. It didn’t really matter since she had never been on a horse before. At best, she hoped to hang onto his neck and let him do the rest.
The heavy footsteps returned. Fear tore into Renee, but she willed herself to climb the stool once more and swing her leg over Mercury’s strong frame. Despite her panic, her heart also beat with excitement. She was actually sitting on a horse. Her only hope was that in a few minutes she still would be.
“He said the security system was harder to disable than he expected, but he’s got it figured out now,” the man said.
“I hope so. I’m paying him enough,” the woman answered.
Renee leaned to the side and untethered Mercury, trying to ignore the amassing anxiety twisting about inside of her. She waited while the horse beneath her held perfectly still. The only sound was her rapid intake of air. Time moved slowly until a deactivation signal from the barn’s alarm sounded. Beeps grew in frequency until they echoed around her. A triumphant laugh accompanied a final hard pull on the door.
Renee’s knees sank deep into the horse’s sides. “Go, Mercury! NOW!” she yelled.
The horse bolted from the spot where he’d stood motionless just seconds before. He snorted so loudly that Renee feared she was choking him. He flipped his head once to the left and then to the right as he charged for the opening.
The pair of intruders fell to the ground when Mercury raced past them, the woman curling into fetal position and the man wailing like an injured coyote. Renee trembled at the horse’s speed. It filled her with a sense of power, stirring feelings she never knew she had.
In seconds, Mercury left the would-be horse thieves behind. Renee couldn’t believe how simple it was for her to control his steady canter. Wanting to get as far away from danger, she prodded him. He accelerated to a full gallop. His front legs reached forward grabbing air as they raced over the California dirt. She steered him away from the field and back to the main road. Her plan was to head for her house about a half mile away. Lyn, the housekeeper, would be there. She might know what to do.
Renee felt the saddle slip, and she glanced down to make sure everything was still secure. Despite her bumpy vision, she noticed something she hadn’t seen in her rush. Carved into the leather grip was a spiral, just like the ones she drew. She let go of the right rein to feel the drawing’s carefully etched lines. At just that moment a frightened jack rabbit jumped in front of the horse’s pounding hooves, and he reared. Renee lost her balance and hit the rocky ground with a sickening thud. She reached up and felt something wet all over her forehead and hair. The last thing she heard was her name. Someone was coming.
***
Shouts stabbed at her from every direction, intensifying a furious, screaming pain inside her head. Renee tried opening her eyes, but they only cracked slightly, forcing her to peer through slits on her swollen face. A bleak, white wall stared at her. Taking in its one adornment—a picture of a sunflower in a large, cheap frame—Renee knew one thing for sure. She wasn’t at home. The tasteless print would have mortified her mother.
A noise came from her right. Or was it her left? Everything felt turned around, and it was hard to breathe since something smothered her nose and mouth. A pack of white coats and blue scrubs jostled around her.
“We need to get some blood into her.” The voice was unfamiliar.
“I know, I know,” a different man answered. “It doesn’t matter how many times I try, I get the same readout. I’ve been doing this for fourteen years, and I’ve never seen blood like hers. The machine must not be working.”
“It’s not broken. It worked fine for everyone else today. My guess is that it’s user error,” retorted the first.
“Stop blaming each other.” A confident female voice interrupted the arguing pair. “This girl is going to die if we can’t get her stabilized. There must be something we’re overlooking. Has the ARDP been contacted?”
“Who?” A younger voice spoke.
With obvious irritation the female spoke again. “The ARDP—American Rare Donor Program.”
“We contacted them immediately after the test showed the girl’s blood had agglutination tendencies,” a man responded.
“Agglutination tendencies!” scoffed another. “When I performed compatibility tests on her blood it clumped up like a bowl of overcooked oatmeal.”
Renee didn’t recognize anyone. Somehow she needed to tell them she was alive, but she couldn’t move, let alone talk.
“We don’t have time for this. We’re losing her.” The urgency in the woman’s words was clear. “What did the ARDP say?”
“They have no record of any blood that even remotely matches hers,” a man in blue answered. “The technician said the antigens in her blood are completely foreign. The guy yelled at me over the phone. He told me he would report my joke to the medical ethics board. Trust me, if I hadn’t seen the stuff coming straight out of her arm, I wouldn’t have believed it myself.”
Despite being at the mercy of the pounding in her head, Renee wanted nothing more than to keep listening. If she was going to die, she wanted to know why.
A blurry figure ran into the room.
“Get me up to speed, fast,” he barked. “I’m a friend of the family.”
A friend of the family? Renee wondered if her ears were playing tricks on her. Dr. Dawson was supposed to be somewhere else, wasn’t he? When he spoke again, however, she knew it was him.
“I need to know what happened,” he said. “Now!”
A nurse rattled off details from Renee’s medical chart. “Severe head trauma. Blood loss approximated at 35 percent. Transfusion needed. Multiple compatibility tests offer no available blood matches. The ARDP has been unsuccessful in identifying unknown antigens.”
Silence.
At last Dr. Dawson spoke. “I have some blood in a sub-zero freezer in my lab. It should work.”
“What on earth . . .” The female doctor muttered.
Dr. Dawson moved away from where Renee could see him and asked, “How long until she goes into decompensated shock?”
“Not long,” a nurse answered.
The ache inside Renee’s head was overwhelming. She tried to make a sound—something to let them know to use whatever blood Dr. Dawson had. She didn’t care if it was from an African monkey. A moan escaped her lips, but by the time anyone noticed the monitors flashed critical.
