I was never meant to be born. This is the truth I uncovered when I sought out the woman who saved my life. Her name is Terry Whittle and she told me I was a routine abortion that seemed to go off without a hitch. She helped deliver what she thought was a dead baby, but when she was ready to place me in the medical waste bag she saw my hand move.
At first she dismissed it as a latent muscle spasm, but then my other arm moved and my body squirmed. I was alive, there was no denying it. Her next act should have been finishing the job, but she just couldn't. She'd helped with numerous terminations and they all ended up medical waste, but there was still life in me and she was going to keep it that way.
Why she decided I should live when it was okay that so many others perish is a mystery that Terry was never able to unravel. She could only speculate that I was the only baby she handled during her grisly occupation that still had life in them and she felt that meant I had a right to live, that no one had the right to terminate.
She secreted me out of the clinic and brought me to her apartment. She lived alone so keeping me a secret was not difficult, but she never lived outside of the fear that she would be found out. She broke the law when she helped me to live and she would be made to pay the penalty if it ever came to light.
She nursed me back to health for a full year before the fear got to be too much for her. She knew she could not give me up for adoption without raising a few eyebrows, eyebrows she feared would reconnect her to the crime. She was battling with the issue when she was approached out of the blue by an old colleague, Rebekah Stilthurst.
Terry was excited for the reunion and they spoke at length as they caught up on years of separation. Eventually, the conversation was steered toward current jobs. Rebekah told Terry that she was part of a team of researchers who were researching the effects of childhood illnesses on young subjects and actions that can be taken to nullify them.
Rebekah looked her dead in the face and asked if she knew of any children whose parents could use a surge of ready cash and would be willing to part with their children for the sake of science? Terry recovered from the sudden shock of having her secret so close to exposure, but insists she doesn't.
Rebekah says she understands and hands over her card. She thanks her for taking the time to catch up and leaves. Terry would have left too, but she was still under the grip of paralyzing fear. She didn't accept that her friend was shooting in the dark, it sounded far too exact to be anything but intentional.
She tried to forget it, but every eye she encountered seemed to be staring too long, probing her for the truth that lay just beneath. She loved me, she told me she would do anything for me. She would even die for me, but that she ultimately could not do. Dying meant exposing me to the world which would have no pity on me. They would deliver me to the knife and my short life would end.
She arranged another meeting with Rebekah. She wheeled me to the park in a pram that contained all of my meager belongings. She met her sitting on a bench under a wide spreading tree, a weeping willow as it turned out. She sat alongside her and kept me close as she rocked my conveyance.
She told Rebekah that she needed to know more about where I was going. Her friend told her that the research team has two buildings. One where they do all their research and one where the children live and have all the facilities at their disposal so they can grow and live happy, healthy lives. The clinical trials on each child do not begin till they're at least ten years old. Before that, they are well taken care of by a diverse staff that's on call twenty-four seven.
She didn't want to give me away, but she had no choice. Everyday the fear of being discovered grew and at times that's all she could think of. But if she gave me to these people I could have a new lease on life and receive an education to boot. So, she rolled my pram to Rebekah who stood, handed her an envelope with a thousand dollars and walked away with me. All under Terry's unwavering gaze.
It's at this point in the story that Terry breaks down sobbing. I leave my seat and hold her. I decided not to tell her about what the experiments really were or the pain they brought with them. It's not entirely her fault for what was done to me and she has enough guilt to bear without adding to it.
After our tender moment I asked her a favor. I hand over a file box to her and ask her to keep it safe and secure. She asked me what's in it. I tell her it's the only information I have to reach out and find all the other children who were part of the experiment. I get ready to leave as I have work to do, but she holds my hand.
I turn around and she looks me deep in the eyes. She tells me that this is my home for as long as I need it. On top of that she hands me an envelope with a thousand dollars inside. She never spent so much as a dollar of it. She tells me that this is the wage that marks her greatest shame.
I stuff the money into a pocket of my trenchcoat and give her the biggest hug I possibly can. We both share tears and kisses. It's a real shame that all I ever had of her during that time was a single photograph. I kept it by my bed and no matter how bad things got I would find comfort in the shining face beaming a smile for my benefit.
I tell her that everything is going to be okay. I act more as mother than daughter, but I don't mind. I left the little girl behind on the operating table. I left her bleeding and screaming. I no longer need someone else's love to validate me, but that doesn't mean I don't want it. I just don't need it.
That was several hours ago. I have since taken to the streets and busted a man out of police protective custody. His name is Carl and he is hanging off my arm. I said we should find a place to bed down for the night, but he insists he get some clothing first. I conceded and here we are. I close in on a donation bin for a local charity and set him against it as he slides off my body and onto the asphalt.
He's weak because his body is going into overdrive as it heals the damage done to it. I've been through it myself. I remember having an arm and a leg cut off at the same time. The doctor wanted to see the extent of the healing that she unlocked in my body. Aside from the pain, which was so blinding it felt like that was all I was, I remember feeling ill.
There was a churning in my stomach that would never end and it made me feel as though I would throw up, but no such relief came to me. Little by little my limbs regrew themselves. Every little sinew and muscle sprouted from healthy tissue and formed itself as a whole appendage proper for my size. It took six weeks.