Helen’s Journal, July 25, 1960
In the middle of nowhere, California
My contractions hurt. The humidity doesn’t help. Lost and alone. This is not how I wanted to give birth, but it’s beginning to look like I have no choice. I know if my mother were here she would tell me to be calm. People said she was the best midwife in all of California. But she’s not here. She’s dead.
It’s my own fault, but what could I do? Not go to my mother’s funeral? That’s what Mark wanted. He said my mother was a nasty old lady who stuck her nose in everyone’s business. He wouldn’t come with me. He said he’d rather have his pregnant wife drive across California by herself than grace my mother’s dead body with his presence. So here I am . . .
More contractions. The air is a deep gray, yet it’s only midday. I wish I had some clean towels and warm water. That’s what my mother always used. I should have another couple of months before the baby is born, but there is no mistaking these pains. I found a spot out of the wind in the side of a rock bluff. The walls have strange carvings on them, and there’s a mound of dirt to the left. I’m not the first to have found refuge here . . .
The sun is now charcoal. I’m scared. Something is terribly wrong. My mother helped so many women through childbirth—but when I need her most I’m alone. In the quiet of the darkness, no one will hear my cries.
2. Genetics
FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD SAM UNSUCCESSFULLY tried to look confident in the too-short medical scrubs he’d “borrowed” from the hospital’s basement laundry room. He wasn’t a thief, but when the gray-haired woman in admissions had told him visitors were off-limits to Renee’s room, he’d decided desperate times called for desperate measures—a saying from his favorite book of quotes.
He walked down the hallway where he heard hushed sounds drifting out of a doorway up ahead. He would never admit it to anyone, but he was terrified. He hadn’t been in a hospital since the day his dad died, and that was a long time ago.
Breathe, he told himself. He knew there was no logical reason for the suffocating pressure he felt in his chest, but it wouldn’t go away no matter how much he told it to.
The voices became audible, and he recognized one of them—Dawson! Sam stopped a few feet short of the office door. Through the crack, he saw a pinch-faced woman sitting across a polished mahogany desk from Renee’s neighbor. Dawson’s hands twisted around each other like two hyperactive rattlesnakes doing the Salsa.
“Julie,” he said, “there’s no need to make Renee Beaumont’s life any more miserable. Keep this information to yourself.”
“Just how is the daughter of two wealthy California attorneys miserable?” the woman opposite him asked.
“Renee has grown up alone,” he replied. “Her parents are rarely home. They spend their time traveling back and forth from their multiple law offices. She was practically raised by the housekeeper at the family’s country home in Cliffton.”
“And?”
“And this matter is sensitive. If news like this gets out, it will alienate her even more from her peers. The only friend she has is a Polynesian boy who lives up the street, and he’s a little odd.”
Sam’s face burned. Did Dawson just call him odd? The doctor was the real freak—doing things like checking people’s blood before they could touch his precious horse.
The pinch-faced woman spoke. “If people don’t have time to take care of children, they shouldn’t have them. Listen Greg, you can either stay to hear what I’m going to say to the Beaumonts or you can leave. This is strictly business. Her parents should be here any minute.”
Sam jumped. He had to get out of there before Renee’s mom and dad showed up. He made five lanky-legged strides, reached the door to the stairwell, opened it, and went in. He was sure the Beaumonts would take the elevator, and he was right. A moment later he heard the unmistakable whiny voice of Karen Beaumont from the hallway on the other side of the door.
Sam climbed a few of the stairs toward the second floor where Renee’s room was, but he stopped. What information did Dawson not want the pinch-faced lady to share with Renee’s parents? Sam wasn’t the eavesdropping type. It was too dangerous. In fact, this entire venture was completely against his better nature. Yet he couldn’t leave now—not when they were discussing his best friend.
He crept back until he was once again a few feet away from the office. He knelt down, out of sight of those in the room, and pretended to tie his worn-out tennis shoes as he strained to hear every word.
A distinguished voice spoke first. “Thank you for coming Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont. I’m Dr. John Richards, director of the medical staff at St. Louis Regional Hospital. This is Dr. Julie Simmons. She was called to the case when complications arose attempting a blood transfusion. We wanted to review what happened to your daughter, as we still have some unanswered questions. I’m going to have Dr. Simmons take it from here.”
“Good afternoon,” Dr. Simmons said with a stuffy voice—the kind actors playing doctors in soap operas use.
Papers shuffled and chairs squeaked.
“Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont,” began the doctor, “let me tell you my credentials. I have been working at this hospital for a little over two years. Before that I worked back East with the American Rare Donor Program, known as ARDP. I was one of their top researchers.”
Sam silently snorted. Doctors were so egotistical. His dad’s oncologist had told them he was an expert too. A lot of good that did.
The tingling in Sam’s legs reminded him it was time to move. He quietly stood up and pretended to look at the posters plastered on the wall from the American Heart Association. If he hadn’t been so intent on what was going on in the office, he would have enjoyed reading them. Today, however, the words blurred.
“Your daughter lost a lot of blood yesterday. Enough to kill a person,” continued Dr. Simmons. “When I arrived, her body was descending into fatal shock.”
Karen Beaumont let out a weak gasp, and Dr. Simmons charged on.
“Renee desperately needed a blood transfusion. However, when the medical staff performed a compatibility test, we couldn’t find a match. Her blood is highly . . . unusual.”
“What do you mean unusual?” Charles Beaumont’s voice was octaves lower than his wife’s.
“You’ve heard of blood types, I suppose?” asked Dr. Simmons.
“Of course.”
“Typically, it’s like pairing apples to apples and oranges to oranges. At times, however, a person’s blood contains special proteins called antigens. They make it harder to find a match.”
“I see,” Charles Beaumont said curtly, “and am I to assume Renee’s blood had some of these specialized proteins in it?” It was obvious Renee’s dad didn’t like being dominated in a conversation. He was slipping into his courtroom voice.
With hardly a break in rhythm, Dr. Simmons reclaimed charge of the discussion.
“Exactly. When we realized Renee’s blood was unique, we sent a detailed description to the American Rare Donor Program. With their advanced equipment the ARDP can usually find a substitute for even the most unique blood types. For Renee, they couldn’t. They believe her blood must have more than twenty unknown antigens. That is simply unheard of.”
Sam was fascinated. Most of what the doctor said made sense because biology was fresh on his mind from last semester. It had been his favorite class during ninth grade, which said a lot because he loved all his classes in school—except P.E. He hadn’t heard of the ARDP though. He’d look them up later on the Internet at the library.
“When Greg arrived,” Dr. Simmons slowed her words for only a moment, “Renee was dying. Apparently he had some of Renee’s blood in a deep freezer. It was quite a remarkable coincidence,” she said. “I’m still not sure why?”
Dawson loudly cleared his throat.
“You see, a year ago, Renee had an experiment for the science fair, and I helped her with it. As part of the project, I collected several pints of her blood—over the course of the school year. Don’t you remember, Karen? Your husband signed the release.”
“I-I don’t,” Renee’s mom stammered.
“I do.” Charles spoke quickly. “Karen is so busy at times that she tends to forget things.”
“Using a private collection of blood is highly questionable according to the hospital’s code of ethics,” broke in Dr. Simmons. “ I approved only out of a desire to spare your daughter’s life. If you feel inclined, you can file a complaint with the medical ethics board.”
“Oh goodness, that won’t be necessary,” answered Karen. “We trust Greg with Renee’s life.”
“Very well,” Dr. Simmons continued on, nothing but business. “Scientists at the ARDP have requested actual blood samples from Renee for further research. Before you leave today, I’ll get you the paperwork so we can get started.”
A chair slid along the floor, and Sam tensed. The conversation was ending, which meant he should get out of there, for good this time. He dashed away but tripped on his undone shoe lace.
Grunting, he caught himself before he crashed to the ground, but it put him in clear view of Renee’s parents. At the moment they had their backs to him, but Sam knew the instant they turned around he’d be toast. He froze, afraid that any noise he made would give him away. He half sat, half knelt on the floor, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Sit down, Mr. Beaumont. There is one more thing I’d like to mention.”
Dr Simmons’ words stopped Renee’s parents from moving, and Sam used the moment to scoot out of view.
“We need to discuss your blood,” Dr. Simmons said.
“Our blood?” asked Karen.
“Yes. By the time you arrived at the hospital, your daughter was doing much better. However, as I’m sure you recall, we asked if you were her biological parents, and you said yes. We took samples of your blood just in case Renee had a set-back. Since blood type is passed from parent to child, we figured one of you may be a suitable blood donor.”
Dr. Simmons took a deep breath. “Charles, you have Type O blood. Karen, so do you. A man and a woman with Type O blood can only have a child with Type O.” Another pause. “Renee is Type B, with her special proteins.”
“That means . . .” began Charles slowly.
“It means,” Dr. Simmons said, “Renee is not your daughter.”
***
There were two things Sam knew. First, Greg Dawson lied about Renee needing blood for a science fair project—she avoided that kind of stuff like Sam avoided germy bathroom door handles. The second thing was that the woman of his dreams was standing no less than fifty feet ahead of him.
Jessica Cooper leaned over the nurses’ counter, her bright fuchsia nail polish in direct contrast to the gray hospital uniform she wore. A set of ID tags swung down from her neck. She spoke like a cheerleader doing a halftime show—probably because she was a cheerleader and the only time Sam usually heard her was during halftime. The shapeless scrubs didn’t hide the fact that she would look great in a bikini. As a freshman last year she’d won the award for “Best Bod,” ticking off every sophomore, junior, and senior girl in the whole school.
“Today is my first day—so how was I supposed to know there was sugar-free Jell-o?” Her head cocked to the right side. Like always, she looked great.
The desk attendant in front of her looked old, tired, and extremely annoyed. “Many of our patients are diabetic, so it’s very important they don’t eat food with sugar in it,” she said in a longsuffering voice. “You need to read the signs carefully. Now, please get a bowl of the sugar-free Jell-o and take it to room 228. Tell Mr. Evans we’re sorry, and get out of there. We don’t need any more drama this afternoon.”
Jessica stood up straight and flipped her hair back as she turned. Her eyes met Sam’s and his body petrified like he’d been standing there watching her for centuries. What was he supposed to do? Talk?
“Hey, don’t I know you?” Jessica pointed at his frozen frame.
“Uh, yeah.” Sam’s mouth felt like he’d eaten a mouthful of peanut butter but had no milk to wash it down.
Jessica continued, “I didn’t know you volunteered here. Are you doing it for school credit, too? ‘Cause I am. Dragon-fang Johnson—you know, the health teacher—said if I volunteered this summer she’d raise my grade in health from a D to a C. It’s totally worth it. My parents pay me for getting C’s. Of course, I’d get more money for A’s or B’s—but C’s are pretty easy. Don’t you think?” She blew a bubble with her gum. It popped.
Sam felt as if he’d been blasted by a strong wind that smelled of fresh spearmint leaves growing along a country roadside. He breathed deeply until his lungs felt like they would float right out of his chest.