After that came rehabilitation. The muscle and bone was new and unused to living. I had to use a pair of crutches for a week before my body got used to walking on its own. And as for the arm, well, I still look at it and wonder if it's mine. I gaze and I can still see that incremental growth. A little more arm and a little more, till it's whole again.
I power up my hand and watch the glow from my skin as though it was the first time I've ever seen the ability that I have at my disposal. I look to the metal that stands in my way. It hasn't a prayer. I squat down and reach my hand forward. I allow slow progressions as I feel the metal starting to bend from the extreme heat.
"That won't be necessary," he interjects and puts forth his hand directly in front of him which disappears into a swirling purple energy and he pulls out a garbage bag.
"Well that's a useful trick to have at your disposal," I remark and gaze at the prize.
"It certainly has helped me out of my fair share of sticky situations," he informs me as he tears into the bag. "But it's not without its price."
"How so?" I ask and pull out a colorful scarf from the bag.
"Using it to teleport just limbs has a negligible effect, but if you pass through it with your whole body it will temporarily weaken you and can cause you to vomit the contents of your stomach," he explains and pulls a pair of black pants from the bag.
"Why would it do that?"I query and wrap the scarf around my neck.
"Of all the secrets I have been unable to unearth, that is not one of them," he admits and pulls out a black shirt with thumb holes. "I can only surmise that it has something to do with instantaneously transporting a body from one place to another."
He continues to rummage about in the bag, but finds nothing else he likes so he settles on a bright green pair of flip-flops. In front of the whole world he stands up, strips off his hospital gown and dresses himself in the clothing he gleaned from the charitable donations. He looks ridiculous. An all black ensemble with bright green flip-flops. It makes me laugh.
"I prefer black boots," he assures me as he taps his toes on the asphalt. "But you can't expect to find such footwear in bags left for the less fortunate."
"I suppose not," I agree with him and look about as I wonder if his little peepshow was witnessed by someone who might call the cops, worse still if they didn't. "Anyway, I think it's time we get something to eat, don't you."
"I could definitely eat," he contributes and portals the ripped bag back into the bin before stashing the case in his right front pocket. "And I know a great place near here."
"With what money?" I ask as I look about for a wallet. "Or do you plan to portal us some free food?"
"I try not to steal if I can help it," he continues and taps the case in his pocket to make sure it's secure. "Besides, they don't prepare food the way I like to eat it."
"And what is that, impossibly spicy?" I posit and lean my elbow against the bin.
"I prefer my meat raw," he informs me and focuses on my person. "But no restaurant can legally serve me raw meat."
"That's disgusting!" I throw out as I start to wretch. "I'm getting ill just thinking about it!"
"What can I say, there's just something to the flavor of raw meat that it loses once it's cooked," he explains and smacks his lips. "I'm getting hungry just thinking about it."
"I can't let you eat raw meat when I have good money to buy us a proper meal," I remark and pull out a few bills from the envelope.
"And where did you get that?" he questions me and gazes at my offering.
"I recently reconnected with the woman who saved my life," I bring him up to speed and slip the bills back into my pocket. "She gave me the money for, expenses, but it's a loan that I will pay back as soon as I finish my mission."
"And what mission would that be?" he seeks clarification and sinks his left hand into his pants pocket.
I shake my head. "Not before I get something in my stomach," I put a halt to the conversation and start to walk away.
He follows after me and we walk down the street together. We pass numerous storefronts that have bars across their shutters and solid metal shutters. We're not in a good part of town. We continue to move along till we hit a simple little establishment called Cho's, but all the locals call it The Joint. We sit ourselves down at the counter.
Mister Cho looks up from his work. "Candice, so good to see you," he declares as he sets his knife down and focuses on me. "How long has it been?"
"Just since last week," I answer and settle myself on my seat. "You know it's impossible for me to stay away."
"And who's this with you?" he asks me as he gazes at Carl. "A boyfriend perhaps?"
"Come now Cho, you know I'm gay," I playfully chide him as I give a laugh. "No, he's a friend from way back that I just reconnected with."
"That's excellent news," he declares and smiles widely. "Will you be having your usual?"
"Yep, and double the order," I posit and lean on the counter. "There needs to be plenty to go around."
"You got it," Cho says before turning to the side and speaking in a different language.
I watch as he gets to work. His fingers fly as he gathers ingredients and carefully sculpts our food. Four bamboo mats are laid on the work surface and thin layers of seaweed are placed on them before being coated in a layer of sticky rice. Then comes the specific ingredients for each one.
Smoked salmon, slivers of cream cheese and finely sliced green onion compose two of them, while finely shredded crab meat, slivers of avocado and Lima-beans are what make up the other. He rolls each one with delicate efficiency and compresses all the ingredients together and slices with his knife to create many bits of sushi which he places on a plate and drizzles with his secret family recipe sauce.
"Thank you Cho," I say as I accept each plate he gives me and sets them on the tabletop. "They look absolutely yummy."