“Sure,” he said. He’d never gotten anything below an A-, and that had been in a seventh grade weight training class so it didn’t count on his permanent record. Being this close to her, however, made him forget his phobia of failing. An F on her report card would be sexy. The nurse at the desk eyed him suspiciously. It was time to get out of there. Dang. They were just starting to get to know each other.
“I gotta go. I’m supposed to be . . . somewhere else.”
“Okay, well better luck than me,” said Jessica. “There are just so many rules—seriously. I’m glad I’m only here for three weeks, and then after that I’m off to summer camp—which reminds me—are you going to go? It’s kind of expensive—which probably means you’re not. Anyway, Steve, see ya.”
Sam looked over his shoulder. Who was she talking to? He was the only one there.
“I’m Sam.”
“Oh yeah. See ya, Sam.” She marched off down the corridor.
Having just had the longest conversation in his life with Jessica put Sam in a great mood. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. He glanced down at his hand and stared at the blue ink scribbled on his palm—212. He glimpsed once more at Jessica’s back, and then took off to find Renee.
3. Lies
THE DOOR OPENED AND RENEE looked up, expecting to see her parents or maybe Dr. Dawson. She hoped it wasn’t any of the other doctors—especially not Dr. Simmons, who gave Renee the creeps.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Sam stood in front of her with a goofy grin on his face that made him look like a puppy that’d been given his first bone.
“How did you get in here?” Renee said, surprised. “I thought only my parents had visiting privileges.”
“I have my ways.” He strutted closer. “Seriously, you are having a bad hair day.”
She reached up and felt her head. Her naturally long wavy hair stuck out everywhere. Oh great. She was so used to having it in a pony tail, she hadn’t even thought about what it must look like.
“And cool hospital gown,” Sam added.
She stuck out her tongue at him, laughing. Sam was one to talk. His dark hair always poked up from a cowlick in front, and his clothes were all hand-me-downs from his three older brothers and probably from some cousin before that.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “My parents have been hovering over me like I might explode any minute.”
“Hmm,” he answered, “can’t imagine why. Oh yeah, maybe it has something to do with the fact that their daughter almost killed herself on a stolen horse.”
She scowled. “I didn’t steal him. I was saving him. Who knows what those people would have done to Mercury if I hadn’t stopped them?”
Sam held up his hands. “I know, I know. I was just kidding. Sheesh. Don’t get your knickers in a knot.”
Renee rolled her eyes. Obviously he’d been reading his book of old quotes again. He needed to get out of the house more.
“I read in the newspaper that the police found cut electrical lines to Dawson’s house and the barn.” He was about to say more when a nurse walked by, and he shrank against the wall.
“Hey,” Renee whispered, remembering where they were. “I thought you hate places like this.”
“I do.” Sam nodded. “Do you know how many deadly germs are in hospitals?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
He rolled his eyes at her and rubbed the smooth brown skin on his chin, obviously thinking. “You saved Dawson a bunch of money keeping his horse safe,” he said, changing the subject. “It’s worth more than my house. Actually, it’s worth more money than your house—that’s saying something.”
“Mercury is a ‘he,’ not an ‘it,’” interrupted Renee. She raised herself up to sit in the bed, and the flimsy blue hospital gown she wore slipped open. She grabbed at it, which made her dizzy. She blushed. How much had he seen?
By the time her eyes focused, Sam was reading her medical chart on the wall and cracking his knuckles. He only did that when he was nervous.
“Sam,” asked Renee, “what’s up?”
He cleared his throat. “Are you up for a little mystery?”
“I don’t know. What is it?”
He stepped closer to the bed. His dark brown eyes came alive. “Did you know you had a blood transfusion?”
“Yes?” Renee pulled the sheet under her chin just in case.
“But,” Sam held up his finger, “do you know where the blood came from?”
She stared at his twitching mouth. Had she heard something about this in the emergency room? “No. . .” she responded warily, “but I do remember somebody saying there was something wrong with it.”
“I overheard a conversation between your parents and some doctors, including Dawson. Evidently, you have the weirdest blood they’ve ever seen. And get this—you’re alive because of your psycho neighbor.”
“I’ve told you before. He’s not psycho—just strange.”
Even calling him that made Renee feel disloyal. When she was a child, Dr. Dawson had always been there for her. He gave her birthday and Christmas presents and attended her school programs when her parents couldn’t make it, which was often. In third grade he’d let her keep a stray dog at his house that her parents had forbidden her to bring home. When the dog died, the two of them had held a private funeral in his backyard. As she grew older, however, she’d seen less and less of him. Regardless, at one time he had been like an uncle to her.
“Listen.” Sam interrupted her trip down memory lane. “Dawson told the other doctors he had pints of your blood from a science fair project you did last year.”
“What? I’ve never even done a—”
Sam didn’t let her finish. “I know that. But get this. Your dad backed up his story.”
“What?” Renee was now sitting up straight. Thoughts of her crazy hair and skanky gown were gone. “That’s a lie. Besides, my dad has no idea what I do. He’s never home.” Confused, she rubbed the back of her neck and motioned for Sam to sit on the edge of her bed.
“No thanks,” he said, shaking his head. “The less I touch, the better.”
“Sorry, I forgot.” Renee wished he was less weird sometimes. “So explain to me—” she paused to make sense of what he’d told her. “Why would Dr. Dawson and my dad lie?”
“Might have something to do with what I heard next.” Sam took a breath like he was about to sprint across a freeway of oncoming cars. Before he could continue, however, the clatter of shoe heels hitting the tiled hospital floor startled Renee, and she held up her hand.
“Someone’s coming,” she whispered. She gestured to him to crawl into the space between the side of her bed and the wall.
“Do I have to?” He shuddered.
“Yes. Hurry!”
He dove for cover, and Renee used the blanket at the foot of her bed to hide his back. Her injured head swam from the sudden movement. Moments later her parents stood in the doorway.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Charles Beaumont’s voice echoed in the large, sterile room.
“Hi, Dad. Hi, Mom. What did the doctors say? Can I go home soon?”
“Not yet,” answered Dr. Dawson.
She hadn’t noticed him standing behind her mom.
He stepped forward and grabbed her chart off the wall. “I’m afraid we’re going to keep you here a few more days.”
“A few more days!” Renee groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding. I feel fine. I’d rather go home and lay around the house than be stuck here. Besides, the sooner I get home the sooner my parents can go on their vacation.”
Her mother smiled. “Sweetie, we aren’t going to go on vacation. We’re going to stick around and keep an eye on you.”
What? It was hard for Renee to hide her disappointment. Her parents always toured Europe in July, giving her even more freedom than usual. It was her favorite time of year.
“I’m fine,” she protested. “Just a dumb cut on the head, that’s all. I’ll feel guilty if you don’t go.”
“Absolutely not. And stop it. You’re making me feel like you don’t want us around.”
“No, no. That’s not it. It’s just that . . .” She stopped talking. Truthfully, she didn’t. Both of her parents were so different from her. They had given her everything—at least everything they could buy from a store. The problem was, she didn’t want any of it. Her mom had been the kind of teenager who shopped at the mall and hung out by the bleachers checking out the football players. Renee would rather scoop horse poop than do either of those things. And her dad—he was all business. Every day was the same: an early-morning jog on the treadmill, a three-minute shower, orange juice and a whole wheat bagel. By 6:30 a.m. he was out the door.
“Renee,” her father spoke with a firm voice. “It would be irresponsible of us to leave so soon after your injury. End of discussion.”
They were both so stubborn. Of course, having a huge bandage stuck to her forehead didn’t help her argument much. Maybe she’d drop the subject for now.
Dr. Dawson cleared his throat. “I haven’t asked yet how you’re feeling. Are you doing well?”
“I said I’m fine.” Softening her voice, she added, “By the way, how did I get here? The last thing I remember is falling off Mercury.” Then it hit her. Mercury!
“Oh my gosh,” she gasped. “I don’t even know what happened to him. Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Dr. Dawson reassured her. “He made out much better than you. I have a professional animal trainer taking care of him right now. And, just to let you know, I’ve taken extra precautions on the barn’s security system.”
The blood in Renee’s head pounded.
“And to answer your first question,” Dr. Dawson continued, “you have your friend Sam Miller to thank. From what I understand, he went to see you and he heard Mercury by your house. He followed the horse and Mercury led him straight to you.”
“Sam? Really? I guess he’s not a moron all the time,” she said. The mattress on the right side of her bed jiggled. The only one who noticed was Dr. Dawson. He looked at her questioningly but said nothing.
Renee felt a wave of nostalgia come over her. Good old Dr. Dawson. Keeping her secrets like usual.
“We’re just so grateful Sam found you,” said Renee’s mom. “What were you thinking? You don’t know anything about riding a horse. No wonder the animal bucked you off.”
“I had to get Mercury out of the barn,” Renee defended herself. “Some people were going to take him.”
Dr. Dawson stepped forward. “I owe you a huge thanks. If you hadn’t been such a quick thinker, Mercury could have been injured, stolen, or worse. I’m just sorry that you were hurt. The good thing is you’re recovering quickly.”
“Good,” she said. “That means I’ll be ready to go to summer camp in a few weeks.” Seeing Dr. Dawson’s face, she quickly added, “With your approval, of course.”
“We’ll talk about it when you get home,” said her mom, but by the look on her face, Renee knew she’d won at least that argument. Her bed moved again. Sam must be getting antsy about being shoved into the tiny space. She forced the biggest fake yawn she could muster.
“Looks like it’s time for a nap,” her mom said, approaching the bed. For a split second, Renee thought her mom was going to hug her. Instead, she got a pat on the head as if she were a show poodle. Her mom was too preoccupied with not falling over in her high-heeled shoes to notice the blanket next to Renee’s bed moved up and down with Sam’s breathing.
After her parents and Dr. Dawson left, Sam slithered out of his hiding place. He tiptoed to the corner of the room where he couldn’t be seen by anyone walking by in the hall.
“So . . .” Renee had a grin on her face. “You saved me after I fell, huh?”
“It was no big deal.” He blushed. “I was at the swimming pool, but Jessica Cooper wasn’t there so I got desperate and came looking for you.”
Sam had had a crush on Jessica for years. It had never bugged Renee until last year—when Jessica’s I.Q. seemed to plummet to zero. But it wasn’t up to her to choose who Sam did or didn’t like.
“Well gee,” said Renee, “thanks. You’re so thoughtful. By the way, did you hear my parents? Sounds like they’re going to stick around in July.”
“That’ll be weird.”
“I know, and it means we’ll have to be a little trickier,” she said.
“Tricky about what?”
“Finding out whose blood Dr. Dawson used in me,” she said.
Sam’s face flushed. “Isn’t that a little extreme?” He shuffled his feet and attempted to bite his already non-existent fingernails.
“No, and quit acting wimpy. You sneaked into the hospital, didn’t you?” Renee said.