A green tea is served to each of us and I use the chopsticks that are sitting in a metal receptacle to my front. I pick up my first roll and bite it in half. I can taste the crab meat which is accentuated by the avocado and given a kind of earthy flavor by the Lima-beans, all of which explode in my taste-buds thanks to the sauce. A bit from the other roll has a similar effect and I make a bit of a pig of myself.
I look over at Carl and see him popping his rolls whole with his fingers, chewing and swallowing, he hasn't an expression on his face.
"Looks like this is your first time having sushi," I remark and set my chopsticks down.
"It is," Carl affirms my suspicion and takes a sip from his tea.
"Well, how do you like it?" I query and take a sip from my own tea.
"It's absolutely disgusting," he declares and pops another in his mouth.
I look to Cho whose face has turned an ashen white.
"He doesn't mean it!" I insist as I nearly spit my tea out all over the place, but manage to hold it in my mouth and swallow most painfully. "He's just never had sushi before and it's strange to him."
"I do mean it," Carl persists as he continues to eat his food. "Fish is disgusting and vegetables are revolting and tea is far too bitter and the sauce has far too many spices."
"If it's so bad, then why do you keep eating it?!" Cho demands as he points at the offensive customer with his knife.
"I eat for sustenance, not pleasure," Carl informs us and takes another drink. "As such, I will consume any nutrients that are put in front of me, regardless of how it tastes."
"Are you saying you eat raw meat on a regular basis?" I ask and nearly feel my dinner coming up.
"That's all I need to survive," Carl replies and pops another roll in his mouth.
"No wonder you're so skinny," I point out and will my stomach to settle as I turn to Cho. "He doesn't mean your sushi is disgusting, he just doesn't like the ingredients themselves."
The irate proprietor slackens the grip on his blade and returns to work.
"Now that we've discussed my eating habits and you've had a sufficient amount of food" Carl starts in and turns to me, his plates completely empty. "It's time you tell me about your mission."
A dark cloud hovers over my brain. "You know where we came from, the pain we had to endure, I can't make sense of any of it," I proceed and lower my head. "Not unless I make it mean something more. I'm going to find all of the kids from the program and find out what they are doing with their lives. Just like I did with you."
"What if they don't want to talk to you or to anyone from that instance of their life?" Carl posits without skipping a beat as he stares me dead in the face. "What if all they want to do is forget about that time, or may have done so already and all you're gonna do is drum up bad memories?"
"That's a risk I'm willing to take," I defend my position and try my damnedest not to let my emotions get the better of me. "I'm going to collect all the data I can on everyone I can. Then I'm going to compile that information and ram it down the doctor's throat! I'm going to show her that we, all of us, are greater than the pain."
Carl stares at me for a long moment. "What will you do if you encounter those who could not rise above the pain?" he challenges me with words as cold as ice.
"I pray that I never meet such an individual," I relay as I gaze at him with fire smoldering in my eyes. "But if I do, I will do the humane thing. I will kill them and let the sweet repose of death take away the nightmare that has become their life."
The conversation ends at this point. Carl finishes what's left on my plate and as he does so I wonder just what must be going through his mind eating something so disgusting to him and how he can keep such strong impulses from appearing on his face. I apologize profusely to Cho and leave him a hefty tip.
We exit the little shop and carry on down the street, silence our constant companion. I wonder what it is he's thinking about. He seems so pragmatic and sure of himself. I know the hell I climbed out of, but I can't help but wonder if his was worse. He doesn't seem insane, maybe it's me who is trapped inside a cage of pain. It is a matter I will have to give much thought.
I see Carl start to walk in a different direction. "Where are you off to?" I ask him and stop walking.
"I'm needed elsewhere," he informs me and continues to walk away.
"I hope this is merely farewell and not goodbye," I call after him and continue to gaze in his direction.
He doesn't look back or even acknowledge my words. He just keeps walking.
It would seem our visit has come to an end. I wish him the very best and hope that he does not become one that I have to put down. The power that has been gifted to me through the pain is something that I need to use to better mankind, but I'm not above using it for my personal gain. After all, I paid for the damn thing so it should be no problem if...
My thoughts are interrupted by cat calls I receive from two guys who are following me. I turn around. They appear to be nothing more than a couple of hoodlums. They approach me while they issue lude comments of how great a time I could be having if I gave into my obvious attraction. Besides which I'm absolutely begging for it, they can tell.
I give in, I will absolutely do anything they want, if they can hold my hand for more than a minute. Of course they agree. The first thirty seconds pass without incident and I can see the hunger in their eyes. They're practically salivating. Who was begging for it again? It would seem I'm about to be debased.
I turn up the heat in one hand and lower the temperature drastically in the other. A full twenty seconds they hold on as the extreme temperatures have them sweating. At the fifty second mark it becomes too much for either to bear and they let go. They swear profusely, one declaring it was too hot while the other insists it was too cold. They fail to come to a consensus as they walk away.
I give myself a chuckle as I turn around and continue on my way. My mind flashes on the information from the file I secreted from the lab. Kenneth Dirabelli, seventeen years old. Home address: 265 Thornbush Way, Winchell, Connecticut. Known enhancements: accelerated healing and thickened skin. It seems I'll have to go out of town for this one.