“True.” Sam puffed his chest out.
“So,” Renee continued, “what were you going to tell me before my parents came in?”
Sam glanced around. The look on his face made Renee feel jittery. “Dr. Simmons told your parents your blood doesn’t match theirs.”
“So?”
“Like it doesn’t match at all. She said you’re not their daughter, at least not biologically speaking.”
It was like he’d thrown an encyclopedia at her gut. Was this his idea of a joke? But that wasn’t like Sam.
“Are you saying I’m adopted?” She couldn’t help but think about when she was younger and would daydream about being an orphan and then learning her real parents loved the outdoors just like her. But every kid had thoughts like that, didn’t they?
“I don’t know,” said Sam. “Doctors can be clueless, but science doesn’t lie. Maybe this has something to do with Dr. Dawson and the blood he used in your transfusion.”
Was he trying to make her feel better or worse? Nothing was making any sense. Awkwardly, Sam looked around the room. Finally he spoke. “Okay, if you want to find out what’s going on, I’ll help. We could start by taking a look around Dawson’s house. We’re underage, so even if we’re caught we won’t go to jail.”
She hadn’t even been released from the hospital, and Sam already had them both being arrested. She took a deep breath. It hurt her lungs and her head to do it, but she needed air.
“Thanks, Sam. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I know you’ll help me figure it out. And by the way, 15-year-olds don’t go to jail. They go to Juvy.” She hid her smirk as she slid back under the sheets. A long nap would feel good before having to face the reality of what Sam had just told her. Her friend’s serious look deepened as he pulled on his leg pants, trying to make them not look like floods, and slipped out the door.
4. Plans
FOR THE FIRST TIME IN her life, Renee was excited about going to school. It had been more than two weeks since the accident, and her parents hadn’t let her out of the house once.
To make things worse, Dr. Dawson had insisted on coming over every day to give her a check-up. Humiliating! He monitored her blood pressure, heart rate, and pulse, and quizzed her with all kinds of health questions. She’d begun to wish Sam hadn’t found her—bleeding to death from a head wound certainly would have been less painful than all the attention. Today was her first taste of freedom in what felt like forever.
Keeping her head down, she shuffled into Ms. Frazier’s classroom filled with the other below-average summer school students who needed to make up math and science before ninth grade.
Sam sat at his desk in the front of the room. He worked as a TA for the high school during the summers.
“Renee!” A grin filled his face. “I didn’t know if your parents would ever let you see daylight again. Did you get paroled for good behavior?”
Renee’s tight muscles relaxed. It was good to see him again.
“Just the opposite,” she answered. “I annoyed them so much they finally gave in.” She grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled it forward, hoping to hide the ugly, fresh scar that ran down her temple and bumped into her ear. The doctors had told her she would have the mark as a permanent reminder of “the incident” as they called it.
“Okay guys, time to settle down.” Ms. Frazier, who stood at the front of the room, looked like she could have been in high school herself. She was constantly twisting her blond hair into a bun and then shoving a pencil through it to make it stay put. She wore no make-up and her softly tanned skin seemed like caramel. Everyone liked her, including Renee who detested most teachers.
“Hey,” Renee whispered to Sam as the second bell rang, “any luck?”
“With what?” Sam responded. The class quieted down, and Renee looked around to make sure no one was listening.
“Dr. Dawson’s house. Did you think of a way to get in?”
His face paled. He crossed his lips with his right index finger and mouthed the words, “Not now.”
Ms. Frazier’s voice rose above the students’ chatter. “Quit talking or you’ll spend the morning in study hall with Mr. Crenshaw.” The noise stopped. Mr. Crenshaw had the worst breath of anyone Renee knew.
Sam straightened in his chair, paying close attention. Renee knew he was almost as hot for Ms. Frazier as he was for Jessica. The only difference was Ms. Frazier actually spoke to him.
“Thank you,” Ms. Frazier said. She turned and began writing something on the chalkboard. Renee settled into her chair and got ready for a morning of algebra and astronomy—what fun.
***
Sam arrived in the lunchroom a little late and joined Renee at the otherwise empty cafeteria table. He took two small bundles out of his backpack and tossed one to her.
“What kind of sandwich is it today?” she asked.
“Kalua pork,” he answered.
Her mouth watered. “I hope you know you’re my hero,” she said. “I couldn’t face the lunchroom’s chicken chunks again.” She pulled the sandwich from its bag, took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Mmm, how does your mom do it?”
Sam had already stuffed half of his sandwich into his mouth. “Shee’s haa wots of pactis.”
“What?”
Sam took a drink of water from his bottle. “I said, she’s had lots of practice. Feeding eight kids isn’t easy. Believe me. I hate it when she has me make dinner.”
Renee had never made dinner—except an occasional frozen burrito. The great thing about Sam was that even though his dad had died young and left his mom with eight kids and no money, he didn’t hold it against Renee for being rich. The home he lived in had been donated to Habitat for Humanity and Sam’s family got it. His mother called the house manna from heaven.
“Okay,” she said, “let’s brain storm. How do we get into Dawson’s house.”
“Actually, I figured it out.”
“That was quick,” teased Renee, though she knew Sam could figure out just about anything, except how to be popular.
Sam took another bite of his moist sandwich that dripped with Kalua sauce. The smell of burned chicken chunks drifted around them. Some of the other kids, mostly boys, grunted and yelped, purposely shoving each other on the other tables. A clan of prima donnas in the corner traded notes. All of it reminded Renee just how out of place she felt at Live Oak High. Sam interrupted her thoughts.
“So, what’s the plan?”
“Sheesh, be patient. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.” Sam looked over to the table of girls then back at Renee. “Are you nervous?”
“About what?” She licked her fingers clean.
“What we might find in Dawson’s house?”
“No.” Renee turned back to look at him. “Why would I be?”
“Well.” Sam squirmed. “What if we find out you really do have different parents?”
All of a sudden she didn’t feel quite as hungry. She hadn’t really thought too much about that.
“Personally,” Sam continued, “I’ve gone from thinking you’re the offspring of aliens to hoping you’re a relative of someone famous, like Stephen Hawking.” He cleared his throat. “Now that would be cool.”
“Who?”
“Hawking?” Sam sounded incredulous. “You seriously don’t know who he is?”
“Never heard of him.” Renee swallowed her last bite of pork.
“The famous physicist from England?”
Renee choked and grabbed Sam’s water bottle. She took a couple gulps and then set it down, pounding her chest. “Oh yeah, him.”
“Hey, do you smell somethin’ funny?” The snarling voice came from behind her.
“Yeah—kind a like someone’s been wearing the same pair of underwear for a couple weeks.” This time Renee recognized the voice—Rupper Johnson.
“Shut your trap,” she said, spinning around on the bench and feeling a rush of adrenaline climb up her arms. The boy’s gym shorts hung off his hips and a basketball was tucked into his armpit. His friend stood next to him with a look that clearly showed he didn’t mind getting into a fight with anyone—even a girl.
“Don’t, Renee,” said Sam, his voice strained.
Renee’s heart beat faster. If there was one person in this world she hated, it was Rupper. He had been terrorizing Sam and Renee for years, though he had focused his efforts on Sam for the last few—ever since Renee threatened to hire a body guard that would beat Rupper to a pulp if he bugged her again. The idiot had actually believed her.
“It’s pretty sad,” said Rupper’s friend. “Stinky Sam’s weird girlfriend has to protect him.”
Renee shot off the bench. Sam grabbed her arm and coaxed her back down, his back still toward the bullies.
“Ignore them,” he said hardly loud enough for Renee to hear.
Rupper laughed and clipped Sam hard on the back of the head.
“You’re pathetic. You know that?” he said. The two friends high-fived each other and sauntered away.
Renee sat back down, glaring at Sam. He sat dazed, looking at an uneaten apple in front of him. His face was expressionless, though his hands shook.
“Why do you do that?” she demanded. “Stand up for yourself. You’re taller than them, you’re quicker than them, and you’re totally smarter than them.” She waited for him to say something—anything—but he just took a bite of apple and chewed it. And chewed it. And chewed it.
“Hello?” said Renee, still waiting.
“My mom would freak if I got into a fight. She’d tell me that my dad is disappointed in me, and I don’t want to hear that.” He slid off his seat and stood up. “It bugs me,” his voice faltered, “when she talks about him like he’s still around.”
“Oh.” Renee looked down at the ground. Personally, she didn’t care very much what her parents thought of her. Perhaps that was why Sam’s news in the hospital about her possibly being adopted didn’t crush her like it would have Sam. Besides, even if she had been upset, the last thing she would have done was admit it. Emotions were a sign of weakness, and she was not weak. Never.
She looked at her watch. Classes would be done in less than two hours. “I can’t face going back to my house this afternoon,” she said. “Where are you going?”
Meticulously wiping his crumbs off the table and into his cupped hand, Sam said, “Gamma Didi’s. Want to come?”
5. Venom
TECHNICALLY THE TOWN OF CLIFFTON where Sam and Renee lived wasn’t a town at all but a small community with a maze of asphalt roads in a mass of tall maples and oak trees. The Diablo Mountains and Coyote Creek—an ironic name for one of the largest rivers in California—bordered their homes.
Visitors who spent their summers in Cliffton came to get away from urban life and back to nature. Sam, however, wasn’t all that much into nature unless it meant classifying different rock and plant species. One time he and Renee had found an area scattered with poppy jasper—a semi-precious stone found only in their part of California. As a scientist, he had wanted to gather a few to examine, but Renee wouldn’t let him. She told him it was stealing from the earth. Later he’d returned to get some without her, but someone else had taken them all—the story of his life.
The two friends lived about two miles apart on the same long stretch of road on the outer edge of town. Around the corner from Renee’s was Dawson’s house, and further down the street lived Gamma Didi, the most brilliant—and only—writer Sam had ever met.
Today Gamma was outside hanging her laundry on the line. No one hung clothes outside to dry, except Gamma. She said it made them smell better, claiming that the dryer left a burnt scent on her undies, which, for Sam, was altogether too much information.
Gamma looked up from her chore and waved.
“Hey kids,” she said. “Enjoying your first day of freedom, Renee?” Gamma always knew everything that was happening in the neighborhood.
“I am,” answered Renee. “It feels so good to be out of the house, but don’t tell my parents I came here. I didn’t exactly ask.”
Gamma laughed. “Don’t worry. I rarely see your parents. They don’t have much to say to an old woman like me.”
As it happened, Renee’s parents didn’t like Gamma at all. Sam had heard them say it several times before. They preferred having the “educated” Dr. Dawson for a neighbor. But to Sam, no one could compare with Gamma in smarts or personality. She had been raised on an Ohlone Indian reservation near San Francisco. While the Californian government now considered her tribe a “treasure to the state,” that was not the case when she was growing up and her people were outcasts. Despite it all, she’d never stopped being proud to be an Ohlone.
“Nothing,” she had said to him years ago, “can destroy the Ohlone. My tribe is still intact after fourteen hundred years. The Spanish explorers couldn’t get rid of us, nor could the European settlers. Do you know why?”
“Why?” Sam had asked.
“Because there are so many brave Ohlone warrior spirits to protect us. Their voices speak to me often.”
This afternoon Gamma ushered Sam and Renee inside to her kitchen. She was brewing some of her special herbal tea that tasted something like a mix of potatoes and overripe peaches. With enough sugar, however, they had both acquired a taste for it. Sam headed for the corner of the kitchen counter to make some toast with homemade jelly.
“I’m glad you look so good,” Gamma said to Renee.
“Not even. I look horrible,” said Renee. “The doctors say I’m going to look like Frankenstein’s little sister the rest of my life. I hoped my face would look better once the stitches were taken out, but it doesn’t.”
Gamma moved Renee’s hair back to get a better look. “I wouldn’t worry about that tiny scar. You’re beautiful.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Renee complained. “You’re not the one who is going to have to try and get a prom date in a few years.”
Gamma stood up. “I don’t know about that. Drinking this tea makes me look younger every day. But if it bothers you that much, let’s take care of it.”
“How?” Sam put his bread on a cracked plate.
“Never doubt the knowledge of the Ohlone, Sam. Haven’t I told you that before?” She walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to her bathroom.
Sam sat down, sipped his tea, and remembered the first time he’d ever met Gamma.
“I don’t ever want to go back to school. I don’t want to live here!” he had yelled while yanking the front door open. His first day of second grade had been horrible. In the small kitchen of his new home a gray-haired lady sat at the table with his mother. They were chopping onions, garlic, and bunches of strong-smelling herbs—the ingredients for his family’s yearly winter anti-flu brew. All of Sam’s older brothers and sisters said the reason it worked so well was because when they ate the stuff no one would come close to them, so they never got sick.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Renee, who was blowing into her mug to cool her drink.
“Just waiting to see what kind of road-kill Gamma pulls out of her medicine cabinet this time,” he said.
Steam rose from Renee’s tea.
“I mean, if there really was something that took care of scars, why wouldn’t it be sold in stores?” Sam said.
“Because,” Gamma spoke loudly from down the hall, “it happens to be deadly if you use it the wrong way, not to mention the fact that it’s illegal.” Gamma entered the room carrying a small vial full of something yellow. “This is venom from California’s very own zebra scorpion,” she announced. “It is not to be trifled with.”
“A zebra scorpion? What’s that?” Renee asked, confused.
Sam, however, knew exactly what it was. “There’s no way,” he said. “How’d you get it?”
“That,” said Gamma, “is for me to know and for you to never find out.”
“What are you guys talking about?” asked Renee.
“The zebra scorpion,” explained Sam, “is the most poisonous creepy-crawly thing around here. I’ve seen one only once.” He offered no more explanation but turned to Gamma.
“How did you get its venom anyway? Milk it?” Sam laughed as an image of Gamma intently looking for a scorpion’s udder formed in his mind.
Gamma kept a straight face.
“No, son, but just about. The venom is in its tail. You have to cut into the stinger in just the right spot to remove the venom sac without bursting it.”
“And you’ve got a whole bottle of it?”
“That’s right. But I’ll tell you, it wasn’t easy to get and it didn’t come cheap.”
Renee stood up and started backing away from the table. “I’m not drinking that stuff.”
“Of course you’re not,” said Gamma. “If you drank it you would be paralyzed in less than a minute and dead in five. No, this is to use topically on the skin. Its toxins will eat away at the build-up of skin that is making your scar. Your face will be smoother than a baby’s back end.”
Renee looked at Sam. He held up his hand. “Hey, this isn’t my problem.”
“Thanks for nothing.” Renee sat back down. She inhaled in a dramatic way and then slowly released her breath. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Sam moved in close. Gamma took the spoon out of her cup and licked it clean. Only Gamma would apply deadly poison with a teaspoon. She gingerly held the curved metal end and slowly dipped the tip of the handle into the vial.
“Close your eyes sweetie. The vapors may make them burn. Oh, and Sam, will you grab the vinegar from the pantry? We’ll use it on her skin to neutralize the venom once it has done its job.”
“Great,” muttered Renee.
Sam scooted to the cupboard. He didn’t want to miss any of the ancient Ohlone plastic surgery he was about see.
Gently, Gamma applied the smallest amount of poison all along the top edge of Renee’s raw scar. Sam watched the liquid eat away at the mounded, unwanted skin.
He was in awe. “It’s working.”
“I can’t feel a thing,” Renee said in surprise.
“That’s because the venom is numbing your skin at the same time it dissolves it,” Gamma said.
“Cool. Can you use it on zits?” Renee joked.
“It’s a little too rare for that, dear. Now quick, Sam, pour some vinegar on that rag and place it right there.” Gamma pointed to Renee’s temple. Sam did as he was told. There was no messing around when Gamma was playing doctor.
“Excellent.” Gamma leaned back in her chair. “I do believe we’ve made good progress. It will take a few more applications, of course, but you’ll be as good as new in a week or two.”
Renee looked into a small mirror as Sam whistled. Where there used to be a mound of unsightly scared skin there was now only a red jagged line surrounded by blisters. He couldn’t believe it. Gamma waved the spoon’s handle in the hot flame coming from the lit candle on the table. After deeming it sterilized, she got up and set the spoon into the sink. He was relieved she hadn’t put it back into her cup.
“Don’t worry about the red color,” she said to Renee. “It will go away in a few days.